Herding Cats 11 (Patreon)

He’d teased her sex nearly to the breaking point; now he approached her clit. But Brad slowed before he reached it. He circled his fingertip around it, brushing against the outside of her hood, but coming closer in maddeningly spiraling circles. It kept touching her more and more, but not truly touching her.

Max whimpered in frustration. Brad kissed her reassuringly. She knew he would take care of her. But why did it have to be after she waited?

“You like being a whore?” Brad asked her. “A bad girl?”

“You like fucking bad girls?” Max retorted. “Who’s your favorite, big boy: me or Caroline?”

His fingertip finally reached her, aching and hugely swollen. Max’s eyes shut, closing off the ecstatic shine in the middle of her irises. She managed to get them half-open, looking at Brad through a lascivious gaze.

“I don’t need to play favorites. You’re both mine.”

Max gyrated her hips, rubbing herself on his finger, masturbating her clit. The pleasure was like a drug—too good to quit. She could only be its slave. A happy, happy slave.

“Oh yes! Yes, Brad, rub it! Rub my clit! OHHH, it feels GOOD! YES! YES! FUCK YES! Don’t stop! I like being a whore! Don’t ever stop treating me like a whore!”

Even Brad’s self-control could only take so much. His cock was about to explode. It throbbed, huge and seething inside his pants. Its bulk strained at his zipper. It wanted to be out, and more than that, it wanted to be buried in something hot and tight.

And Max couldn’t forget it when she pressed against him, feeling its sheer size—its insatiable need—denting her soft belly. Her breath caught. She looked up into the cold rage of Brad’s eyes. A rage not directed at her, but at the denial he had to practice.

Max’s voice dipped far below the shrill cry it had been. “I am yours,” she whispered. Though a nagging voice remained between her and her desperate desire to provoke Brad into fucking her right through the floorboards. “As long as you take good care of Caroline, I’m yours.”

As if on cue, Caroline emerged from the kitchen, carrying her pot roast to the dining table. “Dinner is served!” she trilled, long legs flashing all the way to her seat at the head of the table.