KAYLEY AND SAM, Ch. 22 - Kayley Surrenders to Leroy

KAYLEY It was a windy day, I was glad I had dressed for it. Heavy sweater, blue jeans, my clothes were like my armour. The weather had given

KAYLEY SUBMITS TO LEROY, PART TWO OF TWO

KAYLEY POV

It was a windy day, I was glad I had dressed for it. Heavy sweater, blue jeans, my clothes were like my armour. The weather had given me the excuse to dress as unsexily as I could get away with.

I pressed the building intercom.

“Yeah,” came Leroy’s voice, distorted and crackling.

“It’s me,” I said. The buzzer went off and the door unlocked. I walked into his building.

Without Sam.

That, I thought, was probably a mistake. I got into the elevator, feeling my heart starting to pound. Scratch that, I thought. It was definitely a mistake. Nope. I should press main, go back down, out the elevator, out the front doors, say ‘something came up.’

But then, I wouldn’t be tingling with curiosity and excitement.

Things had been weird since the cuckold session, in ways that it was hard to put my finger on. Sam and I both felt edgy, like lines had been crossed and we were in unknown territory. Leroy definitely wanted to do it again, I definitely wasn’t sure. On the one hand it had been incredibly exciting in all kinds of ways. The sex had been hyper-intense, I’d done extreme submission and domination at once. Something that overpowering, you crave it, but you’re also a little scared of it, what it did to me, and especially what it did to Sam.

Sam? I didn’t know.

But he’d gone over to hang out with Leroy. I’d had misgivings about that, but he came back more relaxed. He was vague about what they’d talked about hanging out. But somehow, he was willing to try another session. Considering how brutal our first session had been on him I was startled.

Now it was my turn to meet Leroy one on one, as I’d promised. Yeah, after a day or two to think about it, I was ready to break the promise. But then Sam really felt I should go see him. So between the two of them... Here I was.

And then there was the other day’s ... event. Something I hadn’t shared. Something that, in hindsight, I was having trouble getting my head around.

The more I thought about it, the less I understood what had happened. I’d been in the neighborhood of the Boutique. It wasn’t really on the way home from work, but I had some idea of picking up some pastries. But the bakery was closed, I’d forgotten about that. But the Boutique was just down the street. Well... why not take a look, shop around? Then in the Boutique, I was uninterested, distracted, I really didn’t want to buy anything. But the peep shows were open in back. Well...

The memory of me and Leroy and what I'd done there, the way I'd lost myself, was vivid. Why not go in, take a quick look, then leave?

And then... And then... And then...

Each moment, each decision, that took me there, had seemed so ordinary, so normal, so casual and mundane. Here’s Kayley, just living her life, not a care in the world, and whoops! Just normal, right up to the moment I started sucking a stranger’s cock through a hole in the wall and couldn’t stop. Even then, it seemed to be exactly who I was and what I wanted and needed.

Only in hindsight, was I going, ‘what the hell did I just do?’

Except it was bullshit. I’d thought about going back alone after the first time with Leroy. Going there without him or Sam to distract me, just alone in the dark room. Thinking about it made me wet in ways I couldn’t fathom. But I wouldn’t have done it.

Then after the cuck session, it had gotten intense. But I wouldn’t have done it.

Then Sam had gone off to see Leroy, and left me behind. It wasn’t like that of course. There was no reason to think of it like that. I didn’t really feel like that. Except yeah, on some level, I felt left behind. Jealous. They’d shared something that I was left out of. And when Sam came back, he was a little different.

I was really thinking about it. Really kind of hungry for it. But I wouldn’t have done it.

Except I was cornered into going to see Leroy.

It was all sort of out of control, all just slipping and sliding. I was horny, but repelled, intrigued but disturbed. Wanted but didn’t want. Sam was different. I was different. Leroy was... Leroy-ing. My life was exactly the same, but everything was just a little different.

If I had said to myself to do it, right up to the moment I wrapped my lips around a stranger’s cock, I would have said no way. But instead, I pretended to myself, right up to the moment I was kneeling, that I wasn’t really doing it, not here for that.

That was really fucked up.

Another fucked up thing, that once I’d done it, I felt good about myself. Relaxed, unstressed.

The most fucked up thing, I kind of wanted to do it again.

Not with Leroy, I never wanted to repeat that scene with him.

Not with Sam. My god, I would die of shame.

But just me, alone in a small dark room, with whatever came through... There was something pure about it. Something safe. Right now, if I had to pick, I’d rather be there than here, on my way up.

It was disturbing. I couldn’t get my head around it.

Fuck this, Kayley, I told myself. I’m in control. Just play it cool. I wasn’t going there to get fucked. This was just to talk it over with Leroy. Set some ground rules for this stupid cuckold session, and hopefully keep it from getting weird and toxic.

Butterflies. I knew what I wanted to say. No negotiations, stand your ground. Lay down rules. And if he said no or tried to fuck around, then shut him down. It would be a relief to just cancel the session and tell Sam it was Leroy’s fault. As much as it drew me, it repelled me.

As the elevator door closed, I felt a little wet surge between my legs. I didn’t think he was going to rape me or anything like that. Okay, I wasn’t going there to get fucked, but who was kidding who. We’d done it every single time we'd met. There was an undeniable, overpowering attraction. Something in me craved something in him. Or it craved something in his pants at least.

Odds were fifty-fifty.

It occurred to me, that if we did, and we weren’t going to, but if we did, it would literally be the first time without Sam being present in some way. Without having his reassuring presence and safety, but also without the sense of being watched by him, performing, looking after him. Totally one on one. What would that be like?

Well, the peep show thing had been one on one, but that didn’t count. We hadn’t actually fucked.

I felt a tingle in my clit, some sense of anticipation and arousal. Down girl, I thought, it’s not happening.

The elevator doors opened to Leroy’s floor.

Verdict? Intense but uneven.

And it left the question: What the fuck were we going to do with Leroy? On the whole, I didn’t regret the experience, and neither did Sam, as far as I could tell. He actually seemed positive about it. But an experience was an experience, and I had no intention of getting sucked down into some continuing maelstrom of bullshit.

I needed, we needed, to clear the air. Especially about the cuckolding session. And especially if they wanted to do another cuckolding session. I wasn’t sold on that. Just a regular threesome would be more fun. Definitely less tension. But Leroy had pushed it and Sam seemed intent on it, which I struggled to understand.

And to be fair, the prospect of another cuckolding session had a dark gravity that pulled at me.

It all felt... out of control, in ways I didn’t quite understand. Volatile. It needed to be in check, with boundaries.

So, talk about it. Set some rules, some understandings.

