The College Marriage Experiment

Sweet baby Jesus!

My head hits the table in front of me with a loud thud. This couldn’t be my reality. After all of my blood, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights as a computer engineering major, you’d think I deserved a low-effort class that I could pass in my sleep. Everyone told me to take Marriage and Family for my social sciences credit, and it’d be a breeze. But the joke is on me because this year, they decided to change the curriculum, and my final first semester of college is guaranteed to be extremely painful.

The Marriage and Family classes will participate in a mock marriage practicum this year if I didn’t have enough to stress about in my last year of college, like deciding if I was going to focus on growing my successful Twitch channel that I started as a hobby but had become unexpectedly fruitful or if I was going to move to San Francisco and try to land a job in Silicon Valley with all the other tech nerds.

I did not have the fucking time or energy to worry about failing a sociology class, of all things, because there was no way in hell I’d be getting along with my “fake husband.” I internally shriek in my head, letting out an inaudible string of swear words that will have the nearest person seated next to me questioning if I kiss my mother with my filthy mouth.

I had a hard time listening to my professor’s overly chipper voice drone on and on about the details of this experiential learning assignment. We’d be assigned a spouse based on the questionnaire we filled out before the Fall semester began. I had prayed to God that this would work in my favor and I’d be paired with another loner gamer goth like me. I could only be so lucky if that were to happen.

Is Willowbrook University fucking bananas? Why would they agree to some bullshit like this marriage practicum? I smelled a lawsuit coming. I mean, how would they be able to manage a practicum of this nature without someone getting hurt?

As if my annoyingly bubbly professor could read my mind, she begins discussing the safety precautions the campus has put in place for our experiential on-campus apartment living situation for the semester. Apparently, even if the expectation is for us to live as married couples, we wouldn’t be sharing a bedroom since this is only an experiment. We’d have separate bedrooms that could only be unlocked by our thumbprints, keeping any and all uninvited guests out of our private sanctuaries. There were security cameras in every corner of the building not only to record our interactions for the marriage practicum but to ensure our safety.

Sheesh! Talk about some big brother shit!

 She went on to explain that in our shared living spaces, like our living room and kitchen, there’d also be cameras stationed in these rooms so they could monitor our safety and record our interactions as married couples. I wanted to bang my head against the table because I didn’t want to be watched day in and day out. Too fucking bad all the other social science classes were full; otherwise, I’d switch classes in a heartbeat. I already knew I’d be breaking out in a rash from all these social interactions I’d have to partake in outside of the safety of my computer screen and virtual reality world.

Not only would the cameras watch us in our living spaces, but we’d also have to wear Fitbit-like devices on our wrists anytime we were in the experiential living areas so they could monitor our physiological responses to best track the points we gained or lost based on our reactions and interactions in any situations, while in close quarters with our fake spouses. Therefore, we'd win points if we had feelings of attraction, enjoyment, and arousal. We'd lose points if we had anger, hostility, and annoyance. As a tech nerd and gamer girl, I could definitely appreciate the gamification of the experiential learning assignment. However, I loathed the well-thought-out practicum experience as an antisocial, competitive individual.

Shit, I had a serious bone to pick with whatever nerd creamed their pants, creating the technology for this college marriage experiment.

This would be one hell of a semester.

“Lastly, student pairs who score in the top ten percentile of the practicum can swap to partners of their choice come mid-semester. So, like with any relationship, if things don’t work out, you can come to an amicable separation agreement and find someone you’re potentially more compatible with to secure a passing grade for the practicum. Also, while acts of intimacy allow for more points, we’re not encouraging you all to have sexual encounters. But as safety precautions, check out the information we provided from the health center around safer sex practices and know that you must utilize these state-of-the-art consent devices that record your agreed-upon consent statements. Also, there should be no funny business and grotesque behavior because, remember, everyone has a hi-tech physiological response device so we can sense any feelings of distress. Now, who’s ready to meet their spouses,” my professor cheerfully concludes. I can’t help but internally groan as I roll my eyes, dreading the moment I meet the man who will be my fake husband for the next six months.

I’m sure when all the other girls and probably some of the boys in this class saw the roster of enrolled students, there wasn’t a dry pussy or limp dick in sight because of the number of professional athlete prospects signed up for this “supposedly” easy college course. Every girl in this class would be drenching their panties for one specific potential NBA number one draft pick and our campus celebrity. The one person I didn’t want to be my fake husband because I can’t stand cocky, entitled asshole popular jocks like this imbecile.

“Hi, wifey. I’m sure you already know who I am. But allow me to introduce myself. I’m KeShawn Davis, your husband, for the next six months. Aren’t you a lucky woman,” a sexy, deep baritone voice bellows.

“O-M-Gee, I’m totally lucky to be partnered with a cocky dick like you,” I sarcastically mumble under my breath, unwilling to give him the flirty banter he was used to women hurling his way for any ounce of attention he willingly provided them.

I slowly raise my head, which feels like a two-hundred-pound marble slab, to gaze into my fake husband's breathtakingly beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

Damn. This man is fucking gorgeous. He had smooth sienna brown skin, a chiseled jaw, nice thick kissable lips, and he was so fucking tall and muscular. He was almost too fucking gorgeous to look at.

And oh, no, no, no. This gorgeous man had tattoos. My fucking weakness! I loved a beautiful man with tattoos. It made them all the more sexy. Hell, maybe even dangerous. KeShawn Davis is a walking fucking sex dream.

I could feel all the envious female eyes on me in the classroom. But, if they only knew my worst nightmare had come true.

My fake husband, whom I’d have to cohabitate with for the next six months, hell, three months if I were lucky, was none other than potential NBA number one draft pick and big man around campus, KeShawn Davis. The last man on earth that I wanted to be partnered with.

How the fuck did our answers on a personality questionnaire match the two of us? We were definitely like night and day. What if this is some cruel, sick joke?

My heart rate accelerates, my palms become sweaty, and when I close my eyes to ease the dizziness, I see them pointing and laughing as I’m frozen in place, humiliated.

No, I’m not back there. This isn’t high school anymore.

Opening my eyes, I give him a weak smile as he sits his big frame in the seat next to me, making my stomach roil with disgust as he winks and flirtatiously smirks at every woman who passes by us.

“I think we should lay everything out on the table and set some ground rules so this can work, and we can-“ I begin to say, but he cuts me off, his eyes trailing one of the most gorgeous women on campus, Ciara Foster. If Rihanna and Coco Jones had a baby, it’d be the graceful, perfect, popular Miss Ciara Foster. And, of course, my hotshot fake husband had his eyes on her.

“Yes, if we can wrack up as many points as possible, I can switch partners to CiCi, and you can go be with whoever you want,” he states, too fixated on the sensual sway of Ciara’s nice round ass to even acknowledge my existence while conversing with me.

“Yes, well, as much as I don’t want to be partners with a dumb jock. The likelihood of us being lovey-dovey enough to score in the top ten percentile of the class is as likely as them finding MH370. Don’t fucking kid yourself. Let’s at least try to aim for an A or a high B, I sarcastically state, trying to taper his expectations.

“Ha! Wow, I’m the dumb jock in this scenario? I ignored your first bitchy comment, but I’m someone not to fuck with. Especially from someone who looks like a reject from The Craft movie. Look, goth Barbie. As long as you don’t do any hoo-doo voodoo on me, clean the house, and cook our meals, I think we’ll be just fine. You won’t be doing any spells around our apartment, will you, Nancy Downs,” He taunts, narrowing his eyes at me.

This dipshit has another thing coming if he thinks I’ll back down from his bull shit and intimidation tactics. And Jeez, not only am I shackled to a cocky asswipe for six months, but also a chauvinistic pig? The audacity for him to think I’d be doing all the cooking and cleaning in our apartment. Pfft. Also, jokes on him. I’m the daughter of two devout Baptist ministers, so if I were doing anything in our house, it’d be throwing blessed oil on him and getting the satisfaction of watching his evil ass burn alive.

“Hm, sweet husband, that’s my secret. If you’re worried about your safety, then be sure to sleep with one eye open because you just might fuck around and find out when your dick stops working. Don’t fuck with me KeShawn,” I angrily rebuttal, getting so much satisfaction from the fear that crosses his beautiful features as his Adam’s apple bobs from how hard he swallows.

I’ll be damn, we haven’t even made it to our living space, and we were already bickering.

