Andrea was not having a good morning.
It was supposed to have been a happy day; the day that their new television would be installed. Truth be told, Andrea didn’t really care about the television at all. Her husband Chris told her that it had all the newest bells and whistles, spouting off acronyms she didn’t know and numbers she didn’t care about, but Andrea couldn’t really see it as anything more than just another flat screen. What she did care about, however, was that it would put Chris in a good mood for at least a week, and when Chris was happy things were generally a lot easier for her.
The morning had started out positively enough. The installer from the custom electronics house (Chris refused to shop at a big box store, viewing it as beneath him) arrived at 7:30 on the dot, just as promised. He introduced himself as Caesar, and seemed professional enough. Andrea expressed concern that he might have difficulty installing the new 55" television on his own, but Caesar assured her that televisions had gotten much lighter over the years and that he would have no difficulty lifting the set without help. Andrea believed him, but she wasn’t sure how much of that was due to the weight of their new flat screen and how much was due to the fact that Caesar seemed to be in remarkable shape – though he wasn’t exactly bulging with muscles, his trim figure implied that he worked out routinely and would have little difficulty lifting a heavy object.
After putting on a pair of disposable cloth booties, Caesar followed Andrea into the living room. Caesar had Andrea sit on their sofa while he positioned a 55" cardboard rectangle against the wall where the television would be mounted, moving it up and down until Andrea assured him that he had the right height for her comfort. He made a faint marking on the wall at the top of the cardboard with his pencil and informed her that he was ready to get started. Everything was running smoothly.
And that’s when Chris entered the picture.
Chris had a remarkable talent for making himself look like a pompous asshole, a talent that seemed to be strongest when he was dealing with people that he viewed as his economic inferiors. Everything had been so pleasant up until that point, and Andrea wanted to keep it that way. She said a silent prayer in the hopes that Chris might restrain his inner-douchebag just this once, but sadly, the gods didn’t seem to be listening.
Do you even speak English? Chris asked, speaking very slowly and over-enunciating each syllable.
It seemed like such a ridiculous question to Andrea. Granted, Caesar’s tan skin and sharp facial features implied a possible Latino ancestry, but Chris had no reason to doubt that the man spoke English. Additionally, the
even that he had thrown in the middle implied that speaking English was the easiest thing in the world, suggesting that Caesar must be particularly ignorant if he couldn’t even manage such a simple feat. With one simple question, Chris had managed to take a polite and professional television installation and turn it into an extremely awkward and potentially hostile situation.
I assure you, sir, Caesar answered emotionlessly,
I speak English fluently.
His words and tone were professional enough, but his body language implied that he was more than a little offended by Chris’s question. Still, it wasn’t the end of the world. If Chris left things as they were, Andrea believed she might be able to salvage things with a simple apology. Unfortunately, Chris had fifteen minutes to kill before he had to head off to work and he clearly wasn’t planning on leaving anything in a salvageable state.
Apparently feeling the need to make things as bad as possible before heading out, Chris proceeded to take Caesar on a tour of the house under the pretense that Caesar would need to know the site that he was working on. Andrea could forgive Chris’s implication that she had done a poor job of showing Caesar what needed to be done in order to install the television – she was, unfortunately, used to Chris casually implying that she was incompetent – but the tour was little more than an opportunity for Chris to belittle and demean Caesar. The tour was hardly limited to the living room in which Caesar would be working; Chris showed him every single room on the bottom floor of the house. In each room, he showed Caesar the more expensive furnishings; exaggerating their value while not-so-subtly implying that Caesar could never afford such luxury. Caesar managed to maintain a professional attitude, though Andrea wasn’t sure how. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had called Chris out as the arrogant douchebag that he was acting like – in fact, she might have backed him up.
Eventually, eight o’clock rolled around and it was time for Chris to head off to work. By that point things were probably beyond salvage – after a good fifteen minutes of condescension it seemed unlikely that Caesar would view Chris in a positive light – but Chris just needed to make sure. He simply couldn’t head off to work without knowing for certain that Caesar fully understood that he viewed him as a lower form of life.
I’m off to work, Chris had announced.
Try not to fuck up my home – I would hate to have to call immigration on you.
