17. Who’s in Charge Here
Who’s in Charge Here
After the beep signaling the end of the call, the kitchen sank into a thick, leaden silence.
The iPhone lay facedown on the wooden table beside the half-empty beer bottle, the cold fried potatoes, and the eggs.
The heavy smell of fried onions, pork fat, beer, and heated skin hung in the air.
The wooden chair beneath Nadja still vibrated faintly, as though the material itself had stored the aftershocks of what had just happened on it.
Nadja sat there with her hands loosely braced against the edges of the seat.
The knit dress was badly wrinkled and had ridden up to her hips.
Her bare thighs were still spread wide, exposing her smooth-shaven pussy and the reddened, soaking-wet lips.
A thick drop of her juices ran to the edge of the chair and struck the wooden floor with a faint, sticky sound.
Her face was deep red. Her brown hair was completely disheveled, damp with sweat and sticking to her cheeks.
Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing still fast and uneven, as though she hadn’t fully returned to reality after the two orgasms—first suppressed beneath the sound of her husband’s voice, then brutally driven over the edge.
Karl stood directly in front of her. Completely naked. The dark flesh, crossed with thick veins, jutted rock-hard between his sagging thighs.
He looked pathetic. An old, wrinkled body covered in gray hair; his sagging belly rose and fell heavily with every breath.
Her saliva and wetness still gleamed around his wrinkled mouth.
He looked like some old mangy animal that had just crawled out of the mud—stuffed full and yet still drooling with hunger.
He stepped closer. Close enough that Nadja could see every dark vein on the massive cock he held in his hand.
“Do you want it, Nadja?” Karl’s voice was rough, thick with raw greed.
Nadja didn’t answer. She only looked at him.
Her eyes desperately tried to remain cool and distant. Her chin was slightly raised. If her thighs hadn’t still been spread wide, if her pussy hadn’t been dripping wet and gleaming openly before him, her aloof expression might almost have been believable.
Karl gave a quiet, dirty laugh.
He lowered his gaze to his own crotch and firmly stroked his cock with his rough hand. Nadja’s wetness from the two violent orgasms still coated his palm.
Her slick juices smeared over his skin, making the swollen red head slide wetly through his old fingers—obscenely filthy and utterly shameless right in front of her eyes.
Nadja clenched her jaw. Karl stroked himself again, this time agonizingly slower.
His dark, veined cock slid through the hand that still reeked unmistakably of her pussy. Heavy and hot. As though forcing her to look closely at what was about to be driven inside her.
“Don’t you like it?” he asked mockingly.
Nadja continued to answer with icy silence.
The corner of Karl’s mouth rose. He stepped another half pace closer until the throbbing head nearly touched the edge of the chair. Nearly touched the open space directly between her thighs.
“It’s bigger than your husband’s, isn’t it?”
Nadja’s eyes flashed with anger. Karl saw it. And it only made him bolder.
“Admit it, Nadja.” His voice dropped lower, rougher, utterly merciless. “You want it. Exactly the way you just came hard while cheating on your decent husband on the phone.”
The kitchen was deathly silent.
Only Nadja’s breathing could be heard. Fast. Hoarse. Trembling inside her chest. She stared at him. Her gaze had long since drifted helplessly toward what stood in Karl’s hand.
That hard, ugly shaft gleamed with her own juices, deep red at the tip, dark and veined beneath the old hand that stroked it slowly and steadily.
Crude. Repulsive. Far too naked. But she simply couldn’t look away.
After two hard orgasms, her body refused to settle. If anything, it felt even emptier. Oversensitive.
Every time Karl provocatively stroked himself in front of her, the wet slit between Nadja’s legs clenched helplessly, as though desperately waiting for something heavier and harder than an old tongue and a few fingers.
Fresh warm wetness slowly seeped from her and made the insides of her thighs sticky.
She hated the feeling. She hated that humiliating need to be filled. The need for something large and rough to enter her and stretch her pussy without mercy.
Anger burned in Nadja’s eyes. Not at Karl. At herself.
Karl stood calmly in front of her, his hand still pumping around his cock, and waited patiently for her to finally break.
Nadja swallowed with difficulty. Then she said, ice-cold but hoarse: “Then do it already.”
Karl didn’t move.
Nadja audibly ground her teeth. “Stop running your mouth.”
Karl paused for one heartbeat. Then he laughed. Throaty. Rough. Old. A laugh filled with absolute triumph.