I am in for a very long semester. God, help me. I didn’t know if we’d survive this semester without a double homicide transpiring.

“Oh, yes! KeShawn fuck me harder! I’m going to eat her pussy so good; you’ll like that, baby, won’t you? KeShawn, you know how to make me so wet,” the anonymous girl’s loud pleas drift through the paper-thin shared wall of our bedrooms.

My reality is worse than I’d ever expected. KeShawn Davis is a fucking nightmare of a roommate. He has friends over every evening to smoke, drink, and play Madden NFL 24.

And guess what?

They leave our shared living spaces a complete fucking mess. KeShawn is a fucking slob, and our house always smells like sweaty balls and cheap cologne. Yet, women and men think he’s God's gift to mankind. No one could convince me that I’m not living in a fucking men’s locker room. Not to mention, all the gross male musk gives me a never-ending migraine.

Oh, and the best fucking part of rooming with a star athlete is his nightly sex marathons. I’m kept up all hours of the night listening to him fucking some woman’s or women’s brains out. Seriously, why is it that every damn night he has to be balls-deep in some girl’s pussy? How can he have so much fucking stamina? The man trains for basketball like it’s going out of style, but he never loses energy.

The headboard bangs hard against his wall, making my bedroom's back wall vibrate pulling me out of my thoughts.

I cover my face with a pillow, screaming my frustrations at the top of my lungs. I could not believe this was my new reality. The loud, erotic soundtrack of my playboy fake husband getting his rocks off had become my biggest annoyance over the past month and a half.

I missed the peace and quiet of my apartment. I missed being able to lose myself and find my personal reprieve during my Twitch streams without fear I’d be kicked off the platform because of the homemade pornos KeShawn made every single night. I just wanted to cosplay and play my video games in peace. Not listen to multiple faceless women scream at the top of their lungs that KeShawn had a magical monster dick they couldn’t get enough of.

Yet, the thought of KeShawn’s monster dick had my hot wet core clenching, my clitoris fluttering, and my pussy dripping wetter with each bang of the headboard, sexy female moans, and KeShawn’s deep grunts of pleasure. I groan out of frustration, letting my horniness win over my self-preservation.

I ignore my self-deprecating thoughts as I lean over to pull my lube and thrusting rabbit vibrator from my bedroom end table. It had been getting a lot of action lately because listening to KeShawn fuck kept my pussy in a constant state of wetness. Propping myself up against my pillows in a half-seated position, I hike up the oversize comfy shirt I wore to bed tonight and spread my legs wide, allowing my essence to drip from my hot wet pussy. My arousal pools onto the sheets between my thighs as a testimony of how wet the idea of fucking my pretend husband gets me. I slather my rabbit in my favorite lube, placing it on my pulsing, sensitive clitoris. I turn on the slowest vibration, letting a slow, breathy moan escape my parted lips. I tease myself by allowing the vibrations to pulse against my needy swollen clit before swirling it through the wetness of my slippery pussy lips.

I slide it through my slick folds, letting it vibrate against my clitoris until I’m a writhing, panting mess before thrusting it inside me and turning up the vibration to one of the highest settings. I slowly thrust the vibrator in and out of my pussy, in tune with the grunts and moans drifting over from KeShawn’s bedroom. I let out my own moans of pleasure, envisioning KeShawn fucking me, pounding my pussy, my hips chasing the thrusting of my rabbit vibe as it deliciously massages the walls of my vagina. My toes curl into the sheets, and my nipples pebble as I pick up the pace at which I fuck myself as the moans of the girls in the room next door get louder. I let out a shaky whimper as my body begins to convulse as my pussy clamps down on my sex toy.

My back arches off the bed, and I squeeze my thighs together as my pussy clenches around the thrumming vibrator causing the dam to break as I silently scream out my orgasm with thoughts of my very sexy fake husband, KeShawn, on my mind.

I get out of bed and make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I take slow, small sips to cool my heated body, I lean against the kitchen countertop. I get a front-row seat to KeShawn’s bedroom door being flung open, allowing me to watch not one, not two, hell not even three, but four women with radiantly sexual afterglow skin prance blissfully out of KeShawn’s bedroom without an ounce of shame. My jaw is practically on the floor. This man cannot be fucking human. He stands at his bedroom door with a smirk on his face, his muscle-toned body glistening in a sheer sheen of sweat and in nothing but a plaid pair of boxers.

“We seriously need to set ground rules, Mr. Pornhub,” I say to him, slamming my empty water cup into the sink.

“Why? Are you jealous, wifey? All you have to do is say the word in this little consent thingy, and I’ll fuck you so good, you won’t remember any man that ever pounded your sweet little pussy before me. My dick game is so spectacular; I’ll wipe any man’s name from your memory that came before me,” KeShawn promises, licking his beautiful full lips, blowing me a kiss, and disappearing back into his bedroom with a soft click of the door.

I should be fucking enraged. But his words leave me speechless while butterflies take flight in my vagina as I feel a new wave of arousal coat my inner thighs. 

Damnit!

My body wanted to take my fake husband for a test drive, but there was no way in hell I’d just become another insignificant girl on his never-ending sex roster.

I just needed to survive four and a half months and counting.

Good thing I had a sex toy collection that could possibly put Belle Delphine’s to shame.

I groan to myself, clicking off my computer screen: another day, another dollar. I used to look forward to playing video games and streaming, but not even my favorite paid hobby could lift my spirits. I had never failed a class in my life, but quite naturally, an antisocial gamer nerd like me would be failing a social sciences class.

I feel my right eye begin to twitch as an ice-pick-like pain chips at the back of my skull. My migraines had become so bad and so frequent I had developed a nasty habit of popping Excedrin like Tic Tac breath mints. I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to get some relief. Today has been an absolute nightmare. Dr. Martinez, our Marriage and Family Professor, had called us into a meeting during her office hours.

She wanted to let us know that if we didn’t shape up in the next four weeks when we hit the mid-term mark, we’d be in danger of failing the course. As of the last two four-week check-ins, KeShawn and I were dead last compared to every other couple's scores. If this were anything else in my life, my competitive streak would have me cringing at the thought of being dead last in anything; however, I’d never been so happy to maintain a score of zero in my life. It’s a shame how much excitement I feel when I see no negative numbers on our digital scoreboard in the living room.

For the first month of this marriage experiment, we lived in a constant state of negative points. At the beginning of the practicum, I was honestly happy that I didn’t end up with my mugshot plastered on the six o'clock news. But Dr. Martinez didn’t even blink an eye at my dark humor when I made this comment, and my beloved husband pinched me hard on my side, causing me to accidentally, on purpose, elbow him in the nose.

Yet, Dr. Martinez’s warning was enough to light a fire under both of our asses because “ball is life” for KeShawn, and no pass, no play was something he wasn’t keen on experiencing in his college career. Not to mention, I didn’t want to graduate late because I couldn’t fucking pass a class that wasn’t even needed for my major, only to meet the arbitrary requirements for my university’s degree plan.

“Elvira, get your ass out here. It’s dinner time, and our bro can’t fail this class. So, if we have to intervene and get you all nice and hot and bothered for each other, so be it,” a deep, raspy voice yells from the other side of my door.

“My name is fucking Rory. Not Gamer-girl. Not fucking Twitch Thot. Not Goth Barbie. Wednesday Adams or any other fucking goth or sexist joke you use to taunt me. It’s fucking Aurora. So, use it, damn it,” I bite out, getting the satisfaction from the red flush that creeps across the giant, attractive Thor look-alike standing in my doorway with his hand frozen mid-knock. I may be barely over five feet tall, but I had the mouth of a trucker, and I could proudly hold my own with any dickhead who wanted to talk shit to me. Being the only girl in the COD lobbies is rough, but I learned to hold my own.

“Trent, leave her the fuck alone. I told you I would’ve gotten her from her room. She wants to pass this fucking course as much as I do. Look at our scoreboard. We’re up a few points; we’ve been doing chores together and watching television to get some points. Chill on my wifey, dude,” KeShawn demands, making me cringe at the use of the word wifey while warming my heart for how he sticks up for me against others. Who knew a few episodes of Rick & Morty together could make us feel like a somewhat united front? At the beginning of the school year, if someone had told me I’d feel some inkling of a connection to my fake husband, I would’ve laughed until I pissed myself.