Caesar responded with an obviously feigned laugh, but Andrea wasn’t an idiot. She knew how he felt. She knew that he despised Chris; she knew that Caesar was only being professional because he had to. She also knew that Chris either didn’t know or didn’t care about just how hostile he was leaving things, and why should he? He would be out of the house until well after Caesar was finished; he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of his actions. Once again, it would be on her to deal with the inevitable fallout of her husband’s shit.
And so she had confined herself to their bedroom; far away from Caesar, far away from any obligation to account for her husband’s actions. She hated it. It was stupid and childish; acting as though she could absolve herself of her husbands’ sins simply by keeping out of sight. She wanted to leave – she had things to do, after all – but every time she thought about opening the door she imagined seeing Caesar and feeling like the world’s biggest asshole, just for being associated with Chris and the things that he had said.
This is bullshit, she told herself.
I’m a grown woman; I’m not going to be imprisoned in my own home. I didn’t even do anything wrong here; I was polite to him the entire time. It’s not my fault that Chris was an asshole, and I don’t deserve to suffer because of it.
Riding out her burst of courage, Andrea exited her bedroom and headed downstairs into the living room. Caesar was working at the moment, though he looked up when she reached the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t a good thing. The look on his face didn’t say
oh look, here’s the homeowner checking on my progress – it said
oh look, here’s Mrs. Douchebag, probably here to spell out just how much better than me she is in terms even a simpleton like me can understand just in case I had forgotten. Andrea felt her courage waver, but she couldn’t just turn around and head back to her bedroom. She was already downstairs, and she had to deal with the situation.
Listen, she opened, her voice as apologetic as could be.
I’m sorry about my husband. He has a very stressful job, and he occasionally takes it out on the wrong people. The things he said to you this morning were out of line, and I sincerely apologize.
Okay, Caesar shrugged.
His body language clearly conveyed that he wasn’t moved by her apology in the slightest. Andrea could see that he still viewed her as nothing more than Mrs. Douchebag, and that bothered her. She knew it probably wouldn’t make a difference in the long run, but it was important to her that he understand that she wasn’t like Chris; that she didn’t look down on him or view him as subhuman. She knew that she should probably just let the issue drop and move on with her life, but she decided to press it.
No, you don’t understand, she pressed.
I know how my husband is, and I know that isn’t okay…
No, I understand just perfectly, he interrupted.
Listen, lady, your husband might think that I just came to this country yesterday and this is my very first job here, but I’ve actually been doing this a very, very long time. I’ve worked for you and your husband before, and I know exactly how you are.
When did you work for us? Andrea asked, legitimately confused. She couldn’t remember having ever seen Caesar before in her life.
Not literally, he explained,
but I’ve met enough people like you two that you all kind of blend together. Look, I’ll prove that I know you. We’ll start with your husband.
Your husband, he continued,
believes that he has some kind of powerful job with real authority – in reality, he’s little more than a glorified middle manager. He mistakenly believes that his career somehow makes him a member of humanity’s elite, and he assumes that because he’s one of the chosen few that it’s his job to shit on every single person whom he views as beneath him. He’s abusive to his employees, condescending to anyone who he thinks earns less than him, and has probably spat on the homeless at least a handful of times. He’s almost universally hated by the people who know him, but he thinks that’s because they’re jealous – in reality it’s because he’s an objectively terrible human being.
Andrea grimaced a bit. While his description of Chris was mildly vague, it was dead-on accurate for the most part. The only part she wasn’t sure about was Chris literally spitting on the homeless, which as far as she knew he had never done. She wasn’t about to correct him, though. She suspected that he meant it as hyperbole, and more importantly she couldn’t be certain that it had never actually happened – though she had never personally witnessed it, she realized it wouldn’t exactly be too character for him.
So that’s your husband, he stated.
Now, let’s do you. You’re what we call the
enabling wife. You spend most of your time cleaning up his shit – apologizing to people on his behalf, making lame excuses about how he’s just under a lot of pressure with his
very stressful job, and insisting that he really didn’t mean the things that he said. When you’re not justifying his behavior to others you’re rationalizing it to yourself so that you can go on pretending that your husband really isn’t the arrogant, pompous douchebag that everyone knows he absolutely is.
Andrea didn’t like what he was saying. She wanted to get defensive and tell him that he was wrong, but she found that fairly difficult on account of the fact that she knew that he was much more correct than she would have liked to admit. Mostly, she wanted him to stop talking – his words were making her think of things that she really didn’t want to be thinking about. Unfortunately, it seemed like Caesar was far from done.
