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It didn't matter. I couldn't breathe. The collar around my throat seemed to be directly connected to the pleasure center of my brain. My pussy heated and quivered, knowing I was at his mercy. Almost lazily, he dipped a finger inside me, and I clenched around it, aching for him to fill me.
A sudden buzz sounded through the room, and I started, suddenly brought out of the spell Anton had cast over me. Behind me and in me, Anton froze at the sound, then began to move his hand again, crooking his finger and stroking it against my upper walls. My toes curled and my arms collapsed beneath me.
“Just the doorbell,” he said softly as I pressed my forehead to the wood floor, panting.
The buzz came again.
Clearly determined to ignore it, Anton slipped another finger inside me. He scissored his fingers, pressing against my walls, opening me, preparing me for his invasion. I ached, wet and hot for him, every nerve alive.
A third buzz.
Anton stiffened, then, to my despair, he withdrew. I heard him stand.
“Stay there,” he commanded. “If I find you have moved while I was out of the room, you will be punished.”
Punished. I liked the sound of that. Wait, no I didn't.
Yes, I did.
Damn Anton and his magic cock.
I watched from my position on the floor as he strolled at a leisurely pace out of the room. I heard him descend the stairs. Below us, I knew, he kept an office. I was betting he had a camera set up there to see who was calling.
What would he do when he came back? Would he take me from behind? Would he lead me around like a dog? Would I like it?
Oh, who was I kidding? I knew I would. I could say no any time I wanted to. I just hadn't reached that point yet. Anton took me places I never knew existed.
My pussy pulsed and I had to fight to keep my hands on the wood floor next to my face. I was certain moving to ease the pleasurable pain he had inspired was against the rules.
Then again, I was a bit curious about that punishment...
I never got a chance to try it out, because the buzzer of the doorbell sounded again, and this time it didn't let up.
Heavy feet stomped up the stairs, and when Anton entered the room his face was murderous. Flipping a switch on the wall, harsh light flooded the room, and I blinked.
“Get up,” he said. “Put some clothes on. We have a visitor that we can't turn away.”
Confused, I did as he bade me. The touch of fabric to my skin made me jumpy, but I did my best to make myself presentable, though the seam of my jeans against my bare slit—taking Anton's words to heart, I stuffed my panties in my pocket—was almost too much to bear. When I was done, Anton removed the collar and led me back down the stairs to the garden floor. The doorbell was still buzzing. Whoever was ringing it was not to be dissuaded easily.
Anton opened the door.
There on the steps stood a woman with long dark hair and large dark eyes, in her mid-fifties. She was well-preserved, but the last time I had seen her there had been more meat on her bones. Her cheeks were thin, and she seemed lost inside the classic pea coat I remembered her wearing ever since I was a little girl. Behind her, my father hovered, looking older than ever.
Oops, I thought. Word travels really fast.
“Felicia,” the woman said, and threw herself into my arms and began to sob.
“Oh,” I said. “Hello, mother.”
Chapter Six:
Bartered Passion
Having your parents show up at your door just as you are about to get down and dirty is, by far, the worst form of coitus interruptus imaginable. Okay, maybe not as bad as suddenly dropping dead of a heart attack or throwing up the last ten beers you drank all over your partner, but it's pretty bad.
Because parents aren't sexy. They may be sexual beings and, at one point, may have actually Done It to give you life, but you don't want to think about that, and you certainly don't want to see them standing on your doorstep when you were on the brink of getting plowed like last year's cornfield. And getting a sobbing hug from your mom? Boner killer. And I didn't even have a boner.
I patted her shoulders awkwardly. "Mom," I said. "What's wrong?"