“Damn, dude. Your fake wife is Billie Eilish thick. How are you not crushing this assignment with a girl this fine,” another one of his dumbass teammates commented from across the room. I glance over at KeShawn, whose beautiful chocolate brown eyes darken with desire as they roam my curvaceous hourglass frame and triple-D boobs, which have made me rather popular on Twitch. I am wearing a cropped, tight black sleep camisole with lace framing my cleavage and black and red plaid cheeky sleep shorts.

The longer his gaze lingered on my bare flesh, the more my body temperature rose, causing my heart to thump against my chest erratically. I slightly jumped when a loud beep from our scoreboard went off, accompanied by the cheering of three of KeShawn’s teammates that ceased to exist when I felt his heated gaze like a caress on my bare skin.

I rolled my eyes, loudly clearing my throat and shouting, “Let’s get cooking so we can get more points. The quicker we cook, the faster this meal will be over, and you dimwits will be out of my hair.”

“Why so you can make some money on OnlyFanz doing a titty stream,” one of KeShawn’s friends jokes from the kitchen table. I give him a fake laugh accompanied by a two-finger salute before washing my hands to help KeShawn with dinner.

“I love your sass; gets my dick hard,” KeShawn whispers in my ear, his hips brushing against my back as he passes me in the kitchen. I feel a zing of electricity to the base of my spine, causing my hot, wet core to clench in sexual want. Living with KeShawn is turning me into a complete fucking horn dog. I enjoyed the thought of being dicked down as much as the next girl. But living with a gorgeous sex god like KeShawn had my body lusting for his like I’d never felt before in my life.

The scoreboard beeped, and the men cheered for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. I looked over at KeShawn, who had his head down, chopping the vegetables for the chef's salad. The corners of his mouth were turned up in a sly smirk. In my mind, I knew this was a charade, yet my body was having a hard time getting the memo that this was all just pretend.

During the duration of our cooking the lasagna and salad, I tried to keep my distance from KeShawn’s body in the small space of our kitchen. The first reason I wanted the distance is because his friends’ loud, obnoxious cheers were super annoying, and the second reason I didn’t want KeShawn to take my reactions to him as a sign that he need not look elsewhere for a bed partner tonight. It wasn’t until we were standing at the table that I realized our terrible predicament.

I swallowed down my anger, knowing that I had been ambushed and had stupidly walked into a setup. I rubbed the back of my neck, closed my eyes, and looked around our small dining room table. There were only four chairs, and three were occupied by our annoying dinner guests, leaving the only available seat for yours truly on KeShawn’s lap.

I felt the room tilt back and forth as if I were on a continual looping ride of The Gravitron. I smelt the lunchroom Chicken Taquitos as bile rose in the back of my throat. I felt my face burn with humiliation as they laughed like hyenas at my embarrassment.

Shit! Get it together, Aurora, this isn’t fucking high school. That day wasn’t today.

I open my eyes, noticing KeShawn scrunching his brows into a crease of confusion as worry fills his beautiful eyes. Before any of these imbeciles could question my moment of weakness, I plop my ass down on my fake husband’s lap. The scoreboard beeps, but it’s not accompanied by any cheering because our guests are too busy shoveling lasagna into their mouths.

I perch uncomfortably on KeShawn’s lap. My body is frigid as I attempt to build an imaginary wall of protection between us. I could survive a dinner on his lap. He and his friends had the right idea. The more physical contact and intimacy we shared, the quicker and more points we’d wrack up in this stupid experiment. So, it’d be irrational and petty to be mad about a contrived situation that would pay off for me in the end, too.

Despite my thoughts about jocks, these men weren’t trying to humiliate me, only to help their best friend stay on the team, which would also help me pass this class.

“I have an idea. KeShawn, feed her a piece of lasagna. It’d be better if we had spaghetti. Then you two could Lady and the Tramp your way to a big ass score. But, I’m sure a sweet gesture like a husband feeding his wife is sure to score you guys some major points,” Trent suggests, lifting his beer to his lips and draining it. KeShawn’s hand slightly shakes, putting me at ease to know the big man on campus is as uncomfortable with this forced fake intimacy as I am.

Ha! Ladies Man, my ass. He’s such a fucking faker that just wants to keep up with the Joneses. Nothing was more important to him than how others perceived him; it was sad, really.

I look into his gorgeous face, and the sweet, sincere question of if I’m comfortable with this situation he speaks with his eyes turns my mind to mush, causing every negative snide remark in my head to evaporate. I give him a small smile of reassurance. Instead of waiting for him to feed me, I pick up his fork, stab a hunk of lasagna, and force-feed it into his mouth. He furrows his eyebrows at me, his eyes hungering for revenge. But, I can’t help but burst into laughter as he picks up the fork and airplanes the food into my mouth next.

His eyes are glued to my mouth as I slowly chew and swallow the lasagna, not tasting a single bite. KeShawn and I are suspended in time. I have no earthly idea who moves first, but his lips feel gloriously soft as he kisses me with so much vigor that I can’t breathe. Our tongues dance together, and I pull him by the neck so that he’s closer to me. I need to feel more of his rock-hard body. He strokes my lower back, grabbing my ass cheeks as he deepens our kiss. I feel wet heat bloom between my thighs, my pussy soaking like crazy from being so close to the man whose sexy physique has invaded my every dream and waking moments over the past couple of months.

God, this is the best kiss of my life; a zombie apocalypse could take place, and nothing could pull me away from the incredible way this man kisses me. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed so thoroughly, sweetly, and like I’m the hottest person on the planet in my entire twenty-two years of life. A loud phone ring interrupts our heated kiss, causing us to jolt apart. I’m snapped back to reality as I see the name CiCi flash across his iPhone screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this. It’s CiCi,” KeShawn says, untangling his body from mine, placing me on the kitchen chair, and quickly answering. I listen to his hurried footsteps disappear as he locks himself in his room. I feel my lips tingle while my heart continues to thud against my breastbone. I raise my hand toward my face, wanting to keep the electricity alive that I felt from the taste of KeShawn’s lips against mine.

“Damn, he has a hot potential future wife and a sexy fake wife. KeShawn is one very lucky man,” one of his friends exclaims, and the room erupts into laughter. My head snaps up, and I run my hand through my hair, embarrassed. I had completely forgotten that we weren’t alone at the dinner table. The three men give me friendly smiles, trying to politely include me in their conversation about school and video games.

I could not participate as I was still shell-shocked from the amazing kiss I shared with KeShawn, my husband–well, fake husband.

Shit! I needed to get a grip on these fantasies I continuously have. They’ve started to blur with my warped reality from all this fake lovey-dovey shit. Stupid me. How could I ever forget we were only pretending for a class assignment and a grade? The way he ran out of the room, not wanting to miss Ciara’s phone call, was the reminder I needed that I couldn’t afford to catch feelings.

I’d only end up brokenhearted because my fake husband had very real feelings for a woman more fitting for his soon-to-be-famous pro-baller image.

So, why did the thought of him having an intimate conversation with Ciara behind closed doors hurt my heart?

It probably is indigestion from the lasagna, I at least hope.

I practically jump out of my skin at the sound of the loud clap of thunder and the bright flash of lightning that can be seen from the apartment window. Thankfully, I’d been able to worm my way out of going Halloween bar hopping with KeShawn because we’d really been wracking up a lot of points over the past month, which has us sitting in the mid-percentile of the other couples in the marriage experiment.

Meaning that we were no longer in danger of failing the course. While I’m sure KeShawn was upset about not being in the highest percentile so he could switch to being spouses with Ciara, I was more worried about maintaining the points that we’ve accumulated so that we could make it to the sixth month with a passing score. My fingers were crossed, but I wouldn’t hold my breath about the situation. Forever the nerd I am, I’m aiming for an A but hoping for a C.

But it’s Halloween weekend, and I will enjoy it with a big bowl of Hot Cheeto puffs and a marathon of every Scream movie known to man.

I sip my Dr. Pepper, hyper-focused on the original Scream movie. I pop another Hot Cheeto puff in my mouth, engrossed in my all-time favorite scene when Billy says, “We all go a little mad sometimes.” I scream at the top of my lungs at the sound of Billy shooting Randy, mixed with the loud boom of thunder and the front door loudly squeaking open.

My bottle of Dr. Pepper flies out of my hand, drenching me in the sticky brown carbonated sugary goodness as my bowl of Hot Cheeto puffs spills all over the living room floor. My heart is ready to take flight out of my chest as I stare at a giant man dressed in a black hoodie, a purge mask, and a baseball bat covered in fake blood—at least, I hope it’s fake.