Leroy and Sam had talked. And then Leroy had invited me.

Leroy: No matter how good he fucked, or how charming he could be, we didn’t need assholes in our life.

The question was: Was he worth it?

I walked up to his door and knocked. It opened, and Leroy appeared looked me up and down. I was wearing comfortable blue jeans, and a purple sweater, high necked, with high top runners. Hoping for something sexy? It wasn’t that kind of meeting. I hoped. Fifty-fifty on that. I was realistic. My pussy was already wet.

“Come on in,” he said, and opened the door wider. I stepped through. The door closed. My heart fluttered for a second, expecting. But to my surprise, he wasn’t all over me. Instead, he walked to the kitchen.

“Take your shoes off,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Runners off,” he said. “Put them by the door.”

“You didn’t require that last time.”

“Last time I was out of my mind horny anticipating about to have a threesome with the most insanely hot couple I’d ever met. After you two left, I paid for it by walking on street grit the rest of the morning. Shoes off.”

I took them off, and turned to him, casually dropping them on the shoe caddy by the door behind me. His apartment was open plan, he was still in the kitchen area. Well, I thought, not jumping me was a good sign.

Or was I disappointed?

After all our encounters, raw sexual tension was inevitable.

Or was it just me?

“I’ve got some coffee on,” he said, “you want to sit on the couch, or on the table?”

“Let’s do the table,” I said.

“So,” he said calmly, almost without interest. “Is anything going to happen between us today?”

Well, he put it right out there. My stomach fluttered. I blushed automatically, a little shocked that he'd been so open.

“You mean,” I asked, “am I going to fall into a swoon, suck your cock, and then we merrily rush off into the bedroom?”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“No,” I shook my head. Wait, that was too definitive. “Not this time.”

He thought it over and shrugged.

“Cool,” he said. “Your call.”

I was relieved.

He took a drink.

“So,” he said, with clear sincerity, “how’s Sam doing?”

Just like that, he won points with me. A quick smile flickered without meaning to.

“He’s fine,” I told him. “We both knew it was a role play, we went back to normal.”

‘Good,” he said. “I worried. Even as a role play, it’s still got a punch.” He sipped his coffee. “So did you guys make the full twenty-four hours.”

I laughed. Surprisingly, he wasn’t offended. Maybe I’d misread that aspect of him.

“We lasted maybe eight hours.”

He smiled and chuckled.

“Sam my man! Way to go!”

“You’re not offended,” I said. “Curious.”

I’d expected him to be more controlling, and more upset with being disobeyed.

He shook his head.

“Nope. I figured you would need downtime for recovery. For both you and Sam. A breathing space. Counting the restaurant, how many times did Sam come?”

I pretended to count. I knew exactly how many times Sam had come, and when and how.

“Including the restaurant? Seven.”

He chuckled.

“Now if I did six or seven in that space,” he said. “I’d be useless for a week. I asked you to wait twenty four hours, I figured that would be safe. But your man is like the energizer bunny, he just keeps going and going."

“He bounces back hard,” I admitted.

“Cripes,” Leroy said, “he does. I wish I was that young.”

He looked me over.

“How about you?” he said. “Recovered. No aftereffects? Physical or emotional? You took some hard pounding there.”

I smiled.

“I was a little sore,” I admitted. Technically, I’d been a lot sore, particularly after Sam and I had our solo rounds. “But fine.”

He nodded.

“You were fucking good at it," he reflected. "Real fucking good. Deadly even. You followed the lead, played into it perfectly. If you hadn’t kept breaking character...”

I couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, or was it a criticism? The cuckolding session. The early part had been mind blowing, the psychological work up early on, especially on the love seat, that had been so intense. The role play for me had been powerful, it had been like slipping into another identity. There’d been a psychic undertow to the role play that had drawn me in completely. Then that amazing, incredibly slow penetration, reaching a level of sensual detail and intensity that was almost transformative.

And then, moments later, he’d fucked it up completely, right in the middle, after I was basically reduced to goo, by turning to Sam and going ‘Hah ha Sam. My girl now. Hah hah.’

Like what the fuck? Are you eight years old? The illusion, the make believe shattered completely. I’d almost laughed out loud involuntarily. And then he’d done that obnoxious “Sam’s cock is little” shit that annoyed the hell out of me.

I’d recovered and made up some shit so the scene could go on, but he’d lost me. After that, for me, it was just good hard fucking. I gave it to him there, he was good at it. But it wasn’t much more than that.

But the problem was me breaking character? Give me a fucking break.

“Well,” I replied. “You said it yourself, it was a role play. And the sex was real.”

The sex had definitely been real - bruising, exhausting, relentless, sweaty. The sexual energy had been overwhelming. Even after it was over, it wouldn’t stop. I’d woken up in the night, horny as hell, started playing with his cock. He woke and the next thing you knew, we were at it.

And to be completely honest with myself, some of the stuff he’d managed to get me to say during that midnight session that followed had left me ashamed afterwards.

I mean, I was exhausted, submissive, literally drunk on orgasms and arousal, and I was feeding him what he wanted to hear... but in the moments I’d said things, not just then, but particularly then, I’d meant them.

There, that's my deep secret. There had been points, moments, even if only for a moment, where I'd meant what I said.

The role play had gone very deep, to the point of maybe not being role play. That was one of the reasons why I had to keep breaking character early on. I had to remind myself it wasn't real.

“The sex was very real,” he agreed, “and intense. I actually got the feeling a few times, that you weren’t pretending.”

He stared.

Fuck. Our thoughts had lined up at the right moment, so it felt almost psychic, like he'd just read my mind.

Except for a moment of stillness, my body betrayed nothing, certainly I didn’t let on about the instant, intense shiver that went up and down my spine. He didn’t stare or anything, just watched me. After a few seconds I found I had to look away. A moment later, I could feel myself turning beet red.

“Nope,” I lied. “Role play, all the way through. You were a very good lead, it was easy to follow. You’d worked it out very well...”

“Uh huh,” he said, and just looked at me. “Why don’t you spread your legs for me.”

He said it in a plain, casual, conversational way, as if remarking on the weather.

My knees parted involuntarily, just an inch and I slammed them together. What the fuck? Where had that come from?

I waggled a finger at him and shook my head.

“Nuh uh,” I told him.

He shrugged.

“Just thought I’d test you a little.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I think you’re wet, though,” he said. “Aroused. A bit excited. Memories sparking up, and of course, you’re here alone.”

“Oh my,” I snarked. “That doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

He chuckled.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just... Every other time I fucked you, Sam was there, either listening, or physically there. Even when I didn’t know, you knew. You knew he was there, you were always performing for him a little, affected by his presence. It was never just you alone.”

