The next few days passed in a fog of my own pulsing need. Mr. Callahan's texts were a constant, low-voltage current running through my life, keeping me perpetually on edge. Drink a full glass of water for me, sweetie. I want you hydrated.Send me a picture of those perfect tits. Now.Put a cucumber or carrot in the deep freeze. I have plans for it.
I obeyed every single command, a flush of heat spreading through my body with each completed task. I was his good girl, and the validation was its own kind of drug.
Tonight, the air was cool, a welcome change from the stifling summer heat. I stood on my small balcony overlooking the quiet, dark pond behind our building, scrolling mindlessly on my phone. The thin crochet of my crop top did little to fight the chill, and my short pleated miniskirt felt like a secret declaration. I was bare underneath, as always.
Headlights cut through the darkness, washing over the parking lot. I saw him. Mr. Callahan, walking toward his car, keys jangling in his hand. My breath caught. He was going out. A sudden, irrational pang of disappointment hit me. He glanced up, and his eyes immediately found me in the shadowy balcony. I turned away quickly, my shyness surging back, and hurried inside, my heart hammering.
I sat at my small desk, opening my laptop to fake some focus on work I couldn't possibly do. My skin was still tingling from the cool night air and the brief, electric moment of eye contact.
My phone lit up on the desk, its screen blazing with a new message.
Hey sweetie. Open the door.
A jolt, sharp and bright, shot straight to my core. I was at the door in seconds, my hand trembling as I turned the lock. He was already there, filling the doorway, a dark, hungry smile on his face. He stepped inside and I quickly locked the door behind him, the click of the deadbolt sounding absurdly loud.
"I thought… I saw you going to your car," I whispered.
He didn't answer with words. He just reached for me, pulling my body flush against his. His hands were rough and sure on the bare skin of my back. "I was," he muttered into my hair, his voice a low growl. "But then I saw this skirt, and it pulled me right the fuck back here, sweetie." His mouth found my neck, hot and demanding, sucking a mark into my sensitive skin that I knew would bloom purple by morning. Fuck, it felt so good.
"What about your wife?" I breathed, the question a feeble attempt at propriety.
"Hospital duty. Back tomorrow afternoon," he said between wet, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to my collarbone. "Cancelled my night with the boys the second I got a look at that ass." His hand slid down, palming my ass cheek through the miniskirt, squeezing the full, soft flesh. "Been a good girl, obeying all my orders?"
I could only nod, a hot blush scalding my cheeks. His other hand slipped under my skirt, his fingers finding my bare, already-slick pussy. He rubbed a slow, firm circle over my clit and I gasped, my knees nearly giving out. "Fuck, yes you have," he groaned, feeling my wetness coat his fingers. "So fucking ready for me."
He took my hand and led me, not toward the bedroom, but back toward the balcony. Panic, thin and sharp, sliced through my arousal. "The balcony? Someone might see…"
He just smirked, that nasty, thrilling smirk I was learning to crave. "Let them see a pretty girl getting the worship she deserves." He sat heavily in the wrought-iron chair and pulled me onto his lap, my ass settling against the hard ridge of his erection. His hands were under my crochet top in an instant, pushing the flimsy material up and out of his way. The cold night air hit my bare tits and my nipples pulled into painfully hard points. "Jesus, look at these," he breathed, his thumbs rubbing rough circles around my areolas before pinching my nipples, sending sparks flying through my body. "So heavy and fucking perfect. They jiggle so nice when I play with them."
One of his hands slid back under my skirt, his fingers finding my clit again. He rubbed me in time with his teasing pinches on my nipples, a relentless, overwhelming rhythm. "Now stand up. Face me."
I did, my legs shaky. He pushed my skirt up around my waist, baring me completely to the night air and his dark, devouring gaze. Then he leaned forward, burying his face between my thighs. His tongue was a hot, wet brand against my chilled flesh, licking a broad, flat stripe over my entire swollen pussy. I cried out, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance. Oh god, the cold air, his hot mouth. The contrast was dizzying.
"Quiet, sweetie," he murmured into my folds, his breath a hot gust. "Wouldn't want the whole building to know what a slut you are for my tongue, would you?" The filthy word sent another gush of wetness through me, and he lapped it up with a hungry sound. He pushed my thighs wider, hooking one of my legs over the arm of the chair. "Bend over that railing. Spread your legs for me. Let me see that pretty, meaty cunt from behind."
I obeyed, leaning forward, gripping the cold metal railing. I heard his sharp intake of breath and pulled the skirt down "Fuck, Mia. Your pussy lips are so puffy,sweetie.They're glistening. Just dripping for me." He didn't wait. He ate me from behind, his tongue fucking into my hole before circling my clit, his stubble rough against the tender skin of my inner thighs. I closed my mouth to stifle my moans, my entire body trembling with the effort to stay quiet. He smacked my ass, a sharp, stinging slap that made me jump and moan into my skin. "Take it."
He pulled me back onto his lap, this time straddling him, my thick thighs surrounding his hips, my heavy tits right in his face. He dove for them like a starving man, sucking one nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue playing with the peak while his hand worked between our bodies, rubbing my clit in fast, tight circles. I was grinding down on his hard thigh, chasing the friction, my head thrown back.
"You're so fucking wet, I can feel it through my pants," he grunted. He shifted, and I felt the blunt pressure of his fingers at my entrance. One finger slipped inside me, and I gasped at the delicious fullness. "Fuck, you're tight," he murmured, his mouth still on my tit. He added a second finger, stretching me, and a low, continuous moan escaped my lips. "Gonna make this opening nice and loose for me, sweetie," he promised in a nasty, erotic whisper. I blushed furiously, the words making me clench around his fingers, and I pulled him closer, burying my face in his neck.
"That's it, pull me closer," he encouraged, his voice thick with arousal. A third finger joined the others, and the stretch was intense, overwhelming. I moaned, a little louder than I intended. He chuckled darkly. "You want to get caught that bad, sweetie? You want someone to hear you getting your cunt stretched open?" I was so wet, the sound of his fingers moving inside me was obscenely loud in the quiet night.
He pulled his slick fingers out and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a loud, appreciative moan. "So fucking sweet." He stood, lifting me easily, and carried me back inside, laying me down on my bed. "Now. Where's my cucumber sweetheart?"
"The kitchen," I whisper, my voice shaky.
He gives me a slow, knowing look and releases me. "Go get it, sweetie. I'll be waiting."