"Aw, shoot, babe," Dawson murmurs, not sounding particularly upset as he looks into the drawer of his nightstand where we usually keep the supplies for my overnight visits. "Looks like we're all out of condoms. I guess I must have forgot to buy some more after last time." He rolls back over to me, stretching out on the bed just a little in ways that draw attention to the massive, straining erection in his boxer shorts. "Don't worry. There's still plenty we can do, and of course we can always just relax and cuddle if that's what you'd prefer."

I open my mouth, but I can't find anything to say except for a petulant insistence that I don't want to do other things and I don't want to relax and cuddle. I want Dawson's big thick dick inside me, filling up my cunt nice and tight and railing me until I'm so goddamn stupid for his cock that I can't think of anything but fucking, and it's only when the option is denied to me that I realize just how... there's no other word for it, how conditioned I am to getting a good hard pussy pounding every time I come over to his place. I am absolutely craving his prick. All the other ideas I might have for the evening are rolling downhill into the void created by the absence of it, and it's only when I feel a little droplet of drool landing on my hand that I realize just how long I've been simply staring at the bulge in his underwear.

"It's okay, babe," Dawson purrs to me, shifting position to display his muscled chest and the farmer's tan he's developed from working construction these last few months. "I know this is a boundary for you, and I'm happy to respect that." There's a tiny smirk on his face as he speaks, as though he thinks I'm too dumb to know what he's doing to me--what he's been doing to me for a long time now, honestly, although I don't think I put all the pieces together fully until tonight when it's already too late to do anything about it. He's been training me on his... oh fuck, on his big, hard, rutting cock... and now he's testing me to see if I can resist the urge to have unprotected sex with him.

That doesn't mean he's lying. I know Dawson, we've been dating for over a year now, and if I told him I legitimately wasn't comfortable raw-dogging it with him he'd smile and give me a kiss on the cheek and finger me or eat my pussy or even yes, just snuggle up to me and go to sleep. But I also know he's offering me all those options so freely and openly because he knows my whole goddamn brain is being dragged down by the weight of my utter fucking need for his big stiff prick and there's no way this night doesn't end with me deciding it's worth the risk just this once to screw him without a condom.

And if I do... oh wow. Oh god is he going to fuck me senseless. He's going to make sure to give me a nice big jackpot treat for giving up and letting him slide in raw and next time it'll be impossible to say no to him. Dawson is a straight-up menace with that dick of his, not just bigger than most of the toys I could buy in a store but talented to boot. Every time I come over, he teases me just a little bit longer and a little bit more sadistically with the promise of getting my cunt stuffed with that monster of his; and every time I wind up flat on my back with my legs spread, mewling and whimpering and literally begging him to fuck me. It's been creeping up on me so gradually that I never really thought about how much of my willpower drooled out of my pussy whenever I got close to that big cock of his, and now that I finally realize it I know I passed the point of no return ages ago.

And it hasn't just been the teasing, either. All the little pet names he has for me, the offers to pick me up on his way home from work so I don't have to make the drive myself after a long day on my feet at the restaurant, the meals he cooks for me whenever I'm here and the free and easy comforts of home he puts into place to make his house feels so cozy and safe and secure... it's subtly infantilizing. Not in a rude or a patronizing way, he's never suggested I'm incapable of doing things for myself, but it's always just a little bit easier to let him do it for me. I never caught on to how completely I'd fallen into that habit of dependence until now, when there's a problem he's not offering a solution to and all I can do is just lie there staring at his cock and drooling instead of thinking of something to do about it.

Because I'm legit stuck right now. I'm having an honest-to-god blonde moment, so fucking dicknotized by the outline of my boyfriend's cock beneath the fabric of his boxers that I'm reliant on Dawson to offer a solution to the problem of a fuck-free evening and the only answer he's offering, even in the form of ruling it out because he knows I couldn't possibly agree to it, is to open my gaping pussy wide for his prick to push inside me skin to skin. And without him to fill in that fucking goddamn crater in my head where the smarts should be, I can't figure out what else to do.

He reaches out and gives me a little pat on the shoulder, and it's only when the touch brings me back to reality that I realize I've just been spacing out and drooling at the outline of his cock for nearly three full minutes now. "Relax, babe," he says, and it slowly dawns on me that there's a muzzy smudge in my head where my actual name should be. "There's no pressure here. You just do whatever feels comfortable and natural and peaceful to you, and of course I'll respect whatever decision you make." Again there's that tiny little hint of a smug, self-satisfied smirk, nothing I could really call him on but enough to tell me that he knows I'm not making any decisions right now. My pussy is. I don't even think I've got veto power.