“Surely,” he asked, “you must have wondered? What it would be like to do it with me, without him there? Listening. Watching. Looking over your shoulder. Trying to get a better look. Without that pressure of having to look after him? Worrying about him, whether he was enjoying? Whether he was having fun?”

“Think about it,” he said. “Just you and me, no Sam, no watching, no worrying, no second guessing. Just uncomplicated fucking.”

I felt like I was sweating suddenly as he was talking, his words uncannily reflective of my own thoughts earlier. The sweater was suddenly a little too warm.

“Interesting idea,” I said neutrally. “Maybe I’ll ask Sam and then I’ll try it alone with you. But not today.”

He nodded.

I needed to ask.

“What about you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I’ll fuck you every chance I get. In a heartbeat. You’re platinum grade ass.”

Platinum grade ass? I’d never heard that before. I laughed nervously.

“Your nipples are hard,” he observed.

I refused to look.

“No they’re not,” I told him, blushing “And if they were, I’m wearing a loose sweater, and a bra under the sweater, you couldn’t tell.”

“They’re definitely hard,” he said, looking directly at them. Fuck, I thought, they’re not sticking out are they? He can’t see that, can he? He’s fucking with my head.

“And when I said you were wet,” he said. “You didn’t deny it.”

I was blushing madly. I squirmed awkwardly in my chair, suddenly restless. To cover, I put the coffee cup to my lips and drank.

“This is fucking great coffee!”

“Sumatran. From Mandan province. They have their own strain of beans.”

“Ahh,” I said. That was the infuriating thing about Leroy, he was good at everything. Or he seemed to be. If it was bullshit, he had the best bullshit Sam and I had seen.

I put the cup down.

“Look,” I told him, “yes, there’s sexual tension. My nipples are hard. My pussy is a little wet. Okay. I feel it. You feel it. We can’t have done all the fucking we’ve done, and not have sexual tension when we’re alone. That doesn’t mean we’re going to fuck, got it? I’ve said no.”

“Sure,” he said, he leaned back and smiled. “But I am enjoying the tension. There’s no need to act on it. But it’s nice to feel... that little bit of electricity. Don’t you think?”

Fuck, I thought, he never stops. But he was right.

I looked up at the ceiling.

“Mmm,” I said thoughtfully, “you may be right. As long as we don’t act on it.”

“Fine by me,” he said.

“You’re pretty relaxed.”

“I know I’ll have you. If not now, then later on. I can be patient.”

I nodded. Made sense.

“Can you really see my nipples are hard?”

“Oh yeah,” he said.

I looked down. Yeah, they were definitely poking the sweater.

“Fuck!!!!”

“I’ve got some napkins, he said, "and some paper coffee filters. "

"You could put them in your bra. It might help,” he offered, "with the nipples thing."

I thought about it for a second, it seemed kind of pointless. But wait...

“Wait!” I demanded. “Are you fucking with me?”

He didn’t answer, just lifted an eyebrow as he drank his coffee.

“You bastard!” I swore in a friendly, affectionate way. I’d have to tell Sam, he’d laugh.

He just shrugged.

“Anyway,” I said. “I mean, how was the role play for you. You went pretty hard into it.”

Until you fucked it up, I thought. I didn’t think he realized he’d blown it, he’d just kept on, and mostly recovered. But then, we were into hard fucking, and the psychodrama stuff was secondary.

The throat fucking, that had been amazing, something of a revelation. My big takeaways so far: It hadn’t been nearly as difficult as I’d expected; And something else, as it had been happening, when he’d been going a particular pace, so I could snatch breaths and my throat muscles had seemed to react... I’d experienced intense arousal. I wasn’t sure whether it was entirely psychological, or there’d been a physiological element. I really resented him taking my hands away when I was trying to masturbate. I was still processing it. I sort of wanted and didn't want to try it again. I didn’t really feel like discussing it with him though.

The midnight sessions, when we’d been half asleep, rousing each other, my defenses down, our bodies willing, he’d gotten it back then, the psychological edge. That was when it got closest to not being role play.

He drank his coffee.

“It was just a scene," he said. “That’s all. You design it, you work out the choreography, you make sure everyone’s doing their part and having a good time. It’s like being a dungeonmaster... in DnD.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?” I wanted to make sure.

“The same,” he nodded. “Played it in high school. The thing is, you’re so busy looking after everyone, that you never get completely immersed.”

“You made it feel very real,” I said. I felt myself blushing brightly again, and hoped he didn’t notice.

I looked over at his cabinets. When he’d been on, when it was working, his sexual potency had been breathtaking.

“You felt very real yourself, like realistic. Like you weren’t playing.”

“I have this urge to be in charge,” he admitted. “Not really dom/sub, just my personality. Sometimes it gets out of hand, I have to watch out for that. But a scene like this, it just sort of plays into that part of me.”

“I’d say...” he said, “ten per cent me, ninety per cent playing to the role. I could never actually let go, I always had to manage the scene. But you? You really went there. Sometimes I watched you or listened, and I honestly couldn’t tell you were role playing. You felt very real sometimes.”

I looked at his cabinets. Was I blushing? My face was hot.

“It was fun.... “ I said. “I don’t know, that I’d want to keep on doing it. It feels confining, and... a little dark. Once or twice... okay. But I wouldn’t want to do it regularly.”

He nodded.

“I can get behind that,” he said. “I get it. You’re right.”

“One thing that really bothers me,” I told him, emphatically, looking directly at him, “and you keep fucking doing it. You keep cutting down Sam. It bugs me. It’s cruel and it’s mean, and it’s not fun at all. And he’s not that much smaller than you are. Fucking stop it. Okay?”

He nodded.

“You’re right,” he said sincerely. “You’re absolutely right. It’s unnecessary, its cruel like you said. It stops. Done. I'm sorry.”

Just like that? I’d been thinking about it off and on for days, working up to an argument. And he'd just conceded out the gate. No defensiveness, no justification, nothing. He just admitted and apologized. Fuck. I'd been ready for a fight.

“Okay...” I said.

That didn't feel like enough.

“It’s just... I don’t like it. It’s malicious. And it makes...”

“Makes me look like an asshole,” he finished.

“You’re absolutely right," he said. "I started it when I thought you were stepping out. I thought it was working for you to slag your husband. Unhappy marriage, wife straying, you don’t want to be talking up the Mister. I had the idea that was what you needed - fuck to your asshole husband."

He paused thoughtfully.

"But I misread. That wasn’t the situation at all, and even when I should have known better, I kept at it. I’m sorry.”

