The store (part one)

Stepping out of the car, the cold evening air hits my face like a bucket full of freezing water. Unusually cold evening for this time of year. Positioned under one of the still functioning lights, I overlook the street. Two people at the far left corner, discussing something, very aware of their surroundings, dealing drugs? A man, wobbling, probably drunk, walking away from a bar, passes by. I instinctly keep my arms up, ready to form a barrier. He doesn’t notice us. Another man, quickened pace, enters a door at the opposite end of the street. Casting my eyes upon the two-storey building, I know instantly that this is definitely the place.

Standing right behind me, at 5’2″ over one feet shorter than I, my sub is getting a bit restless. She is scanning her surroundings, aware of the fact that we are parked right in front of a sex shop, and a very dingy one at that. The door looks like a ten-year-old could break it down, the windows haven’t been washed in years and the neon name sign, shining a bright red light on the shop every few seconds, makes it looks even more sleezy. Peeking inside is made totally impossible by ugly curtains, that block any attempts to have a quick look to determine whether someone would even want to enter. Overall, this establishment seemed about as inviting as a bible belt bar to a black gay couple.
. I pinch her elbow and cup her chin, tilting her head upwards so that she has no choice but to look at me.

“You don’t feel like backing out, do you?”, I ask her.

She contemplates this question. I can see right through her, reading every tiny change in her stance, facial expression, the way her eyes move. It’s like reading a book for the tenth time. I know her answer long before she finally opens her mouth.

“I do, sir, I want to please you. It’s just…”

‘You’re ashamed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why is that?”

Another question that bears some consideration. As the cold is starting to get to my bones and I’m eager to get started, I answer for her.

“You are ashamed because you are gonna let her out again.”

She nods ever so slightly.

I roll my eyes as I move my hand from her chin to her hair and pull her head back. Gently I slide my fingers under her skirt, which barely reaches half way to her knees. Her legs feel frozen, but the closer I get to her pussy, the more heated I find her skin. I slide into her panties and she moans as my finger finds her clit. Making sure not to overdo it, I rub my finger against it. Then I bend forward, going even further down her panties, to find out what I was actually looking for. I push deeper and deeper inside of her.

“You are soaking wet. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”

A deep, raspy growl escapes from her mouth, as if a primal urge is awoken somewhere inside of her. She does want it, badly. The mere thought is making her horny beyond comprehension. When I feel she starts shuddering, near to her orgasm, I suddenly stop fingering her. Laconically I smell my fingers, dripping with her juices. I’m sure that my smirk must be a great sight.

“Lets go inside”. It’s not a question, but she knows that she can still backout. She just smiles and clings to me as we start moving. As I grab her hand, squeezing it to assure her I’ll be there every step of the way, we cross the street and enter the store.

Ontdek meer

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Some call me a perv, most call me queer. I am David, also know as cpt. nice, a 24-year-old polyamorous person. Currently residing in amsterdam, where I have loads of kinky adventures.

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