_backp0rchpoet

Knock. Knock.

Your hand dropped to your side as you impatiently waited for a manly voice to answer from the other side of the door.

A loud exhale left your chest.

The cool air brushed your skin, flowing underneath the almost translucent slip dress that barely covered your privates. Perfectly displaying your body, emphasising all of you to the eyes of the beholder. Silky hold-ups tightly wrapped your thighs, and heels forced you to stand taller than before. You were dressed as if getting ready for bed, though with a promiscuous intent, because there was a special someone you had to seduce.

That was the crucial part of the plan—you had a responsibility to fulfill, to be strong and stand up for every woman that now relied on you. You especially had to find the strength for yourself.

Babydoll’s escape plan was nearly complete as you and the remaining girls gained a map, a lighter, and a knife. All you needed was the master key of the brothel, and, to your misfortune, now a gun.

Essentially, you imagined that Babydoll would be the one to retrieve the final objects, as she was Blue’s favourite. Instead, all of the girls decided that it was you who needed to retrieve them in one go.

Your heart was beating in your ears; you had a hard time standing on your feet. Your body shook, making you question whether this reaction was the consequence of the coldness or stress.

Naturally, you overthought this plan because you had never stood out among the other girls. You weren’t a top dancer, but neither a back-up dancer. You weren’t talented, but neither were you unskilled. You weren’t sexual, but neither were you ugly. You just weren’t special, and it kept you safe from the eyes of perverts that frequently visited the club. Surprisingly, you didn’t even have a stage name. However, it meant that you never caught Blue’s attention. You knew that he fawned over Babydoll, the star of the show. It didn’t bother you whatsoever, in fact, you were glad to be out of his view. Though now that fact proved your disadvantage.

Therefore, you couldn’t understand why you were sent to complete the task. Sure, every girl fulfilled her role in this mission, Babydoll especially, but you were nearly certain that it’d fail because of you. Blue Jones was a sensible man; the fact that he was onto you all made you nauseous. He’ll smell your anxiety and shoot you in the head.

However, the girls insisted that it was you he adored the most. You tried rationalising that fact for the love of God, as Blue had nothing to do with you. Not even once he had come to the studio to watch you dance, nor had he ordered you to bring him something, to please his clients. You didn’t even know if he truly remembered your name. Not that it was a bad thing, at least before, yet now you prayed that he’d recognise you.

You knocked on the door again, eagerly this time.

You. Had. To. Make. It. Work—

“Come in!”

Speak of the Devil.

With a painful gulp, you welcomed yourself into Blue’s office, turning down your natural glare.

Every time you had a chance to look at him, hatred coiled inside your chest. Directed at him only.

He didn’t even look up at you when you closed the door behind yourself, or at least it seemed like it, as his slim glasses covered his pupils. His attention was entirely dedicated to the papers on his desk; maybe he was calculating the finances, planning arrangements.

Nonetheless, you stood as if impaled on a pole. You knew well enough not to overstep his boundaries—you didn’t need to be punished in a crucial moment.

“Well? What do you want?” Blue rushed you while rubbing his moustache; it sounded like you disturbed him.

“Sir, I have a favour to ask,” you started, somehow managing the tremble of your voice and stepping closer.

Even the clicks of your heels didn’t bring his attention to you.

At this point, you had no doubts that your plan wouldn’t work, but you had to push through it. You prayed to every god existing in the universe to guide you through this terrible idea. Eros, especially Eros, hoping that the god of love and lust will sort this situation out for you.

“Go on,” Blue responded briefly. The frown of his brows deepened with every sound you made.

Only when your shadow fell on top of him did he raise his gaze. You found a pinch of surprise in his expression—good sign. Surely, it must have been the seductive appearance that drew him in, making him place his pen beside the scribbled papers. His eyes gave their utmost attention to the perk of your breasts, the clear outline of your practically naked body, the marvelous skin.

He licked his upper lip in thought. “Well?”

“I have this problem…” you said. Humiliating yourself, but with a purpose of luring him. You lifted your dress only slightly, revealing lace panties. “I need this problem taken care of… My fingers aren’t enough to make me cum and I just don’t know what to do with myself—”

“Come here,” Blue commanded, pulling back his chair. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling visibly while his hand patted his knee impatiently. “Sit.”