I was put out. This was almost a different side of him. I’d expected something closer to his role play, the ‘fuck at all costs’ ‘dominate at all costs’ persona. Or the predatory horndog from the bar. I’d expected him to defend and aggress.

But fuck, here he was, thoughtful, considerate, unapologetically sexual, but respectful... and funny. He was almost like Sam. I liked that he could remind me of Sam, that he could show the qualities I loved in Sam. It made me trust him a little more.

Was this the real Leroy? Was sensing this inner person why we were both so strongly attracted to him? Part of me just wanted to go and sit on his lap and joyfully kiss the fuck out of him and run off to the bedroom.

Or was this a role play? And underneath, maybe there was something darker and more predatory. I shivered involuntarily, and I could feel my pussy clenching, a wet squeeze dampening my panties. Something predatory, waiting to fuck me, if I dared show weakness. I had a momentary flash of me naked in his bed, him looming over me, hovering, his erection waiting, and submissively spreading my legs.

“I think,” he said, “you need to do it.”

“What?” I asked a little too loudly.

Blushing, I’d realized I’d become momentarily distracted. I’d lost the thread of conversation.

“I like Sam,” Leroy said. “I like him a lot. But I don’t know him well enough. I might miss the mark. Or go too far. You should be the one to cut him down... you know the press the right buttons... size, staying power... whatever, and how hard to push, to get him going but not hurt him. You know him well enough to know where to go, and when to stop."

Wait? What? I thought.

"People get off on submission, you definitely do. Surrendering, humiliation, the fantasy of being conquered..." he went on.

My heart beat a little faster, I felt light in my stomach, a tingle below. Yeah, he'd read me right. It wasn't all of me. But I got off on it.

"So does Sam. I guess everyone does in the right moment," he continued. "But can be a fine line between excitement and arousal if you do it right... and trauma and emotional pain if you do it wrong.”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “You should handle that. He’ll be safer and happier. I’ll leave it to you. I won’t push like I’ve been doing. I’ll back off and let you run that.”

“What?” I’d just jolted from this wildly affectionate impulse, to a submissive micro-fantasy, and now a call back to the intense energy of the role play where he’d just promoted me to ... bitch goddess?

It was weirdly exciting, because while I didn’t like verbally slapping Sam... on some level, I kind of had.

It felt like my body was thrumming, I was experiencing this strong sudden feeling of sexual arousal, but it was like I couldn’t settle on what was arousing me?

“Oh. Yeah. I see. Okay,” I mumbled, trying to buy time to sort out my confused impulses. He'd thrown me. “I’ll think about it. We’ll talk about it. Later.”

“Another thing,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I should spend the night,” he told me. “Not after a session. It’s too raw. With a regular threesome, sure, I'd love that."

"But a session brings too many things up, I’m thinking about last time. I don’t think spending the night is good. I think after a session, I should go home, and leave the two of you together.”

I was a little shocked, this was unexpected. And the thing was, he was right. The session had been one thing, but the night sex, the things I’d said and done, the way he’d wore me down, and Sam leaving our bed... It was all dark. Emotionally dark and dirty.

“Okay,” I agreed, grateful for the change of subject. “I can go with that.”

“I’m thinking during the week,” he said. “Not the weekend, so we’re not tempted. You have to go to work in the morning. I have to go home.”

“Makes sense.”

“This is for you guys,” he said. “I loved fucking you all night long, you just kept getting deeper and deeper, surrendering more and more totally. You remember? The things you said? The promises you made?”

I was blushing hot. I remembered the words vividly. I remembered submitting. Promises? Were they promises? Maybe? My hands shook a little at the memory of how completely subordinated, how utterly abandoned I’d been. I flashed on the things I’d said and done, the unspeakable thoughts and feelings that had flowed through me. There’d been no pretending.

“Your legs are spread,” he pointed out.

“What?”

Oh fuck, they were. Not a stripper doing the splits, but definitely, somewhere along the way, I’d kind of moved my hips forward as I sat, and my knees had unconsciously parted, directly aiming my pudenda at his crotch. I was glad I was wearing jeans.

I straightened up and crossed my legs.

He chuckled.

“It’s okay,” he said. “A lot of sexual tension in the air.”

I blushed, again feeling grateful that he was letting me off the hook.

I picked up my coffee cup in both hands. I needed both hands, because I didn’t trust myself to keep from trembling if I used one. Damn, but it was good coffee.

Fuck him, for being so good at everything. If he wasn’t, my clit wouldn’t be kicking up a fuss.

The cup was almost empty. I debated asking for a refill. We had a lot more to talk about. Especially if he wanted to do another cuckolding session. I wasn’t sold on that. Just a regular threesome would be more fun. Definitely less tension.

But Sam seemed intent on it, and it had a dark gravity that pulled at me. So, talk about it. Set some rules, some understandings.

I actually felt better about it now, than when I’d gone up in the elevator. Yeah, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. But I’d seen new sides to him, reasonable sides. I hoped.

He was a fascinating mystery.

“You,” I said, squeezing my thighs together, “are a dangerous man.”

Crossing my legs had been a serious mistake. I was already wet, more wet and more tense than I wanted to admit, and crossing my legs had just resulted in my putting pressure on my inner thighs, which added tension to my pubic region, and caused my thong to pull tight against my clit and my pussy lips.

I desperately wanted to uncross them and assume a more comfortable position that wasn’t mild sexual self-torture. But I’d made such a big production out of crossing them, that I couldn’t do that without drawing attention to it, which would tell him I was really wet, which I didn’t want to do.

And the worst part was that I was terrified he already knew all this, because he was so damned sexually intuitive. So good at reading me like an open book. I was terrified that he knew I’d trapped myself into sexual anguish, and he was enjoying it.

He’d probably told me to spread my legs, knowing I’d refuse but then unconsciously do it anyway later on, so that he could point it out, and make me cross my legs, trapping myself.

The bastard.

Come on Kayley. No one is that devious.

And I'm definitely not that easy to manipulate. I hoped.

“We’ve talked about that,” he said thoughtfully, “me being dangerous. That's the second time you mentioned it. You brought it up after the..."

I was grateful he didn't say it out loud, but he didn't need to. The memory of that encounter was overpowering.

He looked at me speculatively.

"But here you are."

Eek! I thought.

"Let me ask you, how do you feel about me being dangerous? Be honest.”

“Nervous,” I replied slowly “Careful.”

“Be honest.”

“Excited... Odd... A little scared,” I said. “It makes me want to get on my knees in front of you.”

Oops.

I shouldn’t have said that last part. I knew it was a mistake right from the start, and it came tumbling out anyway. Oh god, that was such a stupid thing to say. I was in so much trouble.

Fuck.