Even the way he stresses certain words, like 'comfortable' and 'peaceful' and 'relax', is starting to feel faintly sinister and I wonder how long he's been emphasizing them in conversation whenever we're alone together. It hits me that he pitches his voice differently when he's talking to me than when he's talking to his friends, a soothing baritone burr that always feels like a warm bath for my brain and wraps me up in cozy indolence as soon as I get into his car. He's... fuck, he's been training me, and I'm so happy and horny that I can't even get mad about it. I just want to fuck, and the realization that I can't right now smacks me like a splash of cold water in the face.

I mean... maybe I can't. Sure, Dawson's probably going to use this to persuade me it's not such a big deal to fuck without a condom from now on, and yeah, I didn't even bother to check my period tracker before I came over because Dawson's always been so good about using protection that I didn't even worry about whether I was ovulating or not. But one night probably isn't going to hurt, is it? One load in my wet, needy pussy. I, it's practically nothing. The odds have to be pretty good, all things considered.

And, and if anything does happen, I've got options. I can always grab some Plan B tomorrow on my way to class, just in case I do stumble out of this fog of lust that's clouding over my brain and see that it's the wrong time of the month to take a monster prick that jets hot salty cum like a goddamn firehose deep into my unprotected cunt. It's not like Dawson's doing this to get me pregnant or anything. He probably just doesn't like condoms, and I know I'm rationalizing the decision my pussy's already made for me but the rationalizations feel so warm and happy and euphoric that I don't really care anymore. I'm telling myself what I want to hear and it sounds so good to me that Dawson doesn't even need to erode my resistance. I'm doing it myself.

"Uhhhh... so... what if we, uhh, what if we just... ummm....?" I hear myself mumble, my voice slurred so badly with arousal that I sound like I'm drunk on Dawson's cock, and I can't think how I never noticed before just how thoroughly my brain's been melted to mush by that big swinging dick of his. It's not even like I feel especially different than the last time we had sex, or the time before that, or so many of the times before that--it's just that instead of Dawson rubbing his cockhead between my labia, promising me the deep hard fucking I've been craving so badly if only I ask for it like a good little slut, it's the last little vestige of resistance in my own head teasing me stupid with lust. I'm still weak and desperate. I'm still helpless. Everything he's been programming me to feel has been there for ages and this is simply the point where it all collapses into wet, mindless desire.

And the way he cups my chin and draws my head up to look him in the eyes, like he knows I'd never have the strength to do it myself, only proves how intentional it all is. Even then, he still sounds sweet and kind and infinitely patient as he asks, "What if we what, babe?" The sadistic gleam is there in his hazel eyes, the secret demand to stop pretending I'm in control and admit that I'm nothing but his brainless horny slut. But his voice doesn't betray any of it.

The weight in my mind increases, deforming the landscape inside my head like one of those funky space-time drawings of a black hole I see all the time in class, and I can feel my future taking shape even as I wriggle out of my panties and let my thighs lazily part to expose my sopping cunt to Dawson's gaze. I'm going to let him fuck me, again and again until I'm nothing more than a braying piece of livestock for him to claim with his hot cum, over and over all night long until I finally pass out with his semen leaking out of my pussy and soaking into the bedding. It's only going to be the first of many times, because he's going to rail me so fucking good I won't want to say no to him ever again.

And we're just going to keep rolling those dice, every single time I come over, because I have a bad reaction to birth control pills and I don't do any better with IUDs. And one of those times I'm going to get knocked up, and by then I know I'll have convinced myself that it's no big deal if I get pregnant because Dawson and I are so comfortable and relaxed with each other that we're probably going to get married anyway once I finish school. I'll move in with him and that cozy, lazy feeling I get whenever I'm around him is just going to take right over and leave me happy to be... owned. Kept. Claimed. All those other words that just make my pussy drool with arousal now.

I can feel it all stretching out in front of me, the thread connecting this moment to a future where I'm getting my Master's with a swollen belly under my graduation gown and my top priority for a job is their maternity leave policy, and none of it matters because to turn away from that future means turning away from the cock that just sprung out from Dawson's boxers and I literally can't imagine doing that. "What if we tried it raw?" I hear myself asking, sounding meek and desperate and a little too needy to be fucked. "Just, um, just this once." I don't have any self-control right now, and that only makes it so much easier for Dawson to control me.

He slides his hands around my hips, rolling us both over so that he's right on top of me and the tip of his cock is nestled right between my slick, swollen pussy lips. "I thought you'd never ask, babe," he growls, and then his hips rock forward and my eyes widen with amazement as he fucks me harder than he's ever fucked me before.

THE END