You almost managed to suppress a smile, disbelieving that he’d give in so easily. You expected a rejection, to be yelled at, or be told to please a client instead.

Without needing to hear the order coming out of his mouth for the second time, you swiftly came around his desk and seated yourself on his lap.

Immediately, Blue’s calloused hands slithered around your body, unable to contain themselves from the present that was placed right in front of him. His fingers straightened the folds of your dress, circling around every inch of your torso. Maybe he tried to suppress the shivering of his fingers as you felt light vibrations underneath his touch. It was rough, pressing down your flesh almost uncomfortably, painfully. You couldn’t possibly fathom the reaction you had so easily managed to induce.

He licked his lips, as if battling with something. “Tell me what you want me to do. I can’t hear your thoughts…”

You brushed your palms over his shoulders and down his arms, then up again, finally landing on his chest. You had to do everything in your power to make him unaware of his surroundings, so you slowly rolled your hips to create some friction against his erection, which, to your delight, already seemed to ache for an intimate touch.

Your success was astonishing so far.

You pressed yourself against his body, gliding your hands down his torso, and leaning closer.

“Sir, I want you to touch me. I want to be filled up so badly, I can’t take it anymore,” you practically moaned into his ear, hoping that he’d take the bait. “I tried stuffing my fingers inside but they’re too tiny… I need something bigger, warmer, something real. I want you, Sir, no one else. You know, I was dreaming about you the other night and I…”

“Tell me more about this dream,” he groaned, trying to contain stability in his voice.

His body shivered so badly at your touch, you could feel it, no matter how much he tried to control it and show you his disinterest. He probably wanted to grind himself into you as well, but how could a powerful man like him melt in your embrace so easily?

“I had a dream last night where you fucked me. It felt so good, I was so sad to wake up!—”

“And what did I do to you? In your dream?” he interrupted, squeezing your asscheeks roughly.

“Well I…” That simple action caught you off-guard, yet, you needed to continue the show and think of something quickly. Your hands did their best to detect where the needed objects hid. “You fucked me so roughly here, on this desk. You folded me in half. I thought I’ll pass out—”

“Did I? Really?” he breathed out against your neck, resisting to place kisses on it. You felt something damp land against the skin of your neck—it was his sweaty forehead. “And what did you do when you woke up?”

“I masturbated because I really wanted to feel you inside…” you whimpered, pulling yourself even closer, if possible, to his hot body. His cock was rubbing against your sex; surprisingly, it felt pleasant.

“Really? Oh— You poor thing,” he cooed into your ear.

“I was so scared to disturb you… I know that you’re so busy, I hope I’m not taking much of your time—”

“No.” Finally, he kissed your bare shoulder, gently pushing the straps out of his field. “Not at all, I’m more than happy to help you. I know how hard it can be; I know how all of that suppressed… Energy can hurt you. You poor thing, let me take care of you…”

You threw your head back, giving him access to kiss all over you.

Your chances rose up—something hard caught on your fingertips, right under his jacket. Your fingers gently drew around its outlines. A gun; he was hiding a gun inside an inner pocket.

Blue lavished over your neck, running his fingers over your body, and rutting against you like it hurt him. But you didn’t care.

You breathed in as your hand sneaked inside his jacket.

The kisses he had planted over your skin were desperate and wet, even passionate somehow. It made you wonder whether you truly managed to seduce him, but you didn’t overthink it as you’ve successfully managed to pull his gun out.

You carefully snuck your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into your embrace.

To him, it was a signal that he could continue, play with your body however he wished; to you, it was a way to hide the heavy pistol behind his back.

You were ready to endure his scorching touches; fortunately, your overwhelming joy numbed your senses. You didn’t feel his soft lips landing on your skin, or his rigid hands massaging your flesh, creeping past your dress. You couldn’t comprehend how his fingers caressed your breasts, giving special attention to your sensitive nipples, and how they then ran down to your hips. Sure, it felt nice, but it didn’t make you breathe louder, though your panties felt damp probably by reacting to the physical sensations.

Perhaps you were used to being touched by men you didn’t care about. You were used to men violating your flesh for pleasure; it didn’t feel any different. 

