Chapter 22 Cade #2
Her entire body jerks, and she doubles over, setting me off, and I manage to cum in my hand.
Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I? A kid?
I get up, and she turns and glares, and I laugh, washing my hand in the bathroom and cleaning my dick before tucking myself away.
When I get back, I think I need to work out a way to do this real time, watching her, getting off, and then making her lick my cum from my hand, sucking my fingers, cleaning my cock.
I’d make her suck her rose clean and fair is fair, I’d push her back and lick up all her juices from her fingers, her thighs, her pussy. I’d get her off all over again, too.
There are two fucking hot fantasies to make real now. The one where I join her in the shower and take her from behind, hard; and the one where we lick each other clean.
There is a third one, where I make her choke on my dick, where I fuck her face and cum down her throat. Then she can shower, and after, because I know she’ll have me coming again, she can clean me up. And I could take her to the shower to clean her and get her off.
The possibilities are endless.
She cleans off in the shower and then gets out, stopping to give me the finger.
Along with that evil little self-satisfied smile that turns me on.
She stomps into the bedroom section of her studio apartment, and she texts me, naked.
Vi2l: Did you enjoy that?
I’m impressed with her little turn at bratting out, but honestly, she’s no brat. I don’t need her to be. I like her fire, her softness, her strength, and I’ll even take a little play acting at brat.
But I smile.
She’s trying to goad me into sexting with her. Into squirming.
So instead, I call her.
Vi goes utterly still, gaping at the phone. She then drops it and races off for the towel she didn’t grab.
Fuck, she’s funny. So fucking adorable, like she’s now suddenly coy?
She wraps it around her, and I wait until she picks up the phone before I hang up.
She stares at the phone, panic blooming, finger hovering like she’s not sure if she should call me back.
But I press call once more, and she answers immediately. “Hello?”
The breathlessness is one for the ages, one for my libido and heart. Because there’s something delightfully vulnerable in there that’s delicate and special, and I’m not sure how, but I don’t unpack it.
I drop my voice a few notches lower than usual. “Actions, especially bad ones, have consequences. Punishments.”
“What actions? Working out where the cameras are?”
“Impressive work. When did you know?”
“Just now.” Her glee lights her voice. “And what actions?”
“Touching yourself without permission.”
“You didn’t say—”
“I shouldn’t have to. It’s a long-standing rule. I’ll think of something to fit your crime.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No excuse. The only time you can is when I say. Understand?” I keep my tone low and hard, and she visibly shivers.
Her smile grows, though.
“Yes. So, we’ve graduated to phone calls now? Not even voice messages, but live action calls?”
She’s got no idea.
“You’ve already heard my voice. This seems like natural progression. I’ll text, too. But I much prefer telling you what I want to do to you than writing it out.”
“What do you want to do to me?” And she actually twirls a strand of wet hair.
I let out a sigh, I don’t dare laugh, I’m not sure how to disguise that. “I could tell you, but I think it’ll be much more fun to show you.”
“Like—”
“Drop your towel, then go to your window and pull up the blind. Leave the gauzy curtain in place, but just part it a little…now move…there.”
If someone’s looking, they’ll see the shape of her, and maybe her tit and if they’re lucky, a glimpse of pussy.
“You can touch yourself until I hang up, got that?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“When I see you next, maybe you’ll meet a stranger in a bar.
It could be me. It could be someone else, and I’ll watch.
You’ll let him touch you at the bar, slip a hand in your shirt, roll your nipples, maybe pull down your top and expose your lace bra…
your nipples. You’ll be wearing a short, tight skirt, no panties.
Fuck me heels. The kind you need to lean all over a man to walk in properly. And he’s no gentleman.”
She gasps and moans, and I stroke a hand over my cock that’s getting hard in my pants once more.
“Other men brush against you, and he holds you back against him and you can feel his cock. You’re wet. He knows because he’s pulling up your skirt, exposing your fine pussy before he starts to finger you.”
The movie my mind is playing has e rock hard. “The bar’s crowded, and the men in there are very handsy. Fingers pinch your nipples, stroke your clit. Once or twice, another finger or two join his inside you.”
Her breathing is labored.
“His friends arrive, and you all sit, he has you between him and a friend, and your legs are spread and tits now on full display. You’re being fingered by both men. In both holes, you’re losing your mind, coming hard.
“Then your man…maybe it’s me, maybe it’s a stranger and I’m just watching, drops something and asks you to get under the table, to pick it up. You do so, and he shoves his cock into your mouth.”
The gasp with the little whimper that reaches me has my skin heat to inferno levels.
“You’re moaning, louder and louder, drooling over his cock as one of his friends, definitely not me, pushes his cock into you. Someone pulls the table back and…”
“What?” Her moan is low, and her fingers are inside her. She’s on the brink.
She wants to come.
She wants to know if I’ll step in or be one of the men.
I really don’t know. It’s just a story designed to turn her on. I have no intentions of ever doing anything like that. I don’t ever want anything like that. I don’t share.
But it’s dirty, filthy, and hot in her head. Mine too, because I’m feeding off her.
“Please, don’t stop.”
“Take your hand away, and I absolutely forbid you touching yourself. Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll be in touch.”
I hang up.
And she almost falls. But instead, she storms over to her towel and wraps it tight. Gives the finger to every part of her room and marches back into the bathroom and does the same at the pipe. And then she marches back out to her phone.
Vi2l: FUCK YOU.
Ghost: That’s the idea.
Vi2l: Asshole.
I want to respond, tell her she’s adding to her punishment, but I don’t because she wants that.
Instead, I let her fester, and she’s so angry she dresses in jerky movements, pulling on what looks like some kind of tracksuit pants and an old, large sweater, and she stomps off to her kitchen and grabs some wine, pouring it and gulping it down.
After turning on her TV, she flops on the sofa, curling up, and puts on a Scandinavian murder mystery.
She’s so furious it makes me laugh. It shouldn’t, but it does, because I affect her.
Violet will forgive me eventually, and I’ll make sure of it.
I start letting my mind work on plans for our next sexual adventure.
And her punishment.