1 Another Notch In His Bedpost

She knew who he was as soon as she stepped into the bar, even though he wasn't dressed up. "He must've not wanted the attention tonight.", she thought to herself. She didn't want to ruin his night by approaching him. She knew she'd either say something stupid, or end up hitting on him. She was too sober for both of those options. She slinked over to the opposite end of the bar, stealing glances at him the entire way. The neon blue sign hanging above the bar casted a rather somber hue over him, making him look even more haggard than usual. The bags under his eyes were prominent. She wondered if he was getting any sleep these days. She doubted it, he always seemed to struggle with taking care of himself. Not that she was one to talk. She was just as broken as he was, if not more so. For different reasons of course mostly, not that it mattered. She ordered some sweet, obnoxiously bright, colored drink that she'd have no problem choking down. He hadn't noticed her yet, which made perfect sense seeing she wasn't anywhere near him. That didn't stop her from feeling oddly disappointed. She wanted him to find a reason to look across the bar, to look at her. Give her a reason make her way over to him. That's what he wants, isn't it? Why else would he be here? He's not a social person, he doesn't go out to bars just for the hell of it. Not when he could just get trashed at home, alone. At least that's what she assumes from what he's said about himself. She doesn't actually know him as well as she wished she did. She drains her glass dry, then asks for another one. Rinse and repeat until she's feeling properly buzzed. He's still there, at the bar, staring off into nothing. She takes that as a sign.

He knew she was a fan as soon as she walked up to him. She had that look in her eyes, nervousness, awe, and lust. She wanted something from him, they all did. That's why she was standing before him after all. She was easy on the eyes, she'd do. She was all smiles and giggles before he'd even returned her 'hi' with one of his own. He wondered how long she'd been here, drinking, how long it took her to notice him. He wasn't here to take photos and sign autographs, his casual clothes should've given away as much. He was here to stew in his own self pity and hate, drink until he got tired of this place, then uber home alone. Well, alone if he struck out. She complimented him on his work and achievements, he nodded and thanked her at the appropriate times. She asked to take a photo with him, he didn't refuse, he never did. No matter how much he didn't feel like it at times. He knew better than most people how fans are when they don't get what they want. He pushed himself up from the stool he was sitting on, and leaned into frame as she snapped a selfie. She beamed at him, he returned her smile. He saw her gaze briefly flicker over his lips, and he knew he had her. This was what she really came for. It's what most of his fans wanted, craved, him. All of him, whatever they could get ahold of, whatever he was willing to give. He slid back into his seat, patting the open spot next to him. A silent invitation. He knew she wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't refuse him. She didn't, she sat down and ordered a frilly drink that he assumed contained more sugar and mixers than it did alcohol.

She knew why he was here, he didn't want to leave the bar empty handed. She had a sneaking suspicion before, and prayed she was right, she was. He's here to entice some woman into following him home, if he could even make it there. She wouldn't put it past him to suggest the bar's bathroom or back alleyway as an alternative. A throwaway one night stand he'd forget about the next day. Another notch in his bedpost that's already covered in tally marks. She wonders if it's a compulsion, a recurring itch, constantly begging to be scratched. She desperately wants to be that woman, even though she knows he'll lose interest in her immediately afterwards. She doesn't care, she even tells herself that maybe she'll be one of the lucky ones. Maybe she can get a few rounds in before he tosses her to the side. Wanting to be his girlfriend would be asking for too much, and she knows she's not that special. Besides, he'd only grow to hate her with time if they ever dated, that she's sure of. They make small talk for a little bit. She's slowly leaning into him, his hand is on her thigh. She knows where this is going, and so does he. The looks he's giving her make her squirm in her seat. She's fantasized about this so many times, wanted him for so long. Deep down that's why she came here, hoping to run into him, hoping to not leave here alone. He's paying for his bill, she follows suit. He's leaving the building and she's trailing behind him. "This is how it was meant to go.", she thinks. She smirks and swells with pride when she realizes how jealous the rest of his fans would be if they knew.

He orders an uber as they stand on the sidewalk. He regrets not doing so earlier, at least inside they had a distraction. He figured she'd try and make more small talk to fill up the silence. Inside, before he had her wrapped around his finger, it was necessary. Now, it's a hassle. He could probably ignore her until the vehicle arrived and still have her in his bed by the end of the night. She was an easy one, he didn't have to do much. She's a fan after all, she already thinks too highly of him. On the flip side of that, if he didn't live up to her expectations of him, he'd lose a fan and have an empty bed. He decides to wrap an arm around her shoulders, it feels less intimate than holding her hand. That seems to keep her satisfied, she remains quiet, he's proud of himself. He has some slight doubts about bringing her to his place, as he always does with the women he sleeps with. He doesn't need his address being passed around, or chicks showing up in the middle of the night begging for one more good time. That hasn't happened yet so far, but it's only a matter of time. That doesn't stop him from giving the uber driver his address, or from guiding this woman into said uber as soon as it pulls up. He doesn't care enough about potential consequences, he never has. He only ever cares when it's too late, and even then he doesn't care as much as he should. "Life's too fleeting and meaningless in the long run anyway.", he reasons to himself. His arm dropped from her shoulder as soon as they got into the car, he didn't move it back. Took to scrolling through his phone while stroking her leg instead. He didn't focus all his attention on her, he knew she was too infatuated with him to say anything.