I smiled weakly.

“Strike that last bit?”

He waved, dismissing it. Instead, he leaned forward, thoughtfully.

“That makes me think of the 'Four Fs'” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“The Four Fs - the four physical responses to danger - Fight, Flight, Freeze and Fawn.”

Okay, he’d just fucking lost me. I’d thought after my idiotic confession, he’d just grab my hair, force me to my knees and go at it. But apparently, we were still having a coffee table discussion.

Okay. Sure.

“I thought it was just fight and flight,” I said carefully. “Responses to danger.”

“Those are the big ones,” he said. “But they realized that freeze and fawn are in there too.”

“Freeze is easy to understand," he said. "Sometimes, the response to danger is paralysis. People... animals, freeze up for a second. The rabbit freezes when the shadow of the hawk is there. You get caught in a bank robbery, you freeze.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good response,” I replied.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Some situations, you don’t know what to do. Something goes off... maybe the response isn’t obvious, or easy. Maybe doing something will put you in more danger. If the rabbit runs, it’ll attract the hawk. If you panic during a bank robbery, a twitchy robber might shoot you to death. So you freeze, to figure out the safe move, rather than risking death.”

I nodded.

“And the other one?” I asked.

“Fawn?” he said. “That’s the tricky one. Have you ever seen a small dog meet a big one. Sometimes it goes up, tail wagging so hard its butt is swinging, licking its muzzle, ears down. No aggression at all. Just hyper ‘wants to be friendly.’ That’s fawning.”

“Fawning, as in flattering, sucking up, ingratiating. That’s a survival strategy, particularly in social situations. Can’t run, can’t hide, can’t fight... When someone makes you feel threatened, kiss their ass.”

“That’s what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re fawning.”

I thought it over very carefully.

“Fuck right off,” I said. “I don’t kiss anyone’s ass.”

He chuckled.

“No,” he said. “Remember, it’s a physical response, it’s how we’re wired. It’s physiological, an instinct, an urge. When you feel danger, your instinct is to run, or fight, or freeze up... or fawn.”

“It feels...” I began. “I don’t like it... it’s icky.”

“It’s just physiological,” he said. “You feel someone’s a little dangerous, you have this urge to ingratiate, to try and make him like you. If the threat likes you, it’s not a threat. Simple, but it works. Sexually, if it’s a bad boy, you turn on the sex appeal, you try to get him interested... if he wants to fuck you, he doesn’t want to hurt you.”

He shrugged.

“It works for some things,” he said. “It’s not necessarily the best strategy. Real danger? My advice is run like hell. If you can’t run, fight. If you don’t know what to do, freeze. But fawning works enough that we got wired for it.”

"You keep saying I'm dangerous," he told me, "and then you flirt, because your fawning instinct is kicking in."

“Where the fuck did you learn all this stuff?” I asked, incredulous.

It wasn’t that I disbelieved him. The way he laid it out made way too much sense, and explained a lot of things, not just about sex, but ways I’d seen people behave.

“Stanford,” he said. “I took some classes there, back in the day.”

“I see,” I said. “Is this before or after you went into the Astronaut training program?”

He froze. At first he looked confused, then it sank in, then there was what might have been a very quick flicker of annoyance or anger. Then he laughed, and I laughed too. The weird discomfort of the 'Four Fs' conversation dissipated. Even the sexual tension eased.

“You bitch!” he chuckled. “I should spank you for that.”

“Promises, promises,” I replied. I stuck my tongue out at him.

He regarded me with amusement.

“Kayley?”

“Yes.”

“You were fawning just now.”

I was so shocked I uncrossed my legs, and put my hand over my mouth.

“Holy shit!” I said. “You’re right!”

I had fawned! Now that I’d noticed it, I almost felt panic, like I wanted to go back and second guess every friendly conversation I’d ever had, review every time I’d flirted. Especially with him.

He chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He straightened up and pulled himself to his feet. “Listen,” he said. “I have to go and piss. Did you want to come and watch? You can hold it, or whatever.”

“What?” What the hell, I thought, where the fuck did that come from. Watch him pee? Wait!

Leroy stepped over to me and took my head in his hands and kissed me, initially, just on the lips, but with sudden force, he pressed, forcing my lips apart and my jaw opened. His tongue slid into my mouth. I was breathless. Then it was gone, he was straightening up, and I was trying not to pant. I had this random thought that my nipples must just be poinging through my sweater.

“Whatever,” he said, walking past me. “If you don’t want to come and watch, make yourself useful and put things away. Make sure you rinse the cups. When you’re finished, go into the living room and wait for me.”

Wait! Wait! Rewind! What the fuck had just happened? Had he? Rinse the cups? What did he? He kissed me? I was completely thrown. But I couldn't even reply, he was already gone.

Automatically, I started putting away the cream and sugar, pouring out the remainder of the coffee, there wasn’t enough for another cup. Better to start a fresh pot. Disposing the grounds. I rinsed the cups and put them away.

I had this weird feeling of arousal and panic. I was absolutely soaked, between my legs, I felt fluttery all over, my skin was hot. It felt like I’d fallen into a trap, like this whole visit was a trap, the entire conversation, carefully maneuvering me into this position of arousal and submission, so he could fuck me. I had this feeling that, almost from the moment I’d walked through the door, he’d been playing me. He couldn't be this good, could he?

I was rinsing his cups? He’d simply ordered, and I was complying.

Maybe it was time to leave. Fuck this shit. I went into the living room. I could hear him pissing in the bathroom. He must have the bladder of a racehorse. Fine, I’d just grab my runners, be out the door. Four Fs? Watch me do flight, motherfucker!

My runners were gone. Or at least they weren’t where I thought I’d left them. Had he taken them? To keep me here? To control me? That was crazy. But where were they?

Crazy? My impulse to run off like a mad woman was crazy. I needed to get a grip.

I sat down on the couch. What had I thought? Fifty fifty chance of getting fucked? Right now, more like ninety ten, or maybe ninety nine point nine. Not looking good for our heroine’s virtue.

Leroy came out. I was gratified to see that he was tucked away, his cock wasn’t flopping around. Okay, good sign.

He stopped in the living room, and looked at me, smiling. It reminded me a lot of the smile he gave me in the bar, the confident, ‘I’m going to fuck you’ smile. The sort of smile that had made me shiver and spread my legs.

“Get off my couch,” he ordered, with just a trace of harshness.

I got up quickly. It was different from being in the bar with him. Here, he was definitely in charge, and I wasn’t.

“Come here,” he ordered.

My heart was literally thudding against my ribs. I was so wet, it felt like it was going to work its way through my panties, down my jeans.

