Page 15 of The Husband Sitter

I’m still reeling over the rampant erection now wedged between the cheeks of my backside when Mr. Red scoots us closer to the table. “Open your spoiled little mouth,” he whispers in my ear. “Or later tonight when everyone is sleeping, I’ll make you open it for a lot more than soup.”

Underneath the table, Mr. Red’s thighs open wide, wider, until mine are draped over his muscular legs, leaving my core exposed. I send him a glare over my shoulder and feel his erection swell larger. “Fine.”

His left hand takes hold of my jaw, applying pressure until my mouth pops open. Before I know what’s happening, he guides a spoonful of soup between my lips. “Swallow,” he orders gruffly into my hair. When I comply, he brings me another bite. “Again.”

Briefly, I let my attention drift to Mrs. Red and find her looking oblivious, concerned only with her meal. As if she has no idea what’s happening beneath the table. Or that I’m sitting in such a provocative position, her husband’s rod of hard flesh pulsing in the split of my backside. And now he’s setting the spoon down, moving his left hand beneath the table and cupping my sex.

“Shhh,” he breathes into my hair. “Daddy had a hard day at work.”

Two thick finger pads find my clit through the thin material of my shorts and begin circling it slowly. In seconds, I’m rattling the bars of a mental cage, trying not to scream and work my bottom on Mr. Red’s lap…when he casually spoons a bite of soup into his mouth with his right hand. As if what’s happening beneath the table is a secret only we know about. The wrongness of it somehow revs my need higher, hotter and my vision grows hazy, lust climbing my throat like ivy.

I can’t have an orgasm like this, can I?

Right here at the table?

Mr. Red shows no signs of relenting. No, his fingers move faster and faster until I have no control over my own hips. I’m rubbing my bottom side to side and accepting his low grunts like a beggar gobbling up breadcrumbs. It’s going to happen. I’m going to climax right here on his lap while he eats soup. Just as I’m about to capsize under the weight of my pleasure, Mr. Red stops touching me, resting his left hand on my thigh and squeezing firmly.

“Next time, do as you’re told without the attitude, young lady,” he enunciates as I try not to be obvious that I’m about to hyperventilate. Or cry. Or both. “I don’t tolerate disrespect under my roof. Now tell your mother thank you for dinner and go wait in your room. We’re going to have one of our talks tonight.”

Moments later, I feel like I’m trapped in a dream as I stumble blindly across the backyard. I’m on fire. Every inch of my skin is branded and hot and needy. I’m so needy for Mr. Red. My nipples are in spikes and I can’t stand the feeling of material chafing them, so I strip the shirt off as soon as I’m in the pool house. I stomp like a punished teenager to my room and slam the door shut, screaming through clenched teeth. I want to touch myself, but I don’t. I don’t dare. Somehow I know I’ll be in even worse agony if I take away this terrible edge he’s given me.

I’m lying on my side on the bed, still panting with thwarted need, when the bedroom door opens and closes. Stubbornly, I refuse to turn around and Mr. Red sighs. “I’m not sure how your father disciplined you, young lady, but I’m the man in your life now. I’m your new father. I make the rules and it will make my life much easier if you learn to obey them.” His weight makes the bed dip and my stomach follows suit. “Don’t you want to make Daddy’s life easier?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. That word causes an uprising in my hormones.

“These shorts tell me the answer is yes.” His hand coasts over my bottom, squeezing and releasing my cheeks rhythmically. “These shorts tell me you want to be the solution to all of my problems at the end of a hard day. Isn’t that why you maneuver me into having our nightly talks?”

The mattress shifts and his body heat licks my back. I want him to roll me over and devour me, but I’m imbued with the stubbornness of the part I’m playing. A part that doesn’t feel like a part at all. It feels real.

“Very well, Astrid. If you’re not going to speak with me like a big girl, I’ll take what I need to relax and go back to the house.” Mr. Red’s weight leaves the bed. The lamp I turned on when I walked into the room is switched off, leaving nothing but the moonlight to illuminate the room. Behind me, I hear the faint sound of buttons being pulled through holes and a belt being unhooked, a zipper coming down. Anticipation makes me breathless and I’m wondering about Mr. Red’s next move when he snatches my ankle and yanks me to the edge of the bed. “Get over here, brat.” I whimper and start to struggle on instinct when my panties are ripped from my body. “All I want from my little princess is some appreciation when I get home. You’re going to show me some right now, goddammit.”