Your wrist ached from the weight forcing it down.

That’s why your mind was preoccupied by more important thoughts, for example, how you could obtain the last object: the master key—

You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut, pushing your face into Blue’s neck as something suddenly plunged inside of you.

Something drew itself in and out slowly, teasing your pussy in a slow but steady rhythm.

It nearly made you drop the gun that you held onto desperately.

You only then realised that Blue snuck two of his fingers inside, stretching you. How and when—you didn’t remember. The sly smirk plastered on his face was sadistic, but his eyes behind those slim glasses seemed interested in observing your shifting reactions.

To your disadvantage, your arms loosened their grip and fell to his shoulders.

The gun was exposed to his sight.

His fingers stopped their rhythm, though they were drawn deeply inside of you.

“What’s this all about?” he asked you quietly, yet with distinctive frustration in his voice.

“In my dream— We—” you stuttered, thinking of an immediate excuse. Subconsciously, you rolled your hips, guiding yourself on his fingers; it made you moan even in a dire moment. “We— We used it—” “Oh really? How?” He got closer to your face, searching for deceit. He didn’t blink, but didn’t show obvious distrust. In fact, he managed to conceal all of his underlying disappointment.

Even then, he breathed deeply against your face—still seemingly aroused by the course of action, maybe even more than before.

“Well…” You stared at the gun in your hand for a split second, suddenly gaining control over your body. Then you’ve generated a mimic, looking up at Blue with artificial lust as you rode his fingers proudly.

You didn’t want to point the gun at yourself, fearing that it might give him some dangerous ideas. Surely enough, you’d end up dead either way, so you tried your luck, moaning out a bit too dramatically, “I held it against your head in my dream.”

Blue stayed silent for a minute before laughing with the nastiest grin you’ve ever seen, “Oh really? Show me how.”

Luckily, you were in a creative mood, pressing the tip of the gun against his lips while licking your own. “I asked you to clean it. It’s dusty.”

Blue’s breath hitched for a second.

You mentally told yourself you were dead the second you decided to be bold.

To your surprise, you noticed his face flush in bright red, feeling his hand gripping your hip a bit tighter while the other glided the inserted fingers in and out of you again. His bulge twitched against your clit, making you almost sigh in relief.

Blue parted his lips and licked the tip of the pistol, rolling his tongue over the muzzle, front sight and other expressed brims. Then he used his mouth to suck off the slide.

The wet squelches of your sex, the provocative view, the dark beam behind those glasses; the way his two fingers rhythmically thrusted in and out of your pussy, curling in spots that you didn’t know existed, stretching the spongy walls from time to time; how his hardness caused friction against your clit made you lose your mind.

You never moaned, never threw your head back with a silent prayer for more, never felt so much pleasure from other than masturbating in utter darkness. Never did a man make you feel this good.

Not that they could’ve touched you so intimately. This was the first time when someone, besides yourself, had their fingers up in your wet hole. You never knew why you were prohibited from pleasing Blue’s clients through sex. The only thing you did endure were kisses all over you, dicks rubbing against your body. But nothing more.

Only in this moment did you realise the odd circumstances; you almost pulled the trigger on Blue as you daydreamed, and felt the unknown desires seeping deeper into your bones.

Not for a second did Blue peel his gaze away from you, staring at you intently.

You didn’t know what to make out of it: was it love or possessiveness?

“I never gave you a name,” he groaned, though it sounded like a whimper. “What should I call you?”

He pushed the leaking gun away with his cheek and feasted on your neck instead, later moving up to your ear. “What if I called you Rose? Rose Petal? Wanna know why?”

You didn’t reply, only clenching onto his shoulder desperately.

Then you whined when his fingers suddenly stopped.

You looked at him at last, pleading to continue with that sad shimmer in your eyes.

Blue pouted, cupping your cheek and rolling his thumb along your lower lip. “You need to give me a signal. Anything. I don’t know when you want me to talk! So, let me repeat myself one more time, do you wanna know why I’d call you Rose Petal?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to ride his fingers again, but it was difficult to do so.