Now to be fair, though, he continued,
you don’t just forgive his shitty behavior when other people are the victims – you excuse and explain his shitty behavior when it hurts you directly. You insist that he really does care about you; he’s just under too much pressure to show it. You tell yourself that it’s not a big deal when he forgets your birthday – I mean he has so many dates to keep track of already, right? You pretend that it’s actually romantic when for your anniversary he e-mails you some sappy poem he plagiarized off the web, complete with words that you know he doesn’t know the definition of. Hell, you even forgave him for the affair – after all, he’s only human and who amongst us hasn’t accidentally tripped and fallen into a strange woman’s vagina, right?
Andrea felt her stomach dropping. She had no idea how Caesar knew about the affair – she realized that it was probably just a lucky guess – but it was entirely too accurate for her liking. Chris’s mistake was not something that she regarded as a high point in her life, and she still had plenty of negative emotions associated with it. It wasn’t something that she enjoyed thinking about, much less talking about – especially with someone who seemed eager to paint her as an enabler that at least partially deserved the pain and humiliation that Chris’s actions caused her.
Shut up, she growled through clenched teeth.
That’s none of your business, and it’s over. Handled. Won’t happen again.
Sure it won’t, he laughed dismissively.
I doubt he’d risk facing your wrath again – he probably still wakes up in a cold sweat every now and then, terrified by the memory of how you unconditionally forgave him the last time. Please. If he hasn’t cheated on you again since – and that’s a real big
if right there – it ain’t because he’s afraid of what would happen, or because he loves you, or because he respects you. It’s because he just hasn’t had another opportunity yet.
It was way over the line. Andrea wouldn’t have tolerated a close friend saying the kind of things that he was saying, and wasn’t about to allow a complete stranger who was supposed to be working for her get away with being so disrespectful. Focusing on the anger she felt for his inappropriate behavior while ignoring the anger she felt towards herself for letting Chris get away with his affair so easily, she stepped forward and slapped him across the face with all of her might.
It felt more like slapping a brick wall than slapping a human face. Her hand stung like hell; the pain was actually difficult to ignore. Looking up at him she found that the pain was apparently not mutual – although he wore a faint pink outline of her hand on his cheek, he seemed otherwise unfazed. Coming down from the adrenaline and realizing what she had just done, Andrea began to panic.
I’m so sorry, she whimpered.
I swear to god, I didn’t…
Just stop, he interrupted.
I don’t want you to be sorry – sorry doesn’t help either one of us. What would help you, however, is to be aware. Be aware of the fact that what you just did to me is far, far worse than what you did to him. Ask yourself how it is that you get angrier about someone mentioning your husband fucking around on you than you ever did about your husband actually fucking around on you in the first place. Oh, and lady? You’re going to want to figure that out sooner rather than later. I’ve met enough of your kind to know what your future holds, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.
What’s that supposed to mean? Andrea asked hesitantly. She was a bit worried about encouraging him to continue talking – the things that he had said so far hadn’t exactly made her feel great – but she was legitimately curious about what he thought her future might be.
I’ll tell you, he shrugged,
but remember that you asked. So here’s the thing – you know all those prized possessions that your husband took such pride in showing off to me this morning? He doesn’t actually care about what they are; he cares about what they say about him – specifically that he can afford a level of quality that others cannot. It’s like this TV – it has dozens of features, and he probably doesn’t know what any of them actually do because the only feature he cares about is the fact that it’s seen as the top of the line, meaning that he can invite your neighbors over and show off how his stuff is so much better than their stuff.
What’s your point? Andrea challenged. He wasn’t exactly telling her anything she didn’t already know (even if the things he said were things she didn’t like to think about) and she didn’t see how it related to her.
Haven’t you figured it out? he shot back.
You’re just another one of his possessions. He likes having you as a wife because he can show off how he has this smoking hot, intelligent, and above all subservient woman who will follow him around and clean up his shit. Thing is, in a couple decades you’re going to be just like this TV – top of the line in its day, but now woefully obsolete to the point that he feels compelled to trade it in for a newer model, lest he suffer the shame of being seen with something only a commoner would have. When that happens to you, well – what are we doing with your old TV again? I think the work order said that we were to haul it back and toss it in the dumpster.
