26. On Her Knees
On Her Knees
The apartment door clicked shut behind Karl. He stood stiffly in the hallway, his expression still completely bewildered.
Nadja had already moved farther into the apartment.
She didn’t look for somewhere to sit, didn’t inspect the place, didn’t wrinkle her nose at the stink or make her usual disgusted face.
She stood in the middle of the cramped living room, her sweater loose over the long T-shirt, brown hair uncombed, face ice-cold, dark circles beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.
Karl stared at her and understood absolutely nothing. He started to open his mouth, ready to force out some greasy joke just to regain a little control.
But Nadja cut him off. “Pants off.”
Karl froze as if someone had hit pause. “What?”
Her eyes dropped straight to his crotch. “Pants off.”
It wasn’t a suggestive invitation. Not a request. It was a dry, ice-cold command.
Karl obeyed immediately. The old man hastily grabbed his leather belt, fumbled with the buckle, then shoved his pants and stretched-out underwear down.
His movements were frantic, clumsy, almost pathetic.
The fabric slipped to his ankles and tangled there, nearly sending him stumbling forward until he caught himself with one hand against the dirty wall.
Now his shabby old body stood completely exposed before Nadja. The crooked pajama top. The soft, sagging belly. The skinny, wrinkled thighs. And his still-limp, shriveled cock hanging weakly between them.
A brief stab of shame went through Karl. He wasn’t hard yet. He had only just woken up, hadn’t showered, and the day before had drained him so completely that his joints still hurt and his head felt numb.
Then Nadja walked toward him. Karl held his breath.
She slowly sank to her knees and settled onto the dusty floor directly in front of him.
Karl stood rooted to the spot, his mind completely blank.
He hadn’t dragged her down by the hair. He hadn’t pressured her with lust, manipulated her, or ordered her the way he had before.
She was doing it entirely on her own.
Nadja Keller. The clean, sweet-smelling wife of his neighbor. The woman who had once slapped him so hard across the face that stars had exploded before his eyes. The woman who had sent him away and looked at him like garbage washed up from a gutter.
Now she was kneeling willingly in front of him in his stinking apartment.
She reached out. Her slender, clean, slightly cool fingers closed around the wrinkled skin of his cock.
It twitched instantly. Hot blood rushed into his flesh, and he began to harden.
Karl made a low sound in his throat—half disbelief, half pure lust. His entire body went rigid. He barely dared move, terrified that even the smallest motion would shatter this insane dream.
Nadja brought her face closer.
She frowned slightly and curled her lip. “That stinks. You didn’t shower?”
Karl could smell it himself. The rancid odor from his crotch. Stale sweat. The sticky remnants of yesterday afternoon.
Embarrassed, he stammered: “I… I can wash.”
Nadja looked directly into his eyes. “No need.”
Her face was still faintly contorted with disgust, but her lips slowly parted. Natural pink lips, without yesterday’s red lipstick, slightly dry from sleep.
That small, raw detail made the sight even more impossibly filthy and arousing to Karl than any polished version of her ever could.
She closed her mouth around the thick head. Karl swayed and almost lost his balance.
Nadja’s mouth was warm, wet, and tight in a way that felt completely different from her hand.
Her tongue was stiff at first, dragging over him, forced, as if she had to choke down her own revulsion to make herself do this filthy work.
And that bitter reluctance sent a numbing pleasure shooting all the way down Karl’s spine.
He braced one hand against the wall and looked down at her.
Nadja sucked him and lifted her eyes at the same time.
There was no tenderness in that gaze. No obedient surrender either. It was hateful. Sharp. Almost filled with bottomless contempt.
Karl didn’t understand. She had ordered him to take off his pants.
She had gone down on her knees by herself.
She had put his cock in her own mouth. And still she stared at him as though he were the lowest piece of filth she wanted to punish.
The brutal contradiction only made the old man more dazed.
At first, Nadja’s movements were slow, hard, forced.
Then her body seemed to find its own rhythm.
Her hand stroked along the base of his shaft while her mouth sucked wetly around the head.
Her tongue circled the rim once, then she pulled back, grimacing at the bitter smell—only to bend down again the next moment and take him greedily back into her mouth.
Before long, it was no longer just about enduring it.
She stuck out her tongue and licked along the entire length of his hard shaft, opened wider, took him deeper, then lowered her head all the way down until she even drew his wrinkled balls into her mouth and sucked lightly at them.
Karl groaned loudly. “Fuck…”
In his whole miserable life, no woman had ever tended to him like this. Certainly not a woman like Nadja Keller. Until now, he had always been the one kneeling, pressing his face between legs, begging, waiting for a small mercy to be tossed his way.
Now this proud woman knelt on his filthy floor, working him with her warm mouth — and still shooting him looks full of hate.
Karl panted, his voice rough. “Fuck… now I know how your husband feels.”
The moment he said it, Karl waited for the usual insult.
Normally, Markus’s name alone was enough to make Nadja stiffen, glare at him, tell him to shut his mouth, or shove him away.