“Calm down, Rory. It’s only me,” Keshawn’s familiar voice distortedly calls out from behind the mask.

I’m going to fucking kill my fake husband.

“You ran through all the pussy on campus, so you’re coming home to interrupt my night,” I angrily question, kneeling on the floor to quickly clean up the mess of chips I’ve made.

“No, smartass. It’s no fun bar hopping in the rain. Plus, I didn’t feel like going to a Halloween party on campus. Maybe I wanted to spend some quality time with the wifey. Plus, we can wrack up points by simply watching a horror movie marathon; easy peasy A, here we come,” KeShawn answers, grabbing the Swiffer to mop up the sticky puddle of Dr. Pepper on the floor.

“Well, thanks to you, we’ll have to put this horror movie marathon on pause because I’m going to have to shower first since I’m drenched in Dr. Pepper,” I groan in annoyance as KeShawn passes me paper towels that I use to wipe droplets of Dr. Pepper from my forehead. He grabs my free hand, lifting it to his mouth, moaning as he sucks the sweet beverage from my fingertips. I feel undeniable desire course through my veins, sending an electric shock to my clitoris.

KeShawn tugs me towards his warm body by the nape of my neck. His soft lips descend on mine, kissing me hungrily as he holds my head how he likes while devouring my lips. I drop the paper towels to the floor, forgetting any want to clean myself or the mess in the living room. He breaks our kiss, leaving me gasping for air as his lips descend to my neck, where his hot, wet tongue licks up any Dr. Pepper that managed to land on this part of my body. My eyes roll to the back of my head when he grabs handfuls of my big ass underneath my oversize t-shirt, yanking me flush against his body.

“Hm, wifey. Dr. Pepper is my favorite soda. I’m more than willing to help you clean up. No shower is needed. I just need to find where else you’re all sweet and sticky,” KeShawn whispers, his hot wet breath tickling my ear, causing my pussy to drench wet with my arousal. He whips my soiled sleep shirt over my head, sucking in a sharp breath, as I feel his heated gaze admiring my curvaceous petite frame that’s covered in remnants of Dr. Pepper. I stand with my back against the cool granite of the kitchen countertop in nothing but my black cotton thong.

KeShawn cups the heavy weight of my huge boobs in his massive hands. His thumb gently caressed my swollen, sensitive nipples that grew increasingly erect from the way he tugged and stroked them, providing my needy body with mouthwatering sensations of pain and pleasure. He continues to elicit whimpers from my lips as he tweaks and kneads my nipples until he has my body singing with a sexual need to feel his dick between my thighs.

“Let me clean up your body with my tongue,” Keshawn questions, his fingers skimming the underside of my heavy breasts, causing my legs to shake.

“Y-yes, clean me up, KeShawn,” I moan, shocked by the desperation I hear in my voice.

Desperate for his kisses.

Desperate to feel his tongue run over every inch of my body.

Desperate to know what it feels like to have KeShawn Davis thrusting his monster dick in and out of any and every hole in my body he wishes. If I’m honest with myself, my resolve is fading, and I could no longer listen to KeShawn fuck those other women through the paper-thin walls of our apartment without wanting a taste.

KeShawn slides to his knees, bringing himself to eye level with my breasts. He toys with my left nipple as he licks the mound of my right breast, his coarse facial hair feeling delicious against my soft skin. I nearly splinter into pieces from the sensation of his hot wet mouth and the flicks of his tongue as he sucks on my erect nipple. I feel pure ecstasy, closing my eyes and digging my fingernails into the kitchen counter while KeShawn’s skillful mouth enjoys every suck, lick, kiss, and taste of Dr. Pepper from my breasts.

But Keshawn’s blissful torture of my body doesn’t end there. He slides his free hand up my inner thighs until it connects with my throbbing, needy, swollen clitoris. He pinches my clit through the cotton of my panties, slowly stroking it in a circular motion causing my entire body to quiver.

“Your pussy is so wet for your husband that your panties are soaked for me, baby,” he says against my nipple. The vibrations from his deep voice caused my hot, wet core to clench around emptiness. He strokes his thumb back and forth across my clitoris through the fabric as he swaps between the suckling of my nipples and runs his tongue between the valley of my breasts. My body quivers between his touch, my knees feel like they’re about to give out, and I’ll no longer be able to hold up the weight of my body.

I focus on the pleasure he gives my body with his tongue and fingers. I suck in my lower stomach as the heat begins to build at the base of my spine as a second heartbeat springs to life between my thighs as my clitoris erratically throbs fast under his erotic caresses. I feel as if my soul takes flight from my body as I scream my orgasm at the top of my lungs.

I opened my eyes, my body slumped over in KeShawn’s lap. He’s now sitting sprawled out on the kitchen floor, having caught me when my body collapsed on top of his from the power of my orgasm. I kiss him hard on the lips, allowing our tongues to dance together as I wrap my arms around his neck. I rub my soaking hot wet pussy across the feel of his erection that I’m currently straddling. He gently pulls me away from his body, placing his forehead against mine.

“Rory, I want to fuck you until one of us has to tap out from exhaustion. But I’m not going to do it in front of this camera. It’s dark, and I tried to shield your body as best I could earlier, but I don’t want anyone else to get off on you cumming except me, baby. I’ve fantasized about you riding my dick since the first time I saw you in all your cute costumes for gaming. I need you, wifey. Please come to my room, and we can use the consent thingy to get it poppin’, girl. I’ll fuck you so good,” KeShawn begs, rubbing his hands up and down my arms, not wanting to break our physical connection just yet.

I gently pull away from KeShawn’s embrace, trying to get a good view of his facial features in the darkened room. I can barely make them out, with only the soft glow from the television as my light source. My pussy flutters at the thought of fucking KeShawn, but my heart clenches at the ramifications of what if I cross this boundary with my husband—pretend husband, actually.

Over the past few weeks, the lines between reality and the pretend acts of intimacies with this marriage practicum became blurry.

How much more muddy could the lines get between KeShawn and me before I couldn’t handle it any longer? What if it’s the catalyst that makes me fall for this gorgeous man?

Would I allow myself to have a fun hook-up with this man, knowing his heart belongs to another woman? Or would my heart get crushed if I willingly crossed this line?

God, my body craved KeShawn’s dick, and listening to his Sexcapades slowly drove me insane.

“Rory, What do you want to do? Your bedroom or mine, wifey,” KeShawn questions, again pulling me out of my introspection.

What would be my choice?

Do I choose what would probably be the greatest sex of my life or to protect my heart?

I swear I broke Keshawn, and I don’t mean in a hot, sexy kind of way.

I couldn’t bring myself to have sex with KeShawn on Halloween night. That night tortures every second of my day, not even providing me with much-needed reprieve at night. His disappointed expression haunts me in my sleep. When I fumbled through my rejection, he looked deflated and humiliated. Two emotions I knew well and that no one wanted to feel about sex.

He had put himself out there and became vulnerable, and I rejected him, which probably not only bruised a dude like Keyshawn’s ego but broke a piece of his soul. The worst part of the situation is that he probably took my “I’m not ready” and “not tonight” as a definitive “fuck no” or “not ever” because I didn’t share his same sexual attraction. But he’d be a big-ass dummy to believe that was the case.

The sexual tension crackled between us like a California wildfire. I couldn’t even be in the same proximity as him without my pussy getting drenched and my nipples puckering from an insatiable arousal. God forbid, this gorgeous chocolate man brushed up against me. When that happened, I instantaneously combusted and had to barricade myself into my room to rub one out until all thoughts of my fake husband were wrenched from my mind as I rode the wave of ecstasy and drained all sorts of batteries.

So, why did I deny my body the fantasy it’d been feverishly demanding me to live out over these past few months?

I mean, I almost said yes.

Hell, cameras be damned!

I almost rode his dick right then and there in the darkness of the kitchen like I was auditioning for the latest Brazzers flick, not giving two fucks what Pornhub premiere we put on for the practicum observers.

However, my heartbeat was faster than the pulsing in my throbbing, needy clitoris that night. I couldn’t bear my heart to be broken by a manwhore jock, not in this lifetime.

Well, at least not—

No, I wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t need to think about that terrible, depressing day.

My heart wouldn’t be able to take the disappointment of the devastation of allowing KeShawn to use my body without giving me a piece of his heart, hell I wanted the entire damn thing. Not even a tiny part of his would suffice.