Andrea again felt sick to her stomach. The things he was saying weren’t new ideas to her at all. Truth be told, she had often worried deeply that the only thing Chris actually liked about her was being able to show off his hot young wife, though she had never mentioned it to anyone else. She hated thinking about it, hated thinking about what would happen when she inevitably aged to the point where Chris no longer valued her body, but she knew that what he was saying was in all likelihood true. Eager to think about something else, she searched his words for something – anything – that she could latch on to in order to change the subject.
You think I’m she asked shyly. She felt immature, shallow, and foolish for saying it, but it was better than thinking about what her future with Chris might hold.
I don’t think you’re smoking hot, he replied quickly.
I know it. That’s not opinion, that’s objective fact. Still, you’re not really my type. I have nothing against submissive women or anything, but I tend to look for partners – not doormats.
Andrea was at her wit’s end; emotionally devastated by the cold things that Caesar had said and hurt by the fact that even his compliments had barbs in them. She wanted to prove him wrong, needed to be able to tell herself that he didn’t know nearly as much as he thought he did. She wanted to force him to admit that she wasn’t just another submissive suburban doormat of a housewife, gratefully accepting her husband’s abuse and cleaning up the fallout after him. She wanted to make him acknowledge that she was so much more than the meek little girl he was painting a picture of; that she did in fact have a spine and didn’t need to take shit from anyone. Confused, hurt, and panicked, she gave into her instinct and did what it demanded by stepping forward, pressing her lips against Caesar’s, and sticking her tongue into his mouth. It might not have been the best plan in the world, but she was overwhelmed and couldn’t think of anything else.
Caesar kissed back. Feeling his tongue against her did little to calm Andrea – if anything it only intensified the chaos that she was already feeling. His kiss felt alarmingly good, but that only filled her with guilt. Realizing what she was doing, realizing that she was cheating on her husband and that was absolutely not okay, she broke off the kiss and took a few steps back.
Oh my god, she panted, overcome with guilt, shame, and lust.
I can’t believe I did that. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m not…
Caesar cut her off, though not verbally. Stepping forward, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back into him before resuming the kiss that she had aborted. Although she felt horrible about what she was doing, Andrea kissed him back – not because she wanted to prove a point, not because she wanted to get even with or even punish Chris, but simply because she wanted to. She knew that what she was doing was wrong, but it felt entirely too good to stop.
I shouldn’t be doing this, she gasped when the kiss finally ended.
I really, really shouldn’t be doing this. This would destroy Chris.
Fuck Chris, Caesar replied emotionlessly.
I don’t give a flying fuck about him; it’s you that I’m interested in. Now if you want me to stop because you legitimately don’t want this, that’s fine – I’m not a rapist and I’m not going to force you. If, however, you want me to stop because you’re worried about your piece-of-shit husband’s feelings, then I have to ask you this: what would he do if he were in your situation? Would he be worrying about devastating you?
Andrea felt herself feeling sick again. She knew exactly what Chris would do in her situation – hell, she knew what he had done in her situation in the past. Thinking about it made her feel weak, worthless, and undesirable, but that led to something else: anger. She felt angry about how Chris treated her, angry about how he treated other people, and angry at herself for letting it go on as long as it had.
Finding that feeling angry was far preferable to feeling worthless, Andrea latched onto it. She ignored the voice in her head screaming about two wrongs not making a right and focused only on her desire to get even – along with her desire to get off. She told herself that she had spent far too much time putting what Chris wanted in front of what she needed, and it was time to fix that. It was time for her desires to take priority, and at the moment her desire was standing right in front of her.
Without saying a word, Andrea leaned back in and kissed Caesar. It was all the encouragement that he needed; once he saw that she was interested he took care of the rest. Running his hands over her body, he explored her flesh in a way that Chris never had. His actions felt strong and confident – nothing like Chris’s artless fumbling. Although she knew that she should feel guilty about what she was doing, she just couldn’t seem to feel too bad. It had been so long since Chris had engaged in anything close to making out – let alone foreplay – that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed it. The fact that she found Caesar to be tremendously attractive didn’t hurt things, either.
Caesar skillfully unbuttoned Andrea’s blouse and helped her out of it, tossing it aside on the floor. Returning the favor, Andrea helped him out of his work shirt. The differences between Caesar’s chest and Chris’s were stunning – though Caesar was hardly muscle-bound, his athletic build stood in stark contrast to Chris’s bloated form. Caesar had defined pectoral muscles where Chris had sagging man boobs; Caesar had six-pack abs where Chris had a keg. Andrea didn’t want to think of herself as a shallow person who would put looks above character, but just looking at Caesar made it hard for her to continue pretending that she was above physical attraction.