His touch burnt you; you hated him so much for teasing you and making you beg for more. You hated him with all of your heart for who he was, and yet—why did that soft caress on your cheek feel so right? Why did he bring himself so close to your face, almost kissing your lips? Why did his eyes, that were usually filled with so much mischief, were now of a wounded animal?

You wept from joy when his fingers stretched you again, moving in and out repeatedly. You were about to drop your head on his shoulder, but his hand firmly held your lower jaw in place; his eyes caught yours. 

His voice was filled with some kind of longing, gentleness, as if he were on the verge of tears, “You are so beautiful, so delicate. Like a flower. But even more delicate… Would you believe me if I told you that I couldn’t let anyone else have you? I was so scared, so scared that those brutes would break you… You’re so fragile, so delicate, so soft. Like a petal. And what’s more sexual and symbolic than a rose? You— You— Even your pussy feels like a flower… Your folds, your insides are so soft. You smell so— Oh? Did you just clench around my fingers?”

Your body did react to his words; never had you heard Blue speak to anyone like that, though your mind had difficulty understanding him completely. You felt a knot forming in your lower abdomen, as you rode his fingers and grinded yourself against his clothed erection. With one hand you squeezed his bicep, maybe harshly, while the other pressed the tip of the gun to his temple.

A pathetic whine left your lips when he suddenly removed his fingers, stripping you out of pleasure.

However, that heartwarming moment greatly contrasted with reality when he slammed you onto his desk. That sudden force and pain made you drop his gun next to your head; you were thankful that it didn’t go off by accident.

The temporary ache in your back was quickly forgotten when Blue rose those sticky fingers to his mouth, licking them off cleanly. A tongue ran over his lips, collecting the remaining juices of your sex; now his gaze was as malicious as before. It reminded you of the passionate contempt in the depths of your heart.

And yet, you didn’t stop Blue from pulling your fragile dress over your chest, exposing your body to his hungry eyes, or from sliding off your panties.

His rough hands placed your thighs over his shoulders, folding you in half. Just like you’d described. You glanced down at him, realising that you didn’t notice when he removed his glasses, threw away his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, or pulled down his trousers, aligning his leaking cock with your entrance.

Without a warning, Blue shoved himself inside of your pussy.

The sensation of your insides being stretched by a thick hot cock overwhelmed you, forcing out a mixture of a hiss and a moan from your throat. It felt so much different compared to his fingers. Not to mention that this angle allowed him to push himself even deeper.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly at first, teasing himself more than you. “Now, Rose Petal, the gun. Pick it up,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

Overwhelmed by the contradicting emotions, the heat and proximity, and your racing thoughts, you couldn’t understand his words, feeling how the world was spinning. Even your vision blurred.

That must have irked him, as he slammed himself into you harshly with every spelt word:

“Pick. Up. The. Gun!”

Your sensitive walls burnt from pain; your shaky hand immediately grasped the pistol beside you.

“To my head,” he commanded again. “C’mon…”

You obeyed without wasting another second, pressing the tip of the gun against his forehead.

“Good, very good,” he moaned, dragging out the ‘o’. Blue’s eyes rolled back into his skull as his hips sped up the pace. “I know that you fucking hate me. All of you do. I know how much you want me dead. You’re thinking about it, I know you do—”

You were confused, overfilled with pain and pleasure as he used your body to chase his own pleasure. Your hand shook while holding up the weapon.

“Pull the trigger,” he breathed out silently.

Your insides clenched around his cock; you were afraid that he might be testing you.

That made him upset again, as he slammed harshly with each word, gasping for air:

“I said… Pull. The. Fucking. Trigger!”

You fought back against his command at first, feeling way too scared to commit to it. However, you had no other choice as Blue decided to hit your cervix repeatedly, making you cry in pain. He was pushing you over the edge, forcing you to submit to his design.

Overwhelmed by the varying feelings, you accidentally pulled the trigger.

For a moment, you expected to hear a loud bang, for blood to splash all over your face.

But nothing happened.

There were no bullets in the magazine of the pistol.

That made you disappointed, so you pulled the trigger again and again, hoping to hear a shot. You partially wished to see him dead; you wondered whether it was truly worth risking your life to get a gun with no bullets.

Unless Babydoll had them.