She didn't think he cared much for her presence, or maybe her body was the only thing that interested him. He didn't seem to mind talking to her at the bar, probably since he was trying to pick her up. He hasn't spoken to her ever since she followed him out of that place. She told herself she was getting what she wanted so it didn't matter. The fact that he even considered her for this at all made her better than the rest of them, his fans. She was special compared to them, one of the lucky ones. A title she's been so envious of for as long as she can remember. Telling herself that doesn't push down the disappointment and hurt that comes crashing down upon her when she realizes he'll be on his phone for the entire car ride. She can't find it in her to be mad or annoyed, not with how he's currently touching her. She melts into him, growing warm with want. This is all she asked for, this is all he offered. Touch, fulfilling that want. She has no room to complain, but she's always been selfish, she's always wanted more. It's human nature isn't it, to be greedy? To take and take until there's nothing left, and then have the audacity to take some more. Deep down that's something else she wants, to strip him bare, in more ways than one. She knows she'll never get the chance, but she doesn't let herself grow bitter over the fact. She doesn't have time to, the uber stops in front of his house. He pays the driver as she's stepping out of the vehicle. She questions if she'll have to do the walk of shame in a few hours, grab an uber back across town at some obscene time of night. Staying until morning probably feels too personal for him, that doesn't stop her from hoping he'll offer anyway.

He wastes no time walking up to his front door as the uber driver disappears. He pockets his phone he didn't realize he was still holding, fishing his keys out of his other pocket with his opposite hand. He hears her shoes smack against the pavement as he's unlocking the door. He holds it open for her with a smile, figuring it wouldn't hurt to ensure his good standing with her by turning on some of that natural charm he was born with. He brought her here after all, the least he could do was act like he wanted her there. Which he does, for now that is. She beams at him as she skips through the doorway. He lets the door shut behind him as he observes her. To him it looks like she's taking the room in, committing every detail to memory. He realizes she's 'fangirling' when he notices the excitement and awe plastered across her face, just from looking at a sofa and some walls. It disgusts him, knowing that his status is a big reason why she's here, why she sought him out in the first place. He knew this as soon as she approached him, he told himself it didn't matter. This was a one night stand after all, his self enforced rule about not dating fans doesn't apply. He simultaneously loves and hates sleeping with fans, call it a guilty pleasure if you will. He's man enough to admit as much to himself. He hates being put on a pedestal, being alienated, it's like he's not even a human being at all to these people. He's a fantasy, an idea, some ideal they've created in their minds that they're desperate for him to fulfill. Living up to their impossible standards is a tiresome pain in the ass. He loves being put on a pedestal, that look of awe and admiration is validating. He's special, better than, worth something to someone. It makes things like having sex easier to obtain.

She can feel him staring at her by the front door. She realizes she's been ogling his living room like an obsessive fan, she blushes in embarrassment and tries to apologize for being rude. She watches him in astonishment as he just waves it off. She thinks he's being understanding, letting her get away with this. She wants to find out how much more he'll let her get away with, how far can she push before he pushes back. She assumes he's more lenient due to the fact that he hasn't gotten off yet. She wonders how disappointed he'd be if she left right now. How much he'd rage if she got him all worked up, only to back out at the last second. How easily and quickly would she be replaced? She didn't care enough to find out. Leaving meant she'd be denying herself a dream come true. She saunters over to him, running her hands up and down his body, hoping he'd get the message. She's picked up and pushed against the wall in an instant. Moans, groans, and gasps are exchanged as he grinds himself against her while they make out. She can feel how ready he is, and if his pants were a little thinner, he'd probably feel how ready she is. She wishes she could stall him, that this foreplay could last forever. She doubts she'll ever be able to kiss him again after he's finished. He wouldn't have a reason to, and she wouldn't have a good enough reason to convince him otherwise. Besides begging for a round two. She wonders if he'd indulge her in such a thing, maybe if the sex is good enough for him. Maybe if he deems her as deserving enough.