Not here, Caesar stated.
Let’s move this to your bedroom.
That’s Chris’s bed, Andrea warned.
He’d kill me if I did anything in it.
I don’t think Chris is going to be too happy with you regardless of where we do this, Caesar pointed out.
I don’t think he’ll kill you, though. I’ll tell you what – if Chris finds out, you let me handle this. Like I said, I know how people like him are, and I can handle this.
Under different circumstances, Andrea might have written off Caesar’s claim as little more than empty boasting combined with a bullshit promise in order to get sex. The confidence in his voice, however, made her feel like it was safe to trust him. Deep down she knew that it was extremely unlikely that he’d be able to
handle things if Chris found out, but she didn’t want to think about it too much and lose her nerve to continue. Again ignoring the voice in the back of her head that told her to stop, she eagerly led Caesar to the bedroom with both parties shedding clothing along the way.
By the time that they reached the bedroom they were both completely naked. Spinning around, Andrea kissed Caesar deeply on the lips as he wrapped his arms around her. Holding her tightly, he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. Andrea was impressed – Chris couldn’t seem to carry a couple of grocery bags into the house without being winded, yet Caesar didn’t seem to struggle in the slightest. Laying her on her back, he quickly climbed into bed and joined her.
Caesar grabbed her ankles and spread her legs wide apart. Andrea cooperated fully – between the taboo of what she was doing and the intensity of the make out session downstairs, she was more than ready to go. To her surprise, though, Caesar didn’t just climb on top of her and stick it in. Instead, he maneuvered his head between her legs, running his tongue along her inner thigh until he reached the middle.
It had been so long since Andrea had received oral sex that it took her a moment just to realize what he was doing. Chris was never a fan of going down on her, and often made things so awkward that she had simply stopped asking. As Caesar’s tongue worked its magic, however, she found herself quickly realizing just what she had been missing. It felt extremely good – although she didn’t think she’d be able to reach orgasm from his tongue alone, she knew it would get her very, very close.
At least she assumed that she wouldn’t be able to cum from oral alone. Once Caesar introduced his fingers into the mix, she started to question that. Although Andrea had never had an easy time reaching orgasm, it was feeling more and more like she might climax just from the foreplay. It wasn’t something that she was in any way used to, but it certainly wasn’t anything she objected to either. Enjoying herself far more than she felt she had a right to, she moaned openly as Caesar drove her closer and closer to the edge.
She was almost there when he stopped. In fact, she was so close to orgasm that it was almost physically painful to be denied. Frustrated, she let out a quiet groan. She doubted that Caesar would leave her hanging, but she really wanted him to finish what he started.
I was so close, she complained as Caesar brought his face up to hers.
I know, Caesar smiled.
And I don’t want you to worry too much – I will get you there, eventually. Just, not until I feel like it.
But I want to cum now! Andrea retorted. She felt a little childish making such a demand, but she really hated being sexually frustrated.
I know you do, Caesar consoled as he ran his arms underneath her body and up her back.
I need you to understand something, though – I am in control of your orgasm. You’ll cum when I want you to, and not a moment sooner – or later, for that matter.
Andrea was somewhat intrigued by the idea of him having full control of her orgasms, but she wasn’t quite sure that he could pull it off. In her experience, men were quick to boast about their ability to make their partners cum, but rarely had the ability to back up their claims. Still, she reminded herself that this wasn’t Chris she was dealing with. Chris might have been unable and uninterested in getting her off, but Caesar seemed far more capable and willing.
Questions as to whether or not Caesar could actually manage what he was claiming quickly evaporated as he kissed her again deeply. While he explored her mouth with his tongue he pressed his cock against her vaginal opening. He hesitated for a few seconds just to tease her before forcing himself into her, his movements slow and deliberate, yet suggesting tremendous power.
He was bigger than Chris. That alone didn’t come as a surprise – it wasn’t like she neglected to sneak a look earlier, after all – but the extent of the size difference was far more than she would have expected. From the looks of things she might have guessed that he was only an inch or so longer than Chris, and maybe just a little bit thicker, but the difference felt like night and day. Chris’s entries had always been noticeable but uneventful; Caesar felt almost as though he was stretching her out.