That visible rage in your face, and tears of frustration in your eyes, seemed to arouse Blue, as he moaned loudly, “Disappointed, aren’t you?”

He pounded inside of you with less force—in an attempt to rub the spots that numbed both the previous pain and your hatred. To finally make love to you, to show you how well he knew your body and cared about your pleasure.

“You really wanted that gun to go off, huh? Wanted to blow my brains out, yea? Wanted to see me dead? You think I don’t know what you’re actually thinking about?”

You dropped the gun beside yourself again just to drag your nails over his back, in part upset that you couldn’t claw at his bare skin. You wanted to hurt Blue because you despised him. You wanted to tear him apart while he gave you all he had.

“You hate me so much,” he whispered, making you glare at him. “I know what you and the other girls are plotting against me. How could you leave me?.. Especially when I care about you so much! When I did my best to protect you from all of the perverts that begged me to give you up! Oh— Rose Petal, my angel, I couldn’t do it— You’d make me so much money— But how could I give you up when even I didn’t allow myself to play with you? I need you so much… You have no clue how happy your little request made me. I masturbated to that idea for so long… I don’t know how much longer I could’ve lasted without you, your body— I— I wanted you for too long. I watched you when you didn’t even know that I was beside you. When you sleep, when you eat, when you dance… Bathe… Get dressed, get ready… You are so… Perfect, so beautiful. So delicate… Oh—”

But you couldn’t handle it. Your hands slithered around his neck and squeezed it, making him yelp in surprise.

Even then, he choked out, “O-Oh, you— H-Harder… Do it— Harder— Show me how m-much you hate me!”

And you listened, obediently tightening your grip and watching him struggling in your grasp.

However, Blue neared his body towards yours and the master key dangled over your chest. It restored your faith in Eros; yet, your focus quickly shifted to Blue pressing himself against you, pushing your legs over your head and snapping his hips into your pussy ferociously.

His tongue darted out, poking your lips. You denied him at first, but essentially gave into the temptation, realising that you still needed to distract him in order to obtain the final possession.

Secretly, you wanted to feel his lips clashing against yours, to feel his tongue dancing with yours, exploring your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, taking all of his remaining breath.

Oh, his hands holding your thighs in place, his smell, the weight of his body crushing you, the gentle scratches of the papers behind your back, his lips on yours, the slapping skin and that deep penetration—all of it drove you mad.

Blue shook from the lack of oxygen in his body, his face turning from red to purple, but he still didn’t want to stop you from choking him.

When your blurry gaze finally focused, you saw his eyeliner running down his cheeks.

Combining the overwhelming sensations running in and around your body, the previous feeling of an approaching orgasm took over you, making you clench around his length involuntarily and cry in his embrace out loud.

“I-I love you,” he choked out against the plush of your lips, sobbing, but you still held onto his neck firmly. “So— So!..”

Then Blue let out a sound of a muffled moan or a groan, maybe even a pathetic whimper, pushing his length into you completely for the last time while your insides spasmed, making you see white.

Amid your own climax, one of your hands released his neck and searched for the master key that rested on your breasts. You quickly broke the fragile chain, securing the desired object in your palm.

At last, you enjoyed the last seconds of the intense pleasure overriding your body, and the feeling of Blue’s lips caressing your face, his cock twitching inside your desperate pussy while it milked him dry.

To enjoy the last second of passion with your cursed lover, kissing him on the lips for the last time, tasting the salty drops of sweat on his moustache.

Creating a memory for the whole eternity.

When his body gave out from the release of unspeakable pressure and crisis of oxygen, you pushed him off to the floor. Luckily, he didn’t have the strength to restrain you.

You pulled your dress down, panties up, and picked up the worthless, sticky gun. You double checked whether the master key remained in your other hand.

And you ran as much as your weak legs and high heels allowed you, slamming the door behind yourself, not even bothering to look back at the man that you both hated and lusted over at the same time.

Now your life could be better than this.

And you only prayed that your sacrifice was worth the price; though you’d secretly do it again, and again, just to feel his touch again.

You are so worked up with the day’s full program that before the alarm goes off, you jolt awake of your own accord.

You fumble for the clock by your bed, heaving a deep sigh for the 15 minutes you are never going to get back.

