Squeeze (5)

The ride home was  a blur. She wanted to ask questions, but couldn’t make the words form. His hand found her breast as they cruised through the last lingering traces of the day. The crimson sky had faded to a dusty rose; stars appeared as his fingers squeezed around her nipple. Holding onto the orgasm that threatened was as hard as holding his semen in her ass. She bore down, squeezing her bottom half. Her body pebbled with erotic goosebumps as she tried to not think about what would happen when they entered the kitchen.

As the car turned into the driveway, he looked over where she sat, staring forward, hands placed on the tops of her thighs. He bade her to sit. Her breath came in shallow, short puffs. Her body was on fire, a cauldron of lust, embarrassment, excitement, fear, and nerves.

He did not open her door, but rather, walked to the slick car that pulled up behind theirs. The two men laughed, a sound carried clearly to her hyperactive ears, despite the closed windows. Jumping at the sound of the door, though it was foolish, she looked up at him. Those eyes. Those compelling baby blues were smiling down at her, his hand extended into the vehicle.

“You go with him,” her husband said, watching her. “I’ve got some setting up to do. You can park her in the living room,” he finished, holding the door open for them.

“Good, that will give me some time to check out our little play toy. Have I your permission?”

The rest of that conversation must have been non-verbal, because she didn’t hear Sir’s reply. Then they were in the house, Sir bolting upstairs to their bedroom, and …gosh, how was she supposed to address him, anyway?

“Excuse me–”


Ye gawds! How could she ever talk to him? It was like he was a magnet and she a little bit of steel shavings, tugged relentless towards him. Lowering her eyes, looking at her shoes, she spoke softly.

His finger found her chin, tilting her gaze to his.

“I am not overfond of doormats. I am certain that your Sir prefers his sub to be a bit feisty as well. Right?”

She nodded, yes.

“Then let us have no more of the ‘must stare at the Dom’s feet’ nonsense, shall we? I much prefer spunk to passivity.”

He paused, letting the electric charge of his finger tingle through her as he smiled kindly at her.

“Now, let us begin again. What is it that you wanted to ask me, slut?”

She found her voice in that assurance.

“How shall I call you? My husband is Sir…”

“You could call me Lord.”

Her eyes widened, and she was sure that her mouth opened in shock. He laughed, the sound rich with his delight.

“How about Sir K, then? My given name is Ken, so that works for me.”

“Thank you Sir K.”

Her husband’s voice came from the kitchen. Vaguely she recalled hearing him clatter back down the stairs, but Sir K had been mesmerizing her so she’d not fully attended to that.

“Bring her on back to the kitchen, Ken,” He called.

His fist gathered a large amount of hair, shocking and inflaming her. He tugged her forward, keeping her one half step behind him. Stepping into the kitchen, he pulled her forward.

“What? She’s still dressed? I’m surprised!”

“Easily rectified,” said the older man with a smile.


okay, it’s not the end…yet…and this is short..but it IS Friday and I DID promise…this will have to hold you for a bit, dear perv’s. ~nilla~

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