“Hush now, pet”
You’d said it to me countless times before. To watch me squirm and hold it in. As a reminder that the neighbors might hear.
Never before had it been a command.
Now, with the stakes higher than ever, I didn’t dare play the brat. If we were caught, we faced far more than your wife finding out you’ve been fucking a college girl for the better part of the year. No, these were real consequences. Real, serious, *legal* consequences.
Because just one wall away, in the front hall of the poorly insulated house, your wife was handing out candy to trick or treaters.
*Children.*
And while they wouldn’t be able to insinuate what we were doing from a moan or gasp or rattle of the headboard, their parents sure could. Parents who did *not* want their children exposed to perverts on what should be an innocent holiday.
So yes, I did hush. Put all the concentration my little sex-addled brain could into it.
But you sure weren’t making it easy on me.
You’d found a routine, punishing thrusts when the stoop and walkway were empty, and in those terrifying moments it wasn’t, sheathing yourself inside. Not moving, no friction, just, well, *fullness*. A hand either covering my nose and mouth or on my throat restricting air, depending how daring your teasing became, how likely I was to blow our cover. The other wandered, twisting a nipple, brushing my clit, feather-light on those places I didn’t know could cause pleasure until you. Pleasure *and* pain. Cliché yes, but *fuck* if it wasn’t for a reason.
While pumping you put your mouth to good use, licking, biting, sucking marks into my skin. Looking up every few seconds out the crack in the blinds from which you kept watch. Then, when it was time, you’d pull away, but never out, eyes glued to my face, and ask for eye the contact that was so hard to maintain. You’d always loved watching me squirm.
It was absolutely *maddening*. I was running out of steam, and you could tell.
“I know, pet” you whispered to me.
Through the thin walls I could hear an eager knock, your wife answering the door, then a chorus of trick-or-treats. The opening of the typical routine that had been torturing me all night.
You didn’t push any limits this time, just covered my nose and mouth in one hand, stroking my face with the other. A rare small mercy.
The kids at the door were now explaining their costumes, all rather bloody, gross, or some combination of the two.
“Do you hear that? It’s just the teenagers still out. Soon she’ll turn off the porch light and head out to her party, and we’ll have the house all to ourselves”
I’d thought I’d noticed that those thrilling minutes were becoming sparser. I was so far beyond the ability to think, I was sure I’d been imagining it.
I must have nodded, and a tear fell down my cheek. You brushed it away with a “good girl” on your lips.
The door closed, and seconds after you were moving inside me again. Your mouth was on my neck, telling me how good I was being for you, how far we’d come that I could now play for hours while completely silent.
I latched on to your every word, needing something to pull the little focus I had away from the unbearable pressure building behind my navel.
I was so close. But you’d said we were almost done. We had to be by now.
It couldn’t have been more than four more times that I endured that excruciating routine, but it felt like an eternity before the porch lights finally went out and I could hear climbing footsteps on the stairs. You told me so, and I slumped further into the bed, somehow becoming more boneless than before. We hadn’t made it out quite yet, your wife was still home, but the end was in sight. I’d get my relief.
“Oh pet, are you exhausted?” I could hear you chuckle when I nodded, too tired to even open my eyes “I know, I pushed you today, and you’ve been perfect. Can you take a little more? I was planning on keeping you on edge until she leaves, but that seems rather cruel after your performance just now.”
Normally, I’d love for you to keep me on the edge. Now it felt like I might just melt if you denied my one more orgasm.
“You’re still not going to come while she’s here, but I’ll give you options.” You were stroking my folds now, playing gently with the abused flesh, feeling how pathetically wet I was “You’ll suck my cock, or I’ll eat your pussy. If you pick the first option, then you get to touch yourself at your own pace, and you only have to edge when she’s in the next room. If you pick the latter, I’m in control, and I’m edging you everytime someone walks by on the sidewalk. It’s your choice, pet.”
I was not in a headspace to be making decisions, but the less edging the better.
“One, sir” I managed to choke out, and you smirked “Good choice. Can you kneel for me? I want to see your sweet expressions and your pussy, which I can’t do while riding your face.”
You stood up beside the bed and I knelt between your legs. Ready already, you needed no warm up, so I put my mouth to work as I’d done countless times before. I knew exactly how you liked it, licking the vein, sucking the tip. Your hands in my hair were guiding me, but I was in charge. I took you fully, as you’d trained me to do, nose at your abdomen as I choked slightly, and you held me there. I loved it.
All the while I was stroking myself at just the right pressure. Enough without getting uncomfortably close.
Again, pleasure and pain.
I was a good little slut, sucking you off with your wife in the next room, and yes, edging myself all the while.
And then the front door opened, shut, and I just increased my pace, not pulling off until her car could no longer be heard.
“Now pet,” you smirked “the real fun”.
You picked me up and threw me on the bed. Took me, ravaged me, fucked me. This part was honestly some of the more vanilla sex we’d had, but with all the build up, it was *exquisite*. I came quickly and violently and you just after. Disregarding neighbors, I compensated for the noise I couldn’t make for the hours. As you’d promised me earlier, it was indeed the best orgasm of my life.
I was still panting as we disentangled.
As these stories often end, we curled up together on the bed, you stroking my hair, and me still recovering from those earlier hours.
“What are you thinking?” You ask, because we’ve long since given up on not falling into clichés.
“Like we just replicated Pavlov’s dog experiment, but with the words ‘trick-or-treat’ instead of a bell, me instead of a dog, and edges instead of food.”
I have so little control over what I’m saying in this post-coital state, but you just laugh.
“Rather fitting then, my pet”
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yicb8i/trick_or_treat_mf