This time she didn’t stop. She didn’t get angry. She didn’t push him away. Quite the opposite.
She opened her mouth wider and swallowed him deeper. Her soft lips slid all the way down to the base, and Karl lost his voice. For several seconds, his mind went completely white.
That was when Karl slowly began to understand something.
He couldn’t see the whole picture. But he was old enough, and his instincts told him: Nadja was furious with her husband.
Fuck. She wasn’t here because of him. She was using him. Using this exact depraved humiliation to strike back at something Markus had done to her.
The thought hit Karl bitterly and made him insanely horny at the same time. If Markus had hurt her, then that was exactly the crack Karl could crawl through for good.
Karl raised his rough hand and placed it on Nadja’s head. At first only carefully, against her tousled hair.
Nadja didn’t knock his hand away. So he tightened his grip and pushed her head down more demandingly.
His cock slid deep into her throat. Saliva ran from the corners of her mouth. Nadja looked up at him, eyes burning with hate — but her mouth did not let him go.
Karl started thrusting his hips. Slowly at first. Carefully testing. Then more and more ruthlessly.
Nadja’s mouth enclosed him, soaking wet and tight. Her soft tongue flattened beneath his shaft with every thrust. Karl pushed farther, driving the head all the way against the back of her throat.
Each time the thick tip hit deep inside, her throat clenched violently around him—a wet, choking pressure that made every nerve in the old man explode.
He lost more and more control. His thrusts grew faster. Harder. His hand held her hair tightly, pressing her face mercilessly against his crotch.
Karl forgot his age. Forgot the pain in his joints. Only that wet, filthy lust raged in his head.
He muttered through the frenzy, his breathing completely broken. “Yes… just like that… dear God, suck it…”
Karl’s madness surged higher. He deliberately snapped his hips forward one more time, deeper. His reason drowned completely in the horniness. He no longer thought about how much the woman in front of him could take.
Nadja made a strangled sound deep in her throat.
Karl was still lost in his pleasure, eyes shut, hips rigid, pushing relentlessly forward.
A loud smack. Nadja’s hand slapped hard against his skinny thigh. A sharp blow. Clear. Unmistakable.
Karl jerked. Without hesitating for even a second, without adding even half another thrust, Karl pulled back, and the wet flesh slid from her mouth with a loud, slick sound.
Nadja bent forward and dry-heaved.
Saliva ran messily down her chin, her chest pumping hard. Her eyes were wet with tears, the corners of her mouth reddened. She coughed several times, braced one hand against the floor, and wiped her chin with the other.
Karl came back to himself. His brutal arousal dropped immediately.
He crouched down in alarm in front of her, his pants still around his ankles, cock hard and shining with saliva, his wrinkled face twisted with panic. “Are… are you okay?”
Nadja sucked in a sharp breath and hissed through her teeth: “Fuck… you old man. I almost choked.”
Karl ran a flustered hand over his head. “I’m sorry… your mouth was just too fucking good.”
A confession as honest as it was stupid.
Nadja wiped the saliva from her lips with the back of her hand and glared at him. Her gaze was cold, but the pure disgust had weakened. What remained was anger, shame, and something dark that had not yet found its release.
Nadja’s breathing gradually steadied. She planted both hands against the cold floor and slowly stood.
Karl awkwardly straightened too. He started to reach for his pants and pull them up, then stopped because the gesture suddenly seemed completely pointless.
Nadja looked straight at him. “To the bedroom.”
Karl blinked with dull eyes. “The room…?”
“Bedroom.”
Those two words hit Karl like a blow.
Yesterday, Nadja had taken him by the hand and pulled him into Markus’s clean, sweet-smelling bedroom. Today, she was ordering him to follow her into his own musty hole. The bitter mirror image pulled his mouth into a filthy grin.
He stripped off the rest of the clothes that were in the way. The pajama top landed over the arm of the sofa, and he awkwardly stepped out of his pants.
He stood naked in front of her with his old, wrinkled, ugly body. But between his thighs, his veined cock stood hard and red, shining with Nadja’s saliva.
Nadja lowered her gaze and stared at the flesh. She said nothing. Then she slowly reached out. Her fingers closed firmly around Karl’s cock.
The old body twitched and trembled in short waves.
Yesterday immediately replayed in Karl’s mind.
Back then, her grip had carried a warning, an attempt to claw back at least one piece of control.
Now that same hand held his cock and led him through his own stinking apartment after she had gone down on her knees by herself, after she had nearly gagged and still explained absolutely nothing.
The same movement. And yet an entirely different world.
Karl let her lead him obediently. He shuffled behind her like an old dog that had been thrown a bone—even though he could feel perfectly well that he was nothing more than a filthy weapon being used in a fight whose rules he did not fully understand.
Nadja walked toward the dark bedroom.
Karl dragged his bare feet across the floor, looked down at her pale hand, then at her narrow back. He still couldn’t read this woman at all.