17. Who’s in Charge Here #2
Between her legs, her hypersensitive pussy tightened again immediately after the orgasms, as though her body had instinctively recognized the massive flesh in her hand and was already preparing itself to be brutally filled.
“Uhh…” Karl groaned deep in his throat.
Nadja squeezed harder without mercy.
Karl’s wrinkled face contorted. His eyelids twitched wildly. His mouth opened in pain and perverse pleasure at once.
At that exact moment, he was no longer the threatening intruder. No longer the smug neighbor. He was only a naked, pathetic old man curling and whimpering in front of her because she literally had him in her hand.
An ice-cold rush of power and satisfaction shot through Nadja’s belly.
After everything he had taken upon himself— the shameless way he stared at her, the way he had licked her without restraint, the way he had taken control of her body— all it took was one hard squeeze of her hand, and his entire body folded obediently before her.
The control was back in her hand.
“Remember one thing,” she ordered sharply. Karl nodded quickly and submissively.
“By this afternoon, you’re completely gone.” She pressed her thumb brutally hard against the thick base of his shaft. Karl sucked air through his yellow teeth.
“Not a single mark on my body.” She twisted her hand slightly around the swollen head. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, his face completely distorted.
“And you do not dirty my bed.” Her hand closed even more brutally around him.
Karl exhaled in ragged pants and nodded wildly. “Yes… yes… understood…”
Nadja turned on her heel, still gripping his cock firmly in her left hand, and literally dragged Karl out of the kitchen by his penis.
Karl stumbled helplessly after her. His bare old feet slapped against the wooden floor, past a small patch of water, the empty beer bottle, and the black iPhone still lying treacherously facedown on the table. Every stumbling step carried his heavy, hoarse breathing directly behind her.
Nadja was almost naked. The torn knit dress hung from her like a useless rag; with one hand she clutched the fabric desperately over her breasts, while with the other she possessively gripped the hard cock of another man. An old, filthy, foreign neighbor.
And she was dragging him into the most intimate bedroom she shared with Markus.
It was profoundly wrong. So unbelievably wrong that she could no longer justify it to herself with even the flimsiest excuses.
But the farther she walked down the short hallway, the shallower and hornier Nadja’s breathing became.
She no longer pushed that filthy, perversely arousing truth away. She drew it deep inside herself. Every step toward the bedroom made her lower belly a little hotter. Wetter.
Without realizing it, her hand tightened even more around Karl’s throbbing flesh.
She could feel exactly how he twitched in her grip. Could feel how blindly he followed her like a trained animal led only by its own primitive hunger. And that was exactly what made her so incredibly thirsty for him.
They stopped in front of the closed wooden door. Nadja paused for a moment. Her hard grip on Karl’s cock loosened slightly.
Behind her, Karl stared over her bare white shoulder into the room.
The bedroom lay in extremely soft yellow light.
A large marital bed with immaculately clean white bedding stood neatly in the center.
The gray curtains were only half drawn. The wardrobe was properly closed.
A faint, innocent scent of laundry detergent hung in the air, mixed with the familiar fragrance of Nadja’s expensive skin cream.
Completely different from the cheap grease, onions, and stale beer back in the kitchen.
Karl nervously licked his dry lips. Raw agitation shot through his mind.
He wanted to go inside. He wanted to tear Mrs. Keller’s pussy open on that warm, clean marital bed. But he was also terrified that Nadja might get cold feet at the last second. He simply held his breath and waited without pushing her.
Nadja drew a deep breath. Then she finally stepped across the threshold first.
Karl exhaled in relief. With a victorious, filthy smile, he shuffled closely behind her. His gaze immediately fell on the framed wedding photograph hanging large above the headboard.
In the picture, Nadja wore a pure white bridal gown, her hair neatly and innocently pinned up, her face bright and untouched.
She was happily linked through Markus’s arm as he stood beside her in an expensive gray suit.
Both of them smiled radiantly. Clean. Trusting.
As though this sacred room had never been meant to contain anything remotely filthy.
Karl swallowed audibly. His bony Adam’s apple moved up and down.
He tore his gaze away from the perfect photograph and stared greedily at the flesh-and-blood bride in front of him.
The torn knit dress hung from her like a cheap rag, only half covering her heavy breasts. The lower half of her body was completely naked. Barefoot. Her hair disheveled, damp, wild with sweat after the orgasms.
The thick flesh in Nadja’s hand twitched involuntarily. She immediately squeezed mercilessly harder.
Karl let out a strangled gasp and bent forward in pain.
“Don’t look at it.” Nadja spun toward him. Her cheeks burned with shame, but her gaze remained ice-cold and commanding.
Karl quickly and obediently lowered his eyes to the floor.
Nadja impatiently tugged him forward another step, directly to the edge of the marital bed. “Faster.” Her voice was extremely irritated and trembling with suppressed lust.
Karl looked up from below at Nadja’s half-naked, torn-up body. Then his dull gaze moved agonizingly slowly toward Markus’s immaculately white, perfectly smoothed bedding.
Too clean.
That single thought shot through his mind. And precisely because it was so unbearably clean, the perverse urge to defile it completely became impossible to resist.