Two or three steps, I was in front of him, looking up at him.

“Closer,” he ordered.

I stepped close, so close we were only inches apart. I could feel his physical presence. I had to bend my neck to look up at him.

“So let’s see,” he said, his voice calm and predatory. “Nowhere to run, and no way to resist. Fight or flight is out.. So it’s just freeze. You stand there, waiting for whatever happens. But you have to do something...”

I swallowed, a loud gulping sound.

“So that leaves fawning,” he said. “I bet, right now, you just have this urge to please me. It’s like a need, almost like a compulsion. You feel it, like an impulse, an irresistible impulse, this desire to make me happy. What’s it like?”

I licked my lips.

“Desperate,” I said. “Tense. Urgent, like I really need to do something. I can’t wait. Whatever it is, it has to be now. I’m not afraid of you, I don’t think. But I just want to make you like me....”

That sounded so stupid. I was blushing nonstop, my heart kept beating faster and harder. Any harder, I’d start shaking back and forth. I felt so weak, like my muscles and joints were all unstrung and disconnected.

“I want to get on my knees in front of you...” I whispered. “And suck your cock.”

I waited for a command, an order, a hand on my shoulder or head. There was nothing. Just him, looking down at me. He wasn’t going to give an order. He was going to make me choose to do it.

I felt weak, my body like water, unable to resist. Maybe not wanting to resist. It was like gravity had increased, the whole world pulling me down. I sank to my knees.

I looked up at him, as he stared down. Once again he had taken the role of conqueror, and I the surrendering conquest. Except that there was no real conquest, he didn't even need to exert, it was just my pulsing weakness, this overpowering need to capitulate to him. To offer myself, with the rabid, urgent hope that he would take me.

“Well, I guess,” I said, remembering my stupid remark, “I kind of opened myself up to this.”

His expression was gloating and hungry. Was this the real man? I couldn’t be sure. The way he looked at me though, made me feel weak, it sent shivers through me.

Fight, fight, freeze or fawn. The last a compulsive urge to submit, to curry his favour, to please him.

Was this what I wanted?

Was this the man I needed?

He unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out. I was ridiculously grateful to him for that. Partly, my hands were shaking so much. But there was something deeper, this casual gesture signified his approval of my instinctive submission, and in my compulsive state of fawning, that made me ecstatic.

Even only partially erect, I couldn’t help but stare. There was just something hypnotic about his cock in front of me..

“Oh, I knew you were always going to end up on your knees,” he said.

“What I love is that you knew it too.” He smiled.

I wanted to crush him with a really smart cutting remark. There wasn’t anything I could say to that. So I leaned forward and took the head of his cock in my mouth.

He was right.

There was nothing to say.

As I rolled my tongue around it, feeling the now familiar shape and texture. I knew it intimately, my body, perhaps my soul, had memorized the exact configurations and properties during the cuckolding, during that glacial slow penetration.

My eyes closed. Strangely, I found myself relaxing. The high strung urgency of what Leroy called fawning was leaving my body, just slowly fading. Perhaps it was because I had purpose now, I had an actual task or mission to concentrate me. Or perhaps on my knees, I’d found an island of stability.

Something resembling calm stole over me, not a normal calm. This was mixed with arousal, and was submissive, perhaps capable of being deeply submissive. And satisfying. I could feel Leroy’s cock head swell in my mouth as I held it on my tongue, lashing it tenderly. I tasted a bead of precum as I licked it away. My lips wrapped tight, feeling him grow with each pulse. There was a deep satisfaction in having it in my mouth which went beyond sex.

I had given my first blow job in high school, it had lasted a minute. Through my final year at high school, and into university, I’d learned reasonable proficiency in the art, but no real interest or engagement.

That had all changed with Sam, suddenly, I was wild for him in every possible way, and the chance to have him in my mouth was a carnival of excitement and exploration. Sucking Sam’s cock was both joyful and addictive, I could never get enough.

There were submissive aspects, certainly there were times when I felt submissive or he went dominant, and oral service took on profound depth.

But it was Derek who had been the turning point, although I hadn’t realized it at all at the time. Exhausted, muscles sore, pussy stretched, denied orgasm, Derek had forced, or maybe coaxed me to take his limp filthy cock in my mouth, and I’d given in. It had been degrading, but I’d been too battered down to resist, his member had still been thick in my mouth, vile with cock slime and latex, and yet, I’d surrendered.

That was it, I’d surrendered, accepted and went along with his desire, submitted to his use. It was vile, and that had made it humiliating. But the thing was, that as I served, as I’d cleaned him with my mouth, the taste of cock slime and latex diminished and defused, vanishing or being forgotten. And instead, there was just the freshness of him in my mouth, the taste of cock flesh and smooth skin, there was the heaviness of his cock, the feel of veins and wrinkles, the shape of his foreskin and cock head. He hadn’t been hard, if he had been, that would have distracted with its urgency. But now, past orgasm, in its passive state, I’d found a profound kind of satisfaction in giving myself to it.

The truth was that I would have sucked his limp cock as long as he wanted. I would have sucked him until he’d gotten hard again. I would have sucked him until he came in my mouth.

Or until he decided to fuck me again. And this time, I wouldn’t have made him use a condom. I would have just accepted his bare cock and submitted to his coming inside me. The Kayley that would have taken him in her body then would have been a very different girl than the one who went into the bathroom with him.

This realization, this epiphany, stole over me and left me weak, as I was on my knees yet again, now, sucking Leroy’s cock, now hard and filling my mouth. I didn’t think in these terms, I wasn’t thinking at all. I was just existing, and understanding.

That throw away moment in my sex with Derek had actually been deeply consequential, had been transformative. I’d made some mental adjustment there, had slipped into a certain territory, without either of us realizing it. I had been changed in some small aspect, without my even noticing. He could have taken me so much further then, and I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would have gone wherever he took me, submitted to whatever he wanted.

Not all of the oral encounters after had been in the same vein. My relationship with Sam’s cock, including my joyful fixation with oral remained. The times with Sam, the hilarious episode in the Thai restaurant, they’d had none of that. Not every cock that might pass between my lips necessarily made me a slave, that would have been ridiculous.

But cleaning Leroy our second time in the men’s room, that odyssey of a blow job that turned into some primeval face fuck at his place, the experience in the peep show, it had all just built on and hardened, that small alteration to me, had set it into stone and expanded it.

Especially the experience at the peep show. The peep show had taken away men and men’s bodies, had distilled the experience to my mouth and cocks and the submissive, profound need to serve orally. However my experiences changed me, even if I was already altered, the peep show experience felt it had fixed it permanently, rewritten a part of me.