The lines had blurred. I had undeniably developed very real feelings for my incredibly fake husband. I couldn’t believe it, either. We were the antithesis of each other. We could barely stand to be in the same room as one other when this marriage experiment started. Hell, he was still messy, loud, and fucking obnoxious, but he was a sexy tattooed man with golden retriever boyfriend vibes. The sweetest, most thoughtful guy in the world. Who would’ve thought?

When he let his guard down and shed that cocky, arrogant persona unveiling the real KeShawn Davis, you couldn’t blame me for the turmoil of emotions he made fester inside me.

Damn, I just needed to survive another month and a half, and we could go back to co-existing as if we had never met or lived almost six months as a doting, thriving married couple. This practicum was complete and utter bullshit.

Pfft. Easy A, my ass!

“Aurora, let’s play a game,” Ciara shouts at me over the loud music from her place perched on the sofa's armrest near KeShawn. Her annoyingly bittersweet voice pulled me out of my myriad of thoughts. I shake my head, internally rolling my eyes and hiding my grimace with a sip of the shitty beer in my red Solo cup. Oh yeah, things weren’t only awkward and forced as we tried to keep our points from plummeting so we could pass this class, but Keshawn’s payback had been a total bitch. They say girls are passive-aggressive. Well, a disgruntled man could give any catty chick a run for her money. KeShawn had been dragging my antisocial ass to as many parties as possible. I hated every moment of them.

I tried to wiggle out of this one to stay home and watch Krampus, hoping to start November off right; however, my fake husband had other plans for us. His big, beautiful chocolate brown eyes reduced me to a people pleaser. I couldn’t deny his request when he begged me to come to the kickoff party for the Basketball season, explaining that he’d be clowned by his teammates if he showed up without his wifey. Not only did I feel guilty for rejecting him, sending us both into sexual purgatory, but his big, dark, twinkling eyes were irresistible. Hell, he could probably sell a drowning woman water with just one panty-melting stare and dazzling smile.

“Ah, come on, Rory, it’s just one little drinking game, girl. You’ll be alright,” Trent exclaims, using his Thor strength and big frame to half-carry my petite body to meet the others in the living room. I sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. KeShawn and my eyes collided for a brief moment before averting our gazes. I feel a zing of desire set my blood boiling, sending an electric shockwave to my pulsating clitoris.

A beautiful, pearly white fake smile crosses her face, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. I let out a slow, deep breath, knowing that if I was on this girl’s radar, then it was going to be a rough night for me. Mean girls never leave high school, and they just become raging bitches in every other aspect of their lives as we age. But let’s be real. High school doesn’t ever end. We all live our lives in what feels like a bad 90s teen sitcom.

Ciara picks up the remote and quiets the music to a low background volume.

“Okay, guys, who’s ready for a game of truth or dare,” Ciara asks, her eyes never leaving my face, sending a chill down my spine and causing my stomach to churn with unease.

“Jesus, what are we in the seventh grade at our first boy-girl party? What are you going to suggest next, seven minutes in heaven? What about playing actual college drinking games like quarters or flip cups,” KeShawn responds. My heart grows triple in size at the way he tries to deflect Ciara’s attention from me.

“Oh, baby. You’ll enjoy this game. It’ll be the furthest thing from a middle school party game. Plus, I’m sure not all of us ever experienced those,” Ciara says, her gaze falling back on me, giving me a small smile that causes my skin to burn in shame as if she doused me in battery acid.

“It’ll be fun. Let’s be sure to make it a grown-up version, though. If you refuse a dare or truth, there are no passes. You’ll either have to do a shot, change to the alternative option, or make out with whoever the person who asked the question chooses,” Trent pipes in, egging on Miss Queen of Sass, my newly found tormentor. Ciara gives Trent a huge smile. This girl seriously loves to be the center of attention and get her way. I openly roll my eyes at their antics, finishing off my beer because I would need some liquid courage to get through this bullshit.

“Sweet little Sorensen, you first,” Ciara says, passing me a green Jello shot in case I decide to pass. I take it from her, and my heart beats a mile a minute, waiting for her to ask me those three annoying words. “Truth or Dare sweetie,” Ciara asks, each word dripping with poisonous venom, dropping into the vacant seat next to KeShawn, practically sitting in his lap, her small boobs, which are no competition for mine, thrust into his face.

“Truth,” I answer, unwilling to back down to my new, unexpected college nemesis.

“Don’t you think KeShawn and I make the hottest couple,” she purrs, biting KeShawn’s earlobe. He looks uncomfortable but plays it off with a small smile, refusing to let his “big man around campus” façade slip. I feel a fury course through my body. Hell, maybe I’m slightly green with envy because this beautiful girl may own his heart, and he chooses to spend time with her willingly, whereas I only get his attention for beeps on a fucking electric screen to pass a class.

Instead, I sarcastically answer, “Yes, the hottest! You’d have gorgeous babies.” KeShawn grins at my sarcasm while Ciara’s green orbs turn into small slits on her gorgeous face as I give her a sickeningly sweet smile as if to say bring it bitch.

The questions go back and forth between the intimate circle for what feels like eons. The truths and dares get wilder, sexier, and more intense as inhibitions are lowered from how slushed everyone is getting. I’d taken a few Jello shots here and there to avoid having to do crude sexual acts or flash my tits; watching KeShawn’s body language tense every time a guy made sexual advances toward me gave me an inkling of hope that my feelings weren’t one-sided. Yet, his subtle actions didn’t go unnoticed by Ciara, making her unsheathe her claws and go after me relentlessly at every opportunity.

“Sweet little Sorensen, truth or dare,” Ciara asks, practically draping her body over KeShawn’s, her body language screaming louder than words, “Touch him bitch, and you’ll die.” If she only knew everywhere his lips had been on my body, she’d probably blow a gasket. Now, I’d love to witness it because it’d take this boring ass party to an entirely new level. Maybe make it actually worthwhile.

“Truth,” I boldly answer, my eyes not wavering from her sneer. I hold my breath as a sinister smile slides across her face.

“Do you touch yourself to thoughts of KeShawn,” Ciara asks, making me feel the heat rise up my neck as my entire body breaks out in goosebumps.

Oh. My. Fucking. Gosh! How does she know?

I hope it’s just a lucky guess since pretty much everyone had the hots for KeShawn. And not that he’s heard me flicking my bean and silently screaming his name. Fuck. If he has and he’s told her, then who else knows?

“Dare,” I blurt out, not trusting myself to respond. I feel KeShawn’s hot glare on my face, but I refuse to give him eye contact.

Ciara shrugs her slender shoulders, not missing a beat. She gives a cheeky grin before demanding, “Make out with Trent.”

I turn to face Trent. This wasn’t the worst dare in the world. He was hot. Maybe a mini make-out session with Trent would help clear the confusing thoughts of KeShawn from my mind. Trent gives me a wink before dragging me across the floor until I’m practically seated in his lap.

“Okay, Billie Eilish, show me what you got,” he jokes, his words slurring, causing me to giggle nervously. His lips press against mine. But they feel all wrong. They feel rubbery and disgusting—nothing like my fake husband's soft, full, confident lips. As the kiss continues, Trent manages to slip his tongue into my mouth, making me want to vomit as I taste the stale cheap beer-flavored hotdog on his tongue—maybe it’s a Frito pie flavor?

Trent is the worst kisser of all time. It’s like his tongue is trying to remove a piece of chicken salad sandwich that got stuck at the roof of my mouth. Oh, fuck no. I can’t do this anymore. I literally feel my dinner rising up my throat.

I try to pull away, but he holds me tighter, forcing me to the ground as he fumbles under my shirt. I try to bat his hands away as he attempts to grope my breasts with his sweaty palms.

Fuck! This man really needs to learn social cues; I think to myself as I try to squirm my way from beneath his big frame.

I hear a loud thud as the heat of Trent’s body disappears.

“What the fuck Trent. Couldn’t you tell that she didn’t want you touching her? Don’t ever put your hands on my wife again,” KeShawn shouts at Trent, who’s rubbing his jaw from where KeShawn sucker punched the hell out of him, his eyes ablaze with rage.

“Let’s just go, KeShawn. I’m tired,” I mutter, pulling on his forearm as leverage to rise to my feet.

“She’s your fake wife. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, KeShawn. We’re just having a little fun, baby,” Ciara chimes from her seat on the couch.

