The Husband Sitter

Using his shoulders for balance, I rise up on my knees and sink back down on Mr. Blue’s rigid length, scooping my hips forward so I can stimulate my clit with every up and down ride. We’re panting against each other’s mouths, Mr. Blue’s urging hands clasping my bottom, bruising it while I tunnel him in and out of me. My nipples slide through sweat-dampened chest hair, and the choppy sounds he’s making tell me he’s close. I’m close, too. Oh God, his peak is going to be extraordinary. The build-up of it is crashing into me—

“What the hell is going on here?”

The third presence in the room is jarring, but not in a negative way. No, I have to throw myself against Mr. Blue’s chest and bite his shoulder, because Mrs. Blue’s excitement is so intense, so bright, it’s like standing beside a heat lamp turned to full blast. Getting lost in my own pleasure, I almost forgot she was meant to catch us, but she is distinctly unforgettable right now, her expression contorted in rage.

I know better, though.

“Honey…” Mr. Blue rumbles, his hands still squeezing and releasing my bottom, as if he has no control over it. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, really?” She stops beside the couch and cocks a hip. “You’re not fucking a girl younger than your own daughter? In our home?”

“Younger than?” A tremor passes through him and he gives me a subtle thrust from beneath. And another. As if he’s trying to pump into me undetected. “Fuck. I can’t…”

“You can’t stop, can you?” Mrs. Blue chides. “Better finish then. Don’t let me keep you.”

With that, she perches on the arm of the couch and crosses her arms. The picture of a scorned wife. But the hard nipples pressing to the front of her dress tell another story altogether.

I slide my knees wider on the couch and grind down on Mr. Blue’s hardness, heat assailing me as I watch him react. Watch him try to keep from moaning and fail, finally letting out the sound, the cords of his neck stark and glistening with sweat. “It’s my fault, Mrs. Blue,” I purr, circling my hips. “I couldn’t resist him. I knew he would fill me all the way up. Knew he would fuck me until I screamed.”

“Has he done that?” Mrs. Blue asks. “Made you scream?”

I pull my face into a bratty pout, rubbing my hard nipples side to side against Mr. Blue’s chest. “Not yet.”

All this time, Mr. Blue has been trying to be furtive about driving himself slowly up into my wet heat, but now his tether snaps. One second I’m straddling his lap, the next I’ve been thrown onto my back on the couch and Mr. Blue is no longer trying to keep the repeated pounds of his manhood into my body a secret. His hefty, muscular frame presses me down until I’m gasping for air, my thighs open and shaking, shaking, shaking with the power of his entries. The living room fills with wet, squelching sounds of him entering my wet hole and he does nothing to quiet his loud grunts.

“Look at you.” Mrs. Blue shakes her head, but with my head thrown back, I can see her hand disappearing beneath her dress, the bliss that steams across her face. “You filthy man. Fucking that little girl because you can’t help it. You better not come inside of her. You better not.”

“I can’t pull out. It’s too sweet,” he rasps, his thrusts quickening, so fast a scream begins to build in my throat, his oncoming peak colliding with mine. “Fuck. Christ. It’s too late. I can’t…fuuuuuuuck.”

My scream is unleashed and it joins with Mr. Blue’s prolonged groan, the jerk of his flesh inside me and the never-ending flood of hot seed. He grinds down and curses, trying to wring himself dry inside me, and I pull his buttocks closer, sinking my nails into that flesh, encouraging him to overflow me. And when Mrs. Blue’s cries of pleasure join ours, it becomes too much again. I’m splintered apart by three unique free falls and I hit the bottom hard, blackness blanketing my vision.

Before I let sleep claim me, I watch Mr. and Mrs. Blue share a laugh and a reassuring kiss above me. With their arms around one another, they look down at me with such fondness and care that I feel completely safe surrendering to the night.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mr. Red

It’s a much different experience staying with the Blues. There is no tension the next morning when I wake up and venture from guest room to kitchen. No, there are banana walnut pancakes, a variety of syrup choices and tea. I sit at the kitchen table giggling at Mr. Blue’s locker room stories and Mrs. Blue’s tales from meditation class. It reminds me of being on the compound, except I’m not identified as merely someone’s daughter here. I’m an adult. My own person.