Had I really understood the consequences for myself when I had chosen to walk in to the peep show? And if I had understood, would I still have walked in?

With a shiver, I realized the answer was yes.

Had Leroy known what he was doing when he took me into that peep show? I hoped not, that seemed impossibly diabolical. If he was that good, that cunning, then it was hopeless.

He wasn’t that good, I decided. Leroy was good, definitely. But it was important not to believe all his bullshit.

He’d just done whatever he wanted every step of the way. I was certain he had not understood or intended, it was just a game. He did not appreciate how profound it would be for me, how life altering. But he had been there, he had witnessed and seen. He may not have understood how it changed me, how I had been changed and altered. But he’d seen the result. Perhaps he even understood it, or if not, he knew enough to take advantage.

I had barely begun to understand it myself, only finding these epiphanies kneeling before Leroy, and serving him. I was no longer wholly the Kayley I had used to be. And yet, this awareness did not shatter me. I embraced it, felt warmed by it. This was who I am now. Or at least, who I was in the moment.

“Fuck,” Leroy grunted, “you’re such a fucking cocksucker!”

He was rock hard in my mouth, it hadn’t taken long, I’d reveled in the way he’d swelled, pushing my jaws apart, becoming hotter and harder in my mouth. It had been new territory, with each throb, his cock had become a new thing to explore continuously.

I was vaguely aware of his scrotum draping over my chin, I’d worked my way to a deep throat, without even a gag. He hadn’t pushed, he’d just let me follow my fascination. I took a deep breath of his masculinity, wallowing in it, eyelids fluttering and pulled back, my hand pulling gently on his testicles.

If I’d thought about it, I preferred him in the front of my mouth, no more than two or three inches. There, his cock head sat on my tongue like a throne, I could move my lips, suck so intently my cheeks caved. There was the pleasure and fulfillment of worship. But no matter where he was in my mouth, there was always the beckoning, to take him some other way, deeper or shallower, to lick his balls, bury my face in his pubic hair, kiss the head. I was constantly moving, constantly exploring the landscape of his erection, endlessly fascinated.

“Take off your sweater,” he ordered. My lips left his cock just long enough to heave my sweater up over my head and fling it away. I swallowed his cock again, going deep.

That old movie is silly, it’s not like we have a clitoris in our throats. If I come at all from sucking a cock, and sometimes I can, it’s from the psychological intensity. There’s no direct sexual nerve endings in my mouth, or my throat. But there are nerve endings, taste, awareness of texture. Awareness of the resistance to my tongue, the shape that it caresses, awareness of the wetness in your mouth, my jaws stretched open. There’s a sensuality to it, a sensual awareness that can be sexual, that is often sexual for me.

But it is an unfulfilled sexuality, arousing but never satisfied, so I chase that arousal, I pursue it slowly around the head and down the length of the shaft, into the nests of pubic hair and the swaying bush of the scrotum and back again, unconsciously seeking that sweet spot that’s never quite there, losing myself to it.

And perhaps, deep, deep down, there’s the primordial suckling urge of the infant, after breathing, the deepest, most fundamental human impulse. To feel something stiff and round in between my lips and suckle, and with that, a satisfaction a gratification, a soothing of disordered minds and the stream of thoughts and impulses.

Sucking cock, suckling, carried with it a sort of mindless pleasure, a basic happiness and contentment that shut off thought and left me in warm immediacy.

“Get rid of the bra,” he ordered. I unsnapped it and shrugged it off automatically, his cock never leaving my mouth.

I lost myself on my knees in front of Leroy. His hand stroked my hair or moved my head, but these sensations were remote. He spoke, but unless they were commands, I simply let them flow through me. What commands he gave my body, my mouth followed automatically.

At some point, he took control, whether he seized it, or gradually usurped I did not know, because I was in a state of mindless surrender, unable to distinguish the performance of my body from his will. I only gradually came to realize that I was obeying him, that he was ascendant. But this time, he didn’t disrupt my contentment with face fucking.

His cock swelled in my mouth, I slid back and forth, sealing my lips tight, aware of his impending ejaculation.

Then I felt him filling my mouth, the liquid semen surging all over my tongue and gums, from the roof of my mouth to momentarily swell my cheeks, and I was swallowing automatically. In that mental state, feeling, tasting a man ejaculating in my mouth was almost like having an orgasm of my own, it brought a kind of excitement and blissful satisfaction.

“Fuck you are good!” Leroy said. He stepped back, his cock slid from between my lips.

I reached for it automatically.

He took deep breaths. I looked up, his face was red and flushed, he was breathing hard. I struggled to connect the hard sharp orgasm he must have felt with the blissfulness I’d experienced from his agitation.

“Fuck, that was satisfying. I love blowing a load in your mouth.”

Slowly, I returned to myself. I felt calm and relaxed, very open.

“Are we done?” I asked.

He didn’t reply directly.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” he ordered.

In my relaxed state, I saw no reason not to comply. Vaguely I wondered what he had planned next. Did he want me to stay on my knees?

“I’ll have to stand up to get the jeans off,” I told him.

“Sure.”

I climbed to my feet.

“I don’t like jeans,” he said, watching me pull them down, “or slacks. You should just wear skirts or dresses, so you can be accessible.”

I thought about taking my panties off in the same movement, but decided to do them separately, he’d probably like that more. The jeans slid down my calves, I stepped out of them. I was wearing a red satin thong with a large wet spot. They went next.

Why bother to wear a bright red thong on what was supposed to be a casual no-sex visit? I hadn't thought of it when I picked it out.

Or maybe, some deep part of me had intended, wanted this all along. Maybe this was where I knew I'd be, right from the start.

“Socks too,” he said unnecessarily, I was already pulling off my white ankle socks. He smiled. “You know, there’s something about having you barefoot that is so fucking sexy.”

I stood naked in front of him. He was still fully dressed. He’d even tucked his cock away, I kind of missed it.

“Come here,” he ordered.

I took a couple of steps towards him, approaching close until there were only inches between us, like before. So close I had to bend my head to look almost straight up at him, and he was looking down at me. This is what he’d had me do before the blow job, so I assumed that’s what he wanted this time.

“You’re different,” he said, looking into my eyes. I looked away.

“I feel more relaxed,” I said. That urgent need to fawn had faded. I felt like I was in an odd sexual head space. It wasn’t bad, I was okay with it. But I recognized it wasn’t my normal head space.

He cupped my breast, squeezing my nipple. I looked down at his hand on my breast, my lips moving slightly when he pinched too hard. He slipped his hand down my belly, between my legs, finding my pussy. I gasped and my legs felt watery.

I expected him to kiss me, but he didn’t. Sam would have kissed me. Sam never missed a chance to kiss me.