His wrinkled hand, yellowish fingernails first, reached out insistently and stroked hard over Nadja’s inner thigh.
Her flawless white skin immediately broke into heavy goosebumps beneath his coarse touch.
Karl looked up at her through his dull eyes, his mouth twisted into a nasty, victorious smile.
“A moment ago you were trembling down here,” he murmured softly. “Came right in my mouth… and now you look at me as if I were the last piece of filth in the hallway.”
Nadja’s breathing stumbled. Her chest rose and fell frantically beneath the thin knit.
Karl leaned toward her threateningly. His sunken gray-haired chest was barely a hand’s width from her face.
His rough hand slid possessively around Nadja’s narrow waist, grabbed the hem of the dress twisted tightly around her hips, and tried to yank it all the way up.
The elastic knit caught on the curve of her hip.
Nadja remained motionless, thighs obscenely spread, breathing unevenly, her body wet and boiling hot after the two orgasms. One part of her was begging for him to continue. Another part stared at him with arrogant coldness, as though enough performed contempt could somehow erase the filthy arousal.
With a rough tearing sound, the fabric gave way. Karl yanked brutally.
The thick seam along the side split with an ugly rip. The expensive dress tore apart and fell loose, exposing Nadja’s full naked breasts beneath the harsh kitchen light.
Her hard pink nipples stood sharply in the warm, stuffy air.
“You asshole! The dress—” Nadja’s face went chalk-white with rage.
Karl didn’t even wait for her to finish. Both of his huge hands seized her breasts and squeezed brutally hard.
His rough, callused fingers sank deep into the heavy, full flesh, kneading greedily and crudely as though he could finally seize what he had spent far too long staring at in secret.
He mercilessly compressed the soft breasts, pulled them apart, lifted them from underneath, making the white flesh bulge between his old fingers.
Nadja sucked air sharply through her teeth.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Karl said.
His scratchy voice dripped with pure lust and self-satisfaction. His hands had no intention of stopping. They kept kneading roughly and hungrily, as though in his frenzy he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to crush them or worship them.
“You’ve got damn beautiful tits,” he said quietly, his lustful gaze fixed on the heavy breasts in his hands. “Big. Soft… exactly right for a man to bury his face in and suck on all fucking day.”
Nadja twisted her face in contempt, but her breathing grew uncontrollably heavier.
Karl lowered his head until his unshaven mouth hovered directly in front of one hard nipple.
“If I were your husband,” he whispered obscenely close to her skin, “I’d suck these tits every morning. Every fucking night. I’d never leave you sitting here so horny that some old neighbor could make your whole body shake.”
Nadja clenched her jaw until the muscles stood out. “Are you finished?”
Karl slowly looked up at her. His grin grew even dirtier. “You’re in quite a hurry, aren’t you?”
Nadja answered with icy silence.
His gaze flicked insistently toward the short hallway leading to the bedrooms, where the closed doors waited in the dim light.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he said. His voice was dark and hoarse.
“No.” Nadja’s answer came instantly.
Karl grimaced. He awkwardly bent his knees slightly and hissed under his breath as though the joint had genuinely betrayed him.
“It’s uncomfortable on the chair. I’m old… my knees hurt.” His voice turned put-on and plaintive, almost begging, but his lecherous gaze never left her naked body. “Let me have the bed. In a bed, I can really take care of you.”
Nadja remained rigid and motionless.
Karl stood completely naked in front of her. His soft, hanging lower belly rose and fell with his heavy breathing. His dry hand continued mechanically stroking the hard flesh jutting steeply upward.
That feigned, pathetic submissiveness made the corner of Nadja’s mouth twitch.
She stood abruptly. With one hand, she held the torn fabric awkwardly in front of her naked breasts. The other hung loosely at her side.
She stepped decisively forward and closed the tiny gap between them.
Karl didn’t even have time to say anything stupid before Nadja’s left hand shot forward and seized his hot cock in a brutally tight grip.
It filled her hand. Massive. Rock-hard. Burning hot, as though it had a throbbing pulse of its own.
The thick veins twitched visibly beneath Nadja’s palm. The dark, coarse skin slid slightly inside her iron grip, still slick with her own wetness that he had shamelessly smeared over it.
It was far from the first time she had touched him. But every time she gripped that thick shaft, her damned body reacted as if it were being reminded of a filthy truth there was no denying.
It was bigger than Markus’s. Rougher. Dirtier.
The treacherous thought lasted only a fraction of a second. But that was more than enough to make her lower belly clench.