KeShawn clutches me to his side before turning to give Ciara his full attention. He tells her parting remarks that make my insides do a happy dance, “Insecurity isn’t a good look on anyone, sweetheart.” Ciara’s eyes widen, and she practically turns green at his remark.

I give her a big smile and waltz out of the party with KeShawn.

Ciara can officially kiss my ass. I think I might just throw my hat in the ring for KeShawn’s heart.

I feel like I can finally release the breath I’ve been holding when we step foot back into the safe haven of our apartment. Time we walk through the threshold, it’s as if the tension has entirely left my body. Tonight’s party made me feel as if I were transported back to high school. This is why I prefer my virtual reality and the excitement and peace I get from being a gamer.

“So, you think about me when you're all alone and flicking your bean, huh, wifey,” KeShawn teases, flopping down on the couch and patting the spot beside him, beckoning me over.

I freeze slightly, losing my composure. Shit? Is this a “ha-ha but really” situation? I know you play with your kitty while I fuck women in the room next to you? And I know the real reason you spend so long in the shower is because you’re using the showerhead to get off to thoughts of me fucking you? Or is KeShawn honestly trying to feel me out? Is this his way of using Ciara’s asshole interrogation to see if I’m attracted to him like he professed he was to me on Halloween night?

Fuck! Ciara and her mind games. She’s clearly the Regina George of fucking Willowbrook University. It’s like she knows my secrets and is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to crush me. Ciara wants KeShawn badly, and I know she won’t let this silly class assignment get in the way of her becoming a future baller’s wife. I found women like her super nauseating, the ones who only come to college for an M.R.S. degree. But, she was worst of all because of her sickening air of entitlement and need to clout chase, making her vindictive, conniving, and one hell of an enemy.

But I’m not some weak bitch. If I can fight The Orphan Of Kos in Bloodborne and come out on top, then I can defeat whatever games this bitchy mean girl wants to play. I’m not the same naïve high school girl anymore, wanting to not feel different from the rest of the crowd.

I let out a deep breath, composing myself, and responded, “Please, KeShawn, only in your dreams.”

“Damn right! You’re all I dream about, wifey,” Keshawn states matter-of-factly. My heart skips a few beats, causing my footsteps to falter. My mind becomes sex fevered, the electricity crackling between us when our eyes connect from across the room. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes darken with desire causing my pussy to throb with sexual want as I feel myself begin to drip with arousal. I’m craving dick so bad, particularly my fake husband’s monster dick. The one I’ve spent months listening to girls scream is so good, as I live vicariously through them while fucking myself in the room next door.

But can I trust myself to give in to KeShawn without expecting it to be more than the horny hormones we feel for one another because we’re trapped together in this contrived scenario? I can’t afford to catch feelings for someone I could never have. KeShawn was nice tonight, saving me from Trent and calling Ciara out on her bitchy behavior, but what if it’s all just pretend?

My skin prickles with thoughts from high school that I forcefully push out of my mind, sick of being a prisoner to my past. However, those annoying memories are replaced with a more recent one.

Ball is life, wifey.

His words meander back into my mind from the day he decided to truly take this assignment seriously because he didn’t want to risk not being able to play because of a failing grade. So, his motives are highly incentivized, and if he could get easy pussy under one roof, that’d be the best outcome for my fake husband. I needed to get a grip on myself. I promised myself I’d never get so caught up in relationships with others again. I can’t be losing my shit over a jock, of all people.

I shake my head and snort, “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you meet Thumper, my trusty rabbit vibe.”

“You’ll let me watch you play with your pretty pussy wifey? I’d love a front-row seat to see how you fuck yourself. Because when you’re ready, I’m going to fuck you so damn good, you’ll realize I’m the only toy you need,” KeShawn eagerly responds. I laugh aloud, rolling my eyes at his typical guy's statement about sex toys.

“Maybe I’ll teach you how good it can be with adding one of my battery-operated boyfriends,” I joke, heading toward my bedroom. All this talk about him and the things he could do to my body had me so fucking turned on I needed Thumper to provide me some relief.

I jump in shock as KeShawn’s hand covers mine as I place my thumbprint on the door handle to gain access to my room. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and my erratic heartbeat.

I look at the plea in those gorgeous chocolate eyes.

Him begging to be a spectator of my sexcapades.

Him begging for a way out of this sexual purgatory, hoping I’ll throw him a lifeline to pull him out of this torturous hell of sexual tension that swirls between us. 

My body surges with lust as if it’s the kerosene to set my body aflame with strong sexual want. I can no longer deny my body and KeShawn’s wants—hell, what we both want.

I go to my desk and grab the small rectangular bodycam-sized device, turning it on. The small bright red light flashes at me, and I hold it up to record KeShawn’s consent. He gives a broad grin, striding over with more confidence in his steps than I had seen since before my Halloween rejection of him.

“I consent,” he states into the box, allowing it to record before turning it off and tossing it into my desk drawer. He barrels out of my room, and in the blink of an eye, he returns holding his same device, and I repeat his actions.

He tosses his consent device next to mine in the desk drawer before closing my bedroom door. The moment I hear the lock engaged, it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. I feel my skin heat, and my heart gets ready to take flight out of my chest.

Oh shit! This is really happening.

I pull my black skull tank over my head, revealing my pale creamy breasts that are barely contained by my red lacy bra to KeShawn, who lets out a low throaty whistle from the back of his throat. I unzip and kick off my black platform combat boots, taking my time undressing, trying to calm my nerves. I roll my black leggings down my thighs. I stand in front of KeShawn in nothing but my red lace G-string. His pupils are blown as he drinks in my petite, curvaceous frame on display for him. It’s the first time he’s seen my practically naked frame illuminated by light. I see appraisal in his eyes as he licks his full lips, causing my hard, erect nipples to pucker even tighter under his heated gaze. He sucks in a sharp breath when I turn my back to him, putting my voluptuous ass on full display for this man.

I hook my thumbs into the flimsy strings of the thin lace, digging into my hips, and shimmy out of a scrap of fabric. I bend over at the waist as I scrummage around the inside of my end table, looking for my trusty thrusting rabbit.

I feel my soaking wet pussy coat my inner thighs from the feeling of KeShawn’s heated gaze on my slippery folds. I turn on the vibrator, letting out one last breath channeling SirenofSorcery, my gamer alter ego, because playing with my hot horny wet pussy for KeShawn would be similar to a Twitch performance, minus the clothes, of course. I face KeShawn, rubbing the thrusting vibe on my hard, erect nipples, allowing a gasp of ecstasy to fall from my lips. KeShawn spins my desk chair around to face the bed, sprawling out his big body, making himself comfortable, ready to enjoy the show.

“Lay on the bed, wifey, and spread those thighs for me. Let me see that sexy wet pussy of yours,” KeShawn unabashedly states, making my body tremor from excitement.

Who knew I had a streak of exhibitionism in me that KeShawn had awakened? I lay on the bed, spreading my legs wide, butterflying my knees, revealing my puffy pink pussy to him. I knew I was glistening between my thighs before even stroking myself.

“You’re so fucking nice and wet for me. I can’t wait for the moment you let me slide my dick through that velvet heaven of yours,” Keshawn says, causing my clitoris to quiver.

“Now suck on the rabbit; get it nice and wet with your mouth first, baby,” KeShawn requests, and wanting to please him and loving his attention, I lick, suck, and deep throat the silicone vibe the different ways I’ve dreamt of having KeShawn’s manhood filling my mouth and stroking the back of my throat. 

Once it’s nice and wet with my saliva, I tease him by rubbing it against my sternum, allowing it to snuggle between my tits. The tits I crave to wrap around Keshawn’s dick for a good titty fuck. I grab the lube from my bedroom end table, and I slather my thrusting rabbit with the Liquid Sex until it’s slick enough for my wet hot needy pussy that’s desperate to be filled. I run the vibrator over my pussy lips, letting out low moans of sexual bliss as I let it circle my clit. The different vibrations tease my throbbing clitoris until I’m teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

“Fuck yourself,” KeShawn says through labored breathing, practically startling me. When I get so turned on and hyper-focused on my pleasure, solely focusing on my fingers stroking my pussy, I forget there’s an outside world still in existence.

I place the vibrator around the opening to my hot, wet, throbbing center. Stroking and teasing my pussy with shallow thrusts, causing my breath to hitch in my throat with each breathy moan that escaped my parted lips. I look over to make eye contact with KeShawn, and my mouth runs dry at the sight of his beautiful hard massive erect dick that he’s stroking with his big palm. His eyes are hooded, making him all the more sexy because of the pleasure drunken expression on his face. 