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re wet. You’re just dripping.”

Of course I was. My eyes went half lidded, and I started to pant slightly. His fingertips expertly played my clit and two fingers sank into me, unerringly stroking my g-spot. I put a hand on his shoulder, leaning on him, widening my legs a little. It was startling how intense the response and arousal was.

He withdrew.

“You stopped,” I complained.

“Turn around,” he ordered. I obeyed. He stepped up close, I could feel his breath on my neck. His hands reached around, cupping my breasts, moving up and down my body, across my ribs, my belly, down below to tease my clit.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. He’d come, he wasn’t ready to fuck me, at least night right way.

The blow job had left me in this odd state of sexualized excitement and receptiveness, but strangely passive. His touch had sent me smouldering. I wanted to be licked, fingered, fondled. I felt this slow hunger building in me.

I could feel him staring at me for a moment. Then he took my hip and shoulder. “Move,” he ordered. At first I thought he was marching me to the bedroom. But instead, he stopped me facing a wall from a foot and a half away.

“Hands on the wall,” he said, “head height. Stare directly at the wall, don’t look anywhere else. Don’t look away from the wall. Don’t move your hands.”

I obeyed.

“Comfortable,” he asked after a minute. It wasn’t bad. My arms were outstretched a bit, but not awkwardly or uncomfortably. I wasn’t putting any weight on them. And the wall allowed support. It wasn’t a stress position.

“Yes. Am I allowed to blink?” I asked

“Of course.” His words came from directly behind me. I felt his breath on my shoulder.

He reached around, cupping my breasts, pulling on my nipples, and alternately pinching them. His hands moved up and down my body, from the underside of my jaw and throat, smoothly down all the way to fingernails raking my inner thighs and sending shivers through me. He stepped close to reach between my legs, fingers parting my lips.

“Spread your legs a little more...” he ordered. “That’s it.”

He started to touch and tease me, biting my shoulders, running hands and palms, fingertips and fingernails everywhere. Sometimes in long caresses, sometimes a series of touches and taps, always returning to my erogenous zones, sending me into shivers of arousal.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Wonderful.”

“You are such a responsive slut,” he whispered in my ear, his fingertip brushed lightly over my clit, making me jump. “Tell me you’re a slut.”

“I’m a slut,” I breathed.

“What kind of slut?”

“The best kind. The kind that fucks total strangers in the men’s rooms of bars, and sucks random cocks in peep shows.”

“The kind that likes to get fucked?” A finger slid up inside me, exploring.

“The kind that loves to get fucked.”

“I’m going to fuck you, then I’m going to fuck your virgin ass and pop your little cherry. What do you think of that?”

“I can’t wait. But I might have to.”

His brows narrowed. “Hmmm?”

“You just shot a whole lot of come down my throat.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I’ll be ready soon, and I’m going to make sure you’re begging for it.”

“You always make me beg.”

“You love to beg.”

“Because I’m insatiable. I need your cock. I need to come all the time.”

“Do you deserve to come?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I want to come!”

“WHAP!” he slapped my ass hard. “Ow!” I went, reflexively.

“I decide whether you deserve to come,” he said. “Not you. You just beg.”

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. “You’re right. May I come? Please?”

“What did you do to deserve it?”

“I got on my knees for you,” I said. “You didn’t even have to tell me. I got on my knees because I wanted to please you. And I sucked your cock. I sucked it really good. I worshipped it.”

“That was a pretty good blow job,” he admitted.

“Tell me a secret,” he said. “Something Sam doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know about the peep show.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Not yet.”

“Not enough,” he said. “Tell me another secret, something no one knows.”

Fuck. I was going out of my head with the need to come, and he was playing twenty questions. What an asshole. It’s not like I walk around with a list of untold secrets I could draw on. Especially in my desperate panting state. My mind was a chaotic blank. I searched for anything recent.

“When you went to the bathroom,” I mumbled. “And invited me to watch... I wanted to go. To hold it.”

“Oh really,” he whispered. “Was that all you wanted?”

Oh fuck! Just give him what he wanted, so he’d let me come.

“No, I wanted to watch you piss. To see it,” I whispered. Fuck, I’d already given him that. He wanted more. “I had a flash, when you said it, an image...”

“An image?”

Fuck.

“Of kneeling while you pissed. Of kneeling right in front of you. Of you pissing on me instead of in the toilet. Of opening my mouth so you could piss in it.”

Just let me come, I screamed at him in my head. I hoped that this didn’t get me in trouble, and that he wasn’t some pee freak or anything, and I I was setting him off.

“Ever had these fantasies before,” he whispered.

“No,” I answered truthfully. “Just now, with you,” I lied.

He chuckled.

“You would do whatever I told you?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“If I took you back to the bar, to fuck a stranger?”

“I’d fuck him.”

“Even if he was black?”

“Yes.”

“Or brown? Or Asian?”

“Yes.”

“Fat?”

“I’d fuck whoever you told me to.”

“What if I sold you to a stranger?” he demanded. “What if I pimped you?”

“I’d do it.”

“Put you on the street?”

“Yes.”

“Gangbang.”

“Yes.”

“What if I took you out there without Sam,” he said. “What if I left Sam out of it.”

Oh fuck you, Leroy, I thought angrily. I didn’t answer.

“Kayley?”

I refused to answer. Fuck it, come, not come. There was a limit.

“Kayley?” His voice was warning.

I still refused. I expected him to do something, either do some asshole thing to punish me. Or leave off entirely and stop - cold turkey me. Or rev up. His hand on my pussy slowed down slightly, he seemed almost thoughtful.

“The cuckold session,” he whispered. It was a change of direction. “Some of it was real, for you, wasn’t it? Sometimes you weren’t playing, were you?”

Oh fuck him, I thought. He’d been probing and probing, and now he was going to pull it out of me.

I nodded. “Sometimes.”

“When?”

“On the love seat,” I whispered. “When we were making out in front of Sam, when you had the video on him, to embarrass him and he was squirming. And I said video me. It was real. I was feeling it.”

“Good girl,” he whispered in my ear. “Finally some truths. Other times, were there other times it went real?”

“Yes,” I gasped. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t ask for some moment by moment. That would be torture. And I’d have to lie for parts of it, and that would be hard.

“And how did it make you feel?” his voice was silky.

“Strong,” I whispered. “Powerful, in control, with him. Submissive, with you. Dominant and Submissive, at the same time.”

“Do you want to do it again?” he asked.

“Sam wants to,” I said.

“Do YOU want to do it again?”

Oh fuck you, Leroy, I thought to myself, gasping.

But instead, I said “Yes.”