He feels how warm and responsive she is, she's putty in his hands. He bets he could do whatever he wanted to her, and she'd let him. Even a blind man could see that she wants him way too much to back away now. "She was probably too far gone from the moment they first spoke.", he muses. He could try to kill her and she'd let him, if he made her cum first. He finds it dangerous and addicting, to have that much of an influence over someone. Knowing that he has that kind of influence in varying degrees across his fanbase makes him precum. He's gotten off on that very thought before. That one small look, touch, a single word, could short circuit someone's decision making skills. He could bend people to his will if he wanted to take it that far, but he doesn't. He'll settle for sex any day, it's one of the few good feelings he's experiences after all. Chasing that high, striving to reach that peak, all he feels is pleasure. Whatever problems he's facing disappears in those moments. Sadness, anger, pain, loss, you name it, those things don't exist. It all slowly comes back as the high wears down, he can't help but feel empty when it's all said and done. It's an endless cycle he's fallen into, he wouldn't know how to break it even if he wanted to. He sets the woman he's currently distracted himself with back on the ground, before leading her upstairs. She follows obediently, like she doesn't have a mind of her own. Like she has tunnel vision and he's all she sees. He pushes his bedroom door open, swiftly guiding her inside. He's mindful enough to not shove her, even if he wants her to reach his bed faster. He wonders if she'll be a squirter and if he'll have to change his bed sheets immediately afterwards. He thinks that'd be inconvenient, and maybe he should've lead her into the guest bedroom instead.

She half expected to see physical notches in his bedposts, as silly as it sounds. Or perhaps a giant collage of women's underwear hung up above the bed. Some indication that this room experiences heavy traffic, but there is none. Before she can even blink he's lowering her onto the bed. Hands are caressing, exploring. Tongues are dancing, moving in harmony. She's never felt more alive. Clothing is being peeled off, tossed in every which direction without a care in the world. Kisses, licks, and nips, are being trailed down their bodies as they roll around on the bed. It's raw, passionate, a primal need to satisfy that carnal desire. Finally she's on her back as he rams all the way into her. She arches off the bed, tightening around him, and crying out as he fills her. She's never felt this full before, this good, this complete. She doesn't want to stop. She begs him not to, begs him to go harder, faster, make her feel every single inch of him. He seems more than happy to comply, not showing her any mercy with his relentless speed and hard thrusts. She's raking her nails down his back, not caring if she's leaving behind scratches or even drawing blood. Her back is permanently arched off of the bed, her body stiff. These feelings being way too intense for her to relax. She's loving every minute, every second, every thrust, pant, moan, and groan. The phrase 'one of the lucky ones' pops into her head, she could almost laugh at how accurate the saying is. "Oh, if everyone else knew what they were missing, he'd have a line five miles long outside his door.", she thought to herself.

"THIS, this right here, is what makes this entire night worth it.", he thinks. He finds her to be warm, inviting, enticing. She feels so good, not the best he's ever had, but definitely not the worst. Somewhere in the middle, as they usually are. He has no doubt that his rating for her would drop overtime if this became a regular thing. Luckily for them both, it wouldn't. He's groaning, muttering curses. Telling her how good she feels as he's sitting up, so he can tightly grip her hips as he drives into her with even more force. He bites his lip as he feels her starting to cum around his cock. He pushes through it, not giving her any time to recover. He's overstimulating her, he can very obviously tell. Her body's shaking, flinching. She's screaming, whining, she can't take it. He makes her take it, he gives her what she asked for. She's cumming again, slightly sooner than he thought she would. She's loving this, his body, his cock, how he's making her feel, but not him himself of course, never that. That's how he likes it anyway, he could never love her herself. It's not that he's incapable of love, just incapable of loving this woman. He pulls out of her and flips her over onto her stomach, he was getting bored of that position. She doesn't object, seeing as he quickly fills her once again. He keeps up the pace and strength of his thrusts, drawing out moans and whimpers from her. He makes her cum again before switching positions for a third time. He pulls her up so she's on his lap. He knows she wouldn't have the energy to ride him the way he likes, so he settles for moving her hips for her and match those thrusts with his own. He lets her face the wall, it's easier for him this way. As much as he'd love to see the facial expressions she makes as she's cumming all over his cock, he doesn't want to see the adoration she holds for him in her eyes.