Jonathan stirs behind you, his arms snaking over your torso under the covers, as he nuzzles his wiry beard into the crook of your shoulder, sighing heavily himself.

He adjusts to the new position, nestling his morning wood right along the valley of your buttocks, rubbing his semi against your plump cheeks — either on purpose or just subconsciously trying to get comfortable.

Whatever it is, that insignificant contact has gotten you all riled up now. You burrow your heated face deeper into the pillow, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you, ever so subtly, back yourself up to him, rutting your arse lazily against his hardening bulge.

You haven’t had sex in weeks, months even, if you care to count. Is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days?

In front of you, your hand trails under your slip dress to your pussy, two fingers caressing along your folds to gather slick, before they twirl around your clit in slow, concentric circles to the rhythm of your canting hips.

Jonathan, who is very much as worked up as you are, responds to you accordingly, almost immediately. His arm tightens around your waist, drawing you flush against him — good morning, he seems to say wordlessly, as he nuzzles his nose into the back of your ear, nip-licking at that sensitive spot just below your earlobe.

Your mouth parts, hitching soft, kittenish gasps when his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing gentle pressure at your angular jawline. Just enough to spur you on so your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers between your legs gathering pace.

His hips start rolling to your languid ministrations, his heavy-laden breaths growing dense, as he rubs his now rock-hard penis against your curved back. It’s delicious, feeling him like this — so visceral that you’re now jabbing your fingers into your cunt, mewling as your head swirls dizzy with the thought of his cock spreading you out and filling you up so full.

As if having read your mind, Jonathan grunts low, changing position once again — this time, flipping you over onto the bed and anchoring his heavier weight on you so agreeably you can’t do anything about it but surrender.

He looms over you, the sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains clinging to his salt-and-pepper curls all mussed. Beneath the deceptive halo, his darkened eyes dilate, watching you intently as you acquiesce to his every move. Writhing helplessly when he slides his cock along your very, very wet pussy. Sobbing impatiently as he teases your stimulated nub with his fat tip. Eyelids fluttering, mouth wide and groaning with pleasure when he shoves his entire length into your slippery hole in one smooth motion, bottoming out.

He drags his cock out of you, tediously slow — the tip settling right at the rim, before he thrusts back into you again. Once, twice, three times — knocking the breath from your lungs each time; just to get used to your heat enveloping him, just to allow you time to acclimate to the all too familiar stretch of his girth.

Then, he just — speeds up. Fucking into you in staccato brevity, rubbing abrasion along your walls. Yet not too deep — teasing stimulants in that interstitial space in your cunt, where it sets your nerve ends on fire. Touching you without even touching you there, where it aches for him so terribly.

Your fingers clench at his soft muscles, holding on for dear life; both of you huffing for each other’s next breath, as he chases after your highs like the devil is behind him — like there is no time to lose.

And, right on cue — right above your head, you hear the faucet turn on in the adjacent bathroom.

“Jesus,” you groan. “I told her not to leave the tap on when she’s bru— oooohhhh!”

You groan, when Jonathan’s thumb latches onto your clit, pressing quick, rough circles that match the shallow punches in and out of you.

Your body arches into him, whimpering — so loud that Ava can probably hear you over the running water.

Jonathan’s hand shoots up and clasps over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh…” his command jagged at his relentless pummels, and you have to bite down at his palm to muffle your cries.

That instead arouses him — his ridge catching on your fluttering folds so dreadfully it makes you gush even more, the lewd, squelching noise under the covers getting more pronounced with every pulverising hit.

He’s getting close. You can feel the urgency in his pounding as they get more resolute, and how he whimpers so pitifully — finally vocal as he noses the strap off your night dress, his moans sending shivers down your spine when he starts suckling at your breast, pebbling your nipple to a stiff peak under his wet strokes.

You are teetering on the edge yourself, teeth sinking into the slab of muscle across his shoulder, one leg curled around his thick waist, as you rut your cunt recklessly into him. The aggravating tension in your stomach twists tighter, your pussy quivering for an overdue release. It sucks his cock deeper, swallowing him whole as he pumps once, twice, three times — and cums inside of you.