She knew Chris would have a problem with that. Granted, Chris wouldn’t be happy about any part of what was going on at all, but she knew the size issue would come up if he found out. She suspected that it would be the first question he asked if she were to confess to him, and she knew he wouldn’t want to hear that Caesar was bigger than him. Strangely, though, she felt less guilty about that than she would have expected. On the contrary, she almost felt good about the fact that it would hurt Chris, good about the fact that he might suffer the way that she had suffered after his affair. She didn’t really like thinking in such a sadistic way, but she couldn’t pretend that the thought of hurting Chris back wasn’t a major factor in the pleasure that she was feeling.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to focus on potential issues with Chris finding out for long. Caesar’s forceful strokes were enough to thoroughly clear her mind of anything other than just how good it felt to be fucking him. She quickly found herself once again on the road to a powerful orgasm but she held herself back; remembering Caesar’s claim that she must not cum a moment sooner than he wanted. It felt strange to deny herself pleasure that she knew she wanted, but not necessarily bad.
Not yet, Caesar ordered, clearly sensing how close she was.
I want you to hold on; deny yourself the pleasure until I tell you it’s okay.
I can’t hold it much longer, Andrea moaned back. She wasn’t lying – she knew she might be able to delay her orgasm a few more seconds, but it was only a matter of time until her lust overpowered her will.
You won’t have to, Caesar promised.
I’ll give you permission soon, but first I need you to tell me that you understand that you are not to cum unless – and until – I tell you to. Got it?
I do, Andrea insisted, desperate to cum and willing to say pretty much anything he wanted.
Say the whole thing, he corrected, punctuating his demand by ramming into her hard. It didn’t hurt her (much) but it made it a whole lot harder to delay her orgasm.
I won’t cum unless you give me permission! she cried out, worried that if he made her hold off much longer she’d prove herself a liar right away.
Good girl, he grinned, never breaking his stride.
That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Now, cum for me. Cum for me hard.
He didn’t have to ask her twice. Frankly, he didn’t even have to ask her the first time – Andrea had held on for as long as she humanly could, and simply couldn’t have delayed her orgasm a second longer. With permission granted she broke into an orgasm so powerful that it made every single one which came before it seem insignificant. Every muscle in her body seemed to violent contract, her moans were loud enough that she was amazed the neighbors hadn’t called the police. Wrapping her legs tightly around Caesar, she realized that at that moment she didn’t even care if Chris caught her – it would have been worth it.
After what felt like an eternity, Andrea’s orgasm finally began to die down. She was amazed that she had managed to maintain consciousness – throughout most of it she felt like she might pass out due to sheer exertion. Gradually coming back down to Earth, she realized that she had just promised full control of her orgasms to Caesar. While the idea still seemed hot, she suspected it might be a bit difficult in practice.
You didn’t really mean that, did you? she moaned, still riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm.
About me only cumming when you tell me to?
I did, he assured her.
I wouldn’t have had you say it if I didn’t.
But how would that work? she argued.
I hate to remind you, but I have a husband – and you aren’t him. Am I even going to see you again after today?
I had planned on it, he replied, sounding almost offended that she would suggest that what they were doing was a one-time thing.
And don’t worry about your husband – again, I can handle him.
Andrea wasn’t quite sure what he meant – it didn’t seem like the situation with Chris was something that could be
handled – but she didn’t pay too much attention to it. The idea that she might be able to fuck Caesar again (with the same explosively orgasmic results) was desirable enough that she didn’t want to think too much about the logical repercussions of what she was doing. Besides, he wasn’t done fucking her yet, and she really didn’t want to ruin the mood by talking about Chris. She could already feel another orgasm building up inside of her, and it felt like it might be just as powerful as the last one.
High on sexual energy, Andrea slipped into an almost trance-like state while Caesar fuck her with a degree of skill and force that she had forgotten existed. She was vaguely aware of switching to different positions, but everything seemed to blur together in her mind. By the time that he finally came deep inside of her she had long since lost track of her own orgasms, though she knew she had asked – and received – permission before each one.
Physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted she fell asleep in Caesar’s arms shortly after he finished. She knew that falling asleep with a strange man in her bed was potentially dangerous, but she was willing to take the risk. Chris wouldn’t be due home for several more hours, and besides, she lacked the energy to get up even if she had wanted to.