She's nearly exhausted, and they're not even finished yet. "He's got amazing stamina.", she muses. It makes her wonder how long he's going to last. It feels hot and dirty to have his chest against her back, mouth near her ear, as he comes. Yet she hopes he'll turn her around. She wants to know what he looks like when he comes. If anything, that's the one thing she wants burned into her brain for the rest of her life. She wants him to hold onto her, touch his forehead to hers as he's coming down from that high. She wants something she knows deep down she'll never get from him, an intimate moment. This isn't intimate, this is rough and mind blowing sex done just to get off. Nothing more, she knew this from the beginning. Everyone does going into this, so she knows she's being stupid, but she can't help it. She moves to get off him and turn around, he holds her hips in place. "Don't.", he grunts out. She wonders if he doesn't want her to move because he's close, or because he doesn't actually want to look at her. He could be looking at the ceiling for all she knows. She twists her head back, he's looking at her body. He refuses to make eye contact with her, to look at her face at all. "I wanna see you, please.", she begs him. He shakes his head as his actions grow frantic. He knows what this is, so does she. She'd let out a defeated sigh if she wasn't too busy moaning. She reaches down to help push herself over the edge one final time. She cries out his name, knowing it's the last chance she'll ever get to do so. She can't kid herself right now in this moment, no matter what she wants, as soon as he cums, he's done with her.

He didn't know why she was trying to make this moment into something more than it actually was. Why her and everyone else always try to take more than what he's willing to give. Why they're so insistent on getting what they want, that they don't stop to consider what he wants. He supposes he does the same, sleeping with them until he doesn't have the urge to anymore. Still, they knew his terms from the beginning. An unspoken thing that was just common knowledge. At this point he wonders if it's like a game to them. Seeing who can be the one to tie him down, who's worth it, who's special. A metaphorical pissing contest, where he's the prize. That concept is dehumanizing, he hates it. He stares at the wall as he cums, he doesn't want to look at her, any part of her. He pulls out of her, and scoots off the bed as she's catching her breath. He's tempted to hide out in the bathroom until she leaves, but he can't risk having her steal anything or taking photos and videos of his house. He starts putting on his clothes. Her brain is working enough for her to read the subtext, she follows suit. He catches a quick glimpse of his cum running down her thigh. He never asked if she was on some form of birth control. He was being irresponsible, reckless, and he didn't care. As long as it made him feel alive, feel good, consequences be damned. He walked her through the house, she looked crestfallen, but it didn't bother him. He stopped feeling guilty about things like this a long time ago. In his opinion there was nothing to feel guilty about in the first place. They didn't hold hands and spoon afterwards, big whoop. Once they reached his front door, he reminded himself that she wasn't just any random woman he could send off without a word. She's a fan, and that meant making sure there were no hard feelings. "Hey, why don't you wait on the couch while I call you an uber? I'll cover the ride.", he offers. She smiles gratefully at him before doing as instructed, good, not all is lost. He pulls out his phone, sets things up, then pockets the device again. He walks over to her, and sits down. Hesitantly placing a hand on her knee, hoping that it wouldn't be overkill. "Look, I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. You knew that going into this, right?", he asks her. She nods, but otherwise remains silent, allowing him to continue. "If I've hurt you, I never meant to. I wouldn't have slept with you if I knew. We're okay right?", he goes on to say. She smiles at him, and nods in understanding. "I knew, and I knew it was dumb of me to hope-want more than what you were offering. If I overstepped I'm sorry, but yeah, we're okay.", she apologizes. By the look on her face he can't tell who she's trying to convince they're okay to more, him or herself.

They sit in a somewhat comfortable silence until a ping from his phone alerts them that the uber is here. He walks her to the door, they part ways with a quick hug. She's loading herself up into the vehicle, and he already feels hollow. She watches him scroll through his phone in the doorway, as the car leaves the property. He doesn't look up once, and she feels something inside her crack, she feels hollow. He waits until he's sure the car's driven off into the distance before looking back up. He frowns before stepping back inside. He's messaged a 'friend' of his, seeing if she's free to come over. Once he has the confirmation that she's on her way, he goes back upstairs. To make sure he remembered to put fresh bed sheets on the bed in the guest room after the last time he had someone in there. She stares blankly at the buildings passing by her as the driver takes her back to her house. How can something leave her completely satisfied, yet unsatisfied, at the exact same time? Sex isn't supposed to be like this, though she assumes that with him, it'd always be like this if not worse. They're at her house before she knows it. She instinctively goes to pay the driver, but is reminded that he already paid for it. She nods and abandons the car without another word. She's back in her home, and she hates it. The rooms are too dark, empty. SHE feels too dark, empty. She wonders if this is what he feels like afterwards. What he feels all the time, empty. A constant need to fill that negative space, that void. She retrieves her cell phone, and pulls up the contact of a friend of hers. A friend that's been pining after her for a little while now. She's not interested in him romantically, but she keeps him around because she likes the attention. She asks if he's free to come over. His response is almost immediate, yes he is, and he's on his way. She runs into her bathroom to inspect herself in the mirror, it's not too obvious what she's been doing. She knows she has dried cum all over her thighs, but she can't bring herself to wipe off the last traces of him. The last indicator that the past few hours even happened. Her friend won't say anything about it anyway, he's too infatuated with her to care. She much more calmly makes her way to her bedroom to make sure the bed's all made up.