“Forget I’m here and enjoy yourself, wifey. Fill your pussy with that toy. Fuck yourself hard. I want you screaming; I want you to fuck yourself until I hear my name on your lips,” KeShawn challenges, picking up his pace as he palms his ginormous dick.

Hm. It seems like he wants a competition to see who can hit climax first.

Well, challenge accepted. I turn up the thrust and speed of the rabbit’s vibrations. I slowly push my rabbit inside my tight pussy, then begin trusting in and out. I fuck myself hard and fast with it, focusing on the delicious sensations of it massaging my g-spot as the arm sucks on my clitoris. Subconsciously I begin thrusting my hips as I ride my vibrator to ecstasy, being egged on by KeShawn’s heavy breathing as my pussy clamps around the sex toy when my body barrels towards waves of ecstasy as I throw myself over the cliff of pleasure.

I let out a high-pitched shriek as my cum coats my hand, as my orgasm hits me in intense waves. I slowly pull my vibrator from between my thighs as I hear Keshawn groan out his own orgasm. I lay sweaty, satiated and spent on my bed. I feel Keshawn’s looming presence before I see it. He softly tweaks my left nipple, causing me to writhe with pleasure as I open my eyes, watching Keshawn lick my pussy juices from my vibrator like it’s the most delicious dessert he’s ever tasted.

“Mm, as good as I remember. Your pussy is sweet like honey, wifey,” KeShawn whispers, placing the rabbit on my end table and kissing my forehead softly.

“Next time you orgasm, baby, I’ll keep you coming all night with my dick,” Keshawn promises. He gives me a sly smile and a wink before leaving my bedroom. Damn, that was the hottest sexual experience of my life. I can’t think of a time I’ve ever cum so hard, if at all.

If KeShawn could help me get to one of the best orgasms of my life simply from watching, demanding, and stroking himself, how hard would I cum with his dick buried deep inside my pussy?

I desperately wanted to be fucked by my fake husband, and I didn’t think after tonight I could hold back any longer.

Regardless of the emotional warning bells going off in my head, I wanted Keshawn so bad, consequences be damned.

I rolled my eyes at KeShawn as our last dinner guest left our apartment. Unfortunately, that said uninvited dinner guest was none other than the Queen Bee herself, Ciara Foster. I had the pleasure of not only entertaining a flirty Trent and a few of KeShawn’s other teammates, but I had a sickening front-row seat to watching Ciara’s thirsty attention-seeking actions. I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t experiencing secondhand embarrassment for the girl who reeked desperation like a stale bottle of convenience store perfume.

“I never thought they leave, especially your fan club president,” I bite out through clenched teeth, causing KeShawn to quirk an eyebrow at me.

“Me, neither. I am so ready to collect my prize. It’s cute you thought you would beat me in a little home-cooking competition. Despite my earlier jokes about you cooking and cleaning, I grew up with just my mom. I am highly capable of running an entire household,” KeShawn whispers, kissing my neck as I finish the dishes. The scoreboard beeps as we receive another point, causing me to jump out of KeShawn’s embrace.

“Well, we didn’t even need your buddies to come over and judge our dishes. You could’ve saved me from the embarrassment. The moment I bit into your hamburger, I was like, wow, if basketball doesn’t work out for him, he can definitely become a professional chef,” I responded, fiddling with the dishrag, pretending to wipe down the kitchen countertop. KeShawn snatches the dishrag from my hand, forcing me to give him my full attention.

Damn, my competitive streak. I wouldn’t have agreed to this bet had I thought he would actually win at cooking a meal alone. He had me under the impression that if left to his own devices in the kitchen, he would likely burn boiling water. I face my beautiful fake golden retriever husband attempting my best bitch face, yet, he sees right through my shit, causing me to burst into laughter when he gives my nose a gentle flick.

“Since you lost the bet,” he begins, causing me to suck in a breath. My mouth waters at the thought of him wanting to use my mouth as his personal cum dumpster for a week. But what he says completely takes me by surprise, “I want you to come to my first game of the season dressed like my personal hoop hoe.”

A hoop hoe? Is he serious? What. The. Fuck. Is. That? Not to mention what misogynistic piece of shit created that label for a woman.

Reading the disgust and confusion on my face, KeShawn rushes through his explanation, “Yeah, so football has cleat chasers, baseball has baseball Annies, hockey has puck bunnies-“ I hold up my hand, not needing to hear anymore. He asked me to dress like a basketball groupie because I lost this damn bet. I swear the world as we know it was ending if he thought I’d reduce myself to such a sexist, degrading position in his life.

“So, are you raiding your precious CiCi’s closet for me because I have no earthly idea how to dress for a basketball game, let alone like a basketball hoochie,” I say, the word “hoochie” feeling foreign as it slipped from my lips causing KeShawn to kill over with laughter.

“Well, I’m not going to lie. I already knew I would win our little cooking competition because outside of lasagna and spaghetti, wifey, let’s be honest, you really aren’t the best cook,” KeShawn states, dragging me by the hand to his bedroom. I let out a huff, thinking about how this man had hustled me because he knew I’d never willingly show up to his basketball game, especially dressed like what he deemed a “hoop hoe”.

When he opens the door, I see a pair of black thigh-high boots and an oversized royal blue and crimson basketball jersey laid out on his bed with what I assumed to be his number. My jaw hits the ground, not only because he wants me to dress like a THOT at one of his basketball games but because he wants me to be there dressed as his number one fan. Maybe the lines of this fake relationship were blurring for him, too. Butterflies took flight in my stomach as I imagined the sliver of a possibility that if we discussed our feelings, maybe he’d want to be more than just a fake relationship for an experiential learning assignment.

KeShawn rubs my cheek, cupping my face with his big palm and tilting my head so that my eyes meet his gaze.

“Look, pretend for me, please, wifey. Pretend that you’re a fan of my favorite sport. It’ll just be like when you dress up in costumes for your video game streams. What did Trent call it, cosplaying? Cosplay like you’re my hoop hoe. Pretend just for the day that you’re a fan of mine. It’ll help me play better than ever before because I have this gut feeling that you’ll be my good luck charm,” KeShawn whispers, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

“I’ll play pretend like I’m your hoop hoe because I don’t know if I can get on board that sexist train. Nor do I see an audition for WAGs in my future, but I don’t have to pretend to be a fan, KeShawn. I’m already your biggest fan. I’m your wifey,” I declare, feeling the blush creep up my neck.

KeShawn’s thumb strokes my cheek before his head descends, devouring my mouth in a hot, searing kiss. He makes my head spin as he deepens the kiss, drawing my body into his as our tongues tangle. We make out for what feels like hours before he breaks our kiss, allowing me to come up for air.

“Let me make love to you,” he asks, staring into the deep blues of my eyes. I nod my head slowly, not allowing him to protest as I drag him from his bedroom and into mine. When KeShawn fucks me, I don’t want it to be on a bed that he’s screwed tons of other faceless girls. I want it to mean something, so it has to be in my bedroom on a bed untainted by memories of other women.

I pull out our consent devices, and we go through the same motions as the last time we were in my room together. Once both recording devices are safely turned off, and back in my desk drawer, we begin to undress each other in my dimly lit room.

When we’re both naked, KeShawn kisses me senselessly, picking me up by the globes of my ass cheeks and tossing me down on my mattress like I’m weightless. He kneels on the floor at the edge of the bed, pulling me toward him. He licks his lips as his eyes hungrily peruse my naked body. He spreads my legs wide, eager to devour my pussy, and pushes my knees back to the sides of my breasts so I’m folded in half. Keshawn sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine as he licks me from my perineum to the top of my mound. He suckles my clitoris into his hot, wet mouth, igniting my body on fire with desire.

I loudly gasped as he licked his way down my slick folds to swirl his tongue around the opening of my hot, wet core. He fucks my pussy with his mouth as he rubs the pad of his tongue in a circular motion around my engorged clitoris. KeShawn tortures me with his tongue tricks as he switches between sucking on my clit, nibbling on my pussy lips, and stroking his big thick fingers in and out of my vagina. I feel my orgasm begin to build as he sucks my clitoris harder, thrusting two fingers in and out of my tight opening, readying me for his huge dick. When I feel myself shoot off like a rocket, KeShawn slides his dick into me mid-orgasm causing me to let out a shrill scream of ecstasy as I feel his dick slide over every sensitive nerve endings of my insides.

