Page 111 of Hired Help

Not that I need the visual. My other senses are enough. My imagination paints in anything I miss.

This time, he doesn’t slam into me. He waits, stroking his length, pumping his fist in long motions I catch from the corner of my eyes.

Then I can’t see anything except Harrison, his fist clutching a handful of my hair to tilt me back before he fastens a collar around my neck. “Good girl,” he says, the tone a mocking reference to a dog rather than the usual praise. “Do you have any new tricks for me?”

I reach out for his cock but he slaps my hand away, twisting the back of the collar so the thick leather bites into my skin.

“Beg for it.”

“Please,” I say without hesitation. “Please can you let me taste your beautiful cock?”

He raises my head further, undoing the rest of my blouse with impatient fingers, dragging the fabric halfway along my torso until Daegan grabs it from behind, my arms snagged in the sleeves, losing half their range of movement.

Harrison’s rough fingers paw at my chest while the men and women outside raise their voices in approval. He bends his head, sucking one erect nipple into his mouth, teasing me as he nips it, flaring his lips to show those watching the tender nub balanced between his straight white teeth.

Then he moves to its neighbour, giving it the same treatment but different, always different, always something unexpected, something new. Something more than I ever could have dreamed.

The roughness of his tongue matches to the slow inward outward pulse of Daegan’s cock. A man starts a drum solo on the roof of the car, thumping his palm against it in a light rhythm.

Others pick up the beat, adding their voices and palms to the increasing tempo, the sound acting as a metronome to the music being played on my body, in my cunt, across my skin, echoing across my tongue as I open my mouth, imploring Harrison to come back where he belongs.

He rubs the head of his cock along my lips again, my tongue lolling out, frustrated, wanting more. “Please,” I murmur again, bending to suck him as he jerks his hips away, laughing at my frustration.

“Why don’t you try a different word,” he murmurs in my ear, a private moment in the middle of our public debacle. “Why don’t you cry out, Harrison, stop, and we’ll see how much traction your command gets.”

“Stop,” I beg, writhing against the fabric as Daegan twists my blouse in his hand, securing my arms even tighter behind me. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want your fat cock choking me. I don’t want you hammering at the back of my throat, making me gag, making me gasp for air.”

“What about my daddy?” he whispers next, eyes moving to meet Daegan