You barely hear the faucet squeak off. You barely hear Ava’s tiny footsteps pad down the hallway to your room. Jonathan’s guttural groans fill your senses so completely, and his warm ejaculation fill your hole so abundantly — before they snap to an exclamatory halt when the door flings open; and he is throwing himself off you, his spunk spraying all over your stomach under the sheets as he huddles into a foetal position away from you.

You toss your arm over your eyes, heaving large gulpfuls of air where the penny hangs, too afraid to watch.

“Daddy — are you OK?” Ava’s voice edged with concern next to the bed.

You venture a peek from under your elbow to see her rearranging Jonathan’s tousled curls upon his bedhead, oblivious to her father’s hand still wrapped around his stimulated cock under the sheets — still cumming.

“Uhhhhh — not feeling too good, honey,” Jonathan croaks. “Think I got a uh — stomachache.”

You stifle your laugh at his rather ingenious effort to make it look like he is just rubbing his stomach, when he is still grinding his cock in his hand to finish up.

“But — who’s gonna drive me to school?” Ava asks, her bottom lip pouting dramatically.

You lower your arm with a sigh, smiling at the sweet child over Jonathan’s hunched form.

“Mummy will drive you to school, baby,” your voice coming out hoarser than you anticipated.

Heedless to say, your offer is enough to make her excited again. Your eyes widen when she jumps into bed, her foot missing Jonathan’s softening cock by a breath, as she leaps over him to your side of the bed.

You have to palm your hand over your crotch too to avert a potential disaster on your part.

“You sure?” Ava’s smile drops again when she’s had a closer look at you in the dimly lit bedroom.

She quirks a brow at your flushed complexion, laying the back of her small hand on your forehead; emulating the many times you did the same to her when she was feeling under the weather, or pretending to.

“You might have a fever, mummy,” she diagnoses with childlike confidence.

You shoot a sideway glance at Jonathan when you hear him smothering a chuckle into the sheets.

“Mummy’s fine,” you soothe, touching your forehead against Ava’s to prove that you are not feverish — also, because your hands are occupied for the time being.

“Can you make me blueberry pancakes too?” She mumbles quietly, fingers twirling timid spirals at a loose thread on the duvet.

“Of course, baby,” you brush your nose against hers until she giggles. “Why don’t you head on downstairs and bring out the ingredients — hmm? Mummy will be down in a sec.”

“OK!” Ava smacks a kiss on your cheek, and bounces back to Jonathan’s side for a quick peck on his face too. “Feel better, daddy!”

When her footsteps ebb down the stairway, Jonathan repositions himself next to you, cursing up at the ceiling.

“God, we’re terrible parents,” he mutters under his breath, a hand raking down his reddened face.

You snort, rolling over to kiss the round of his shoulder. Your hand slides up along his face, pulling him in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

You blink slowly, watching the flicker in his hooded eyes when you smear your slick-coated fingers across his beard, his hanging lips — the smell of your musky scent so pungent for the both of you to share.

“Your turn to do the laundry again, spunk boy,” you tease, already shimmying out of bed.

Before you can grasp for an escape, he flings his whole body over you, keeping you trapped under him once again.

“We’ll see about that,” he growls, his hand already slithering under the covers, thick, rough fingers bullying into your sensitive cunt without preamble.

“No, NO — Jonathan!” You rasp, your hand gripping at his working muscle with a flimsy attempt to stop him. “The door is open.”

“I’ll make it quick,” he reassures — his fingers wringing brutal, rapid squelches between your legs, his thumb on your clit strumming an amplified chord.

In a matter of seconds, a squirming heat climbs your body and breaks sweat through your pores, and you’re cursing breathlessly, brows pinched and nails scraping at the dishevelled curls at the nape of his neck.

“Mummy, come onnnnn!” Ava yells from downstairs, her voice travelling up the stairway into the bedroom.

“Just a sec, honey!” Jonathan answers on your behalf.

Then, in a lower, beastly tone that matches the mischievous glint shining in his dark eyes, a cocky grin curving his lips: “Mummy’s coming.”

He clamps his mouth over yours just as you tremble around his assaulting fingers, your drawn-out whine simmered to a stifled moan when the pressure crests in your stomach — and you’re finally squirting under the sheets, soaking through the mattress.

//