He picks me up off the bed, looping his forearms under the bend of my knees, holding me by the globes of my ass cheeks with his massive dick buried deep inside me. He sucks on the pulse point of my neck hard, marking me with a love bite before slightly bending his knees to thrust into me deep and hard. I wrap my arms around his neck to secure myself to his body as he relentlessly pounds into my slick wet pussy. The angle at which his ginormous dick slams against my G-spot is absolutely hypnotic. I see why these women leave our apartment smitten and dickmatized by my fake husband. I can’t think about anything other than how good it feels to have KeShawn thrusting into me as my overly sensitive nipples scrape across his chest hair. When I don’t think sex could get any better, he sits down on the edge of my bed, allowing me to straddle his hips as he guides me up and down his big, thick erection. My clitoris hits his pelvis just right in this position, making my eyes roll to the back of my head.

Unsurprisingly, KeShawn tops from the bottom, his mouth sucking on my nipples with my every downward thrust on his dick; he bucks upward, our bodies moving together in sensual synchrony. Another orgasm builds as I roll my hips back and forth in a circular motion. KeShawn reaches between us, stroking my clitoris with his thumb until I’m a writhing convulsing mess cuming hard and fast on his dick. My pussy clenches around him in a death grip milking his dick as he picks up his pace, pounding into me hard as he shoots his release into his condom and shouts his orgasm between the valley of my huge tits. I lay limp and sweaty against his hot, slick skin until I felt both our heartbeats begin to slow.

He gently lifts me off his dick, laying my body on the bed. I feel a sense of loss when he disappears out of the room, but he quickly returns, having disposed of the condom. I feel a warm, wet towel slide between my thighs as he gently cleans me up. Once KeShawn is done washing away proof of my sexual release, he snuggles behind me, resting my head on his forearm.

“You’re the best wifey ever. Even if we had made enough points at midterm, I still would’ve stayed partnered with you, Rory. Otherwise, I’d missed you too much,” KeShawn says, causing my heart to melt. I’d spend the next few days pinching myself because, at this moment, I don’t think I’m the only one who’s caught feelings in this fake marriage.

If he'd let me, I’d be more than just his pretend hoop hoe. I’d love to be more a part of his world in a real way, not just in a fake wifey kind of way.

I had to look absolutely perfect for tonight’s basketball game.

I wanted to look like a very sexy Billie Eilish on the cover of British Vogue, dazzled with her badass vibes from the Met Gala all rolled up in one. If KeShawn were counting on me to show up and to be his good luck charm for the first game of his season, then I’d be the hottest hoop hoe for my pretend husband in the entire Willowbrook University basketball arena.

I spent hours on my appearance, not wanting to let my man down. I watched what felt like a zillion YouTube beauty tutorials and curled and primmed my hair to within an inch of my life. I probably used so much fucking hairspray I created holes within holes in the ozone layer. And I think I mastered this whole hoop hoe look because when I walked into the arena for the first time in my life, people weren’t looking at me like I was a freakish outcast but as if I were the hottest chick in the building. It probably didn’t hurt that I wore a jersey with the star player’s number that barely covered my ass and hugged my curves like a second skin.

I felt awkward and like a stranger in my own skin, but the lust-filled gaze and broad smile that crossed KeShawn’s face when he spotted me during the warm-ups made it worthwhile. He gave me a wink, blowing me a kiss before running into the locker room to get ready for the main event. There were whispers in the crowd trying to figure out who I was to KeShawn, and I’m pretty sure I was the envy of many girls in the stands vying for his attention.

I was proving to be his good luck charm by the third quarter; they were up fifteen points to their opponent. It was as if KeShawn grew wings while on the court. I wasn’t a basketball fan, but watching him move and shoot on the court held me in a trance because he was an absolute fucking beast. The man played like Lebron on the court. It was like watching a real-life version of NBA 2k24, and I’d definitely consider coming to watch him play all season if he wanted me at every game.

Hell, I’d even dress like his hoop hoe, too, if he thought it’d help him bring home a victory every time his presence graced a basketball arena.

I watched as he dribbled the ball through his legs in a crossover thingy, and then when he pulled back, raising his arms to shoot, that’s when it happened.

The beeping of the hospital room machines pulled me out of my introspection about the events leading up to the moment I became his not-so-lucky opening game charm.

KeShawn’s face grimaced in pain even though the IV bags were working overtime, pushing painkillers into his bloodstream.

I held on to his hand tighter, trying not to wince when he squeezed my hand in a bone-crushing grip for the umpteenth time tonight.

I close my eyes, thinking about the terrible game-changing event when he got collared by the throat by an opposing player, knocking him to the ground. While it was a dirty play, it wouldn’t have been potentially career-ending had his knee not twisted to the right when the rest of his body collapsed in a pile to the left. The pop was so excruciatingly loud, and his high-pitched screams of anguish vibrated off the walls in loud echoes throughout the college basketball coliseum. At that moment, the world screeched to a deafening halt around me, my heart breaking for the man I love on the basketball court. I knew that if he were severely injured, not only would his knee be shattered, but his NBA dreams would be left in tiny tatters on that basketball court.

What the fuck, Rory? Love?

I realized I loved KeShawn the moment I saw the worst day of his life play out before my eyes, feeling every ounce of his pain that only tethered souls could feel for one another, and mine was definitely tied to KeShawn Davis’s soul.

“Wifey,” KeShawn rasps, his eyes wide with anguish peered into mine, making my heart snap in two.

“Yeah, KeShawn,” I whispered, moving closer to him, trying to offer him what comfort I could in the confines of the small area of the emergency room curtained-off triage bay.

“I’m scared. W-w-what if it’s all-,” he stuttered, closing his eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears clogging his throat from falling. He wanted to be strong even in one of the most fearful, painful, and uncertain times of his life. I patted his hand as I placed a soft kiss on his lips. His mother had to fly in from Chicago, so I would stay with him until she arrived.

“KeShawn, you’re amazing at so many things. Your life won’t be over if you can’t play ball, even if you think ball is life, hon. But, regardless, I got you no matter the outcome. You won’t have to get through this alone,” I muttered, touching my forehead to his.

“Rory, I couldn’t ask for a better wifey, baby,” KeShawn loudly whispers, stroking my damp cheek with his free hand, wiping away the tears I silently cried for him.

“KeShawn, I need you to kn-,” I begin my declaration, but I’m interrupted by the loud opening of the curtain, causing me to jump away from the hospital bed in shock.

“Oh, My Goodness! KeShawn! I ran over here as fast as I could. Getting through the stadium traffic was no joke. Baby, I’m so sorry,” Ciara wails, throwing her body across KeShawn’s chest. KeShawn lets out a deep breath, the way his eyes light up when he sees Ciara throw my ass for a loop. I’m unsure if she’s the one he truly wants by his side if I were just a stand-in, or if he needs as many people in his corner during this devastating moment as possible.

Maybe he partly blames me.

Maybe he sees me as a curse because he’d managed not to get any major injuries until the night I showed up to his last first game playing for Willowbrook University. I’m glued to the spot as I watch Ciara fuss over him as I fade to the background. I feel like a voyeur watching an intimate moment between two true lovers, possibly soul mates.

What if I had begun taking the marriage practicum too seriously?

There’s a possibility the great sex and the real and fake acts of intimacy were going to my head, causing me to put meaning to platonic moments or seeing romantic feelings from KeShawn that didn’t exist in real life. This class assignment could be warping my reality. At times, I felt like I was living on two contradicting planes set in the same universe with my dealings with KeShawn.

KeShawn had wanted Ciara at the beginning of this experiential learning assignment, and she had been a looming presence the entire time we’ve been living as a married couple. Could I have misconstrued his actions and her attention toward him in a way my mind wanted to perceive the events?

I had opened my heart to KeShawn in an authentic way that he potentially wouldn’t for me because Ciara is the girl he’s possibly wanted this entire time.

She’s his real life happily ever after—the WAG he sees in his future.

Shit, am I the idiot that will be the ass of yet another jock’s cruel joke?

Had I stupidly fallen again for a man with real feelings for someone else because he’d just been pretending all this time with me just to ace our fake marriage assignment?

I didn’t know if I could handle another heartbreak because what if he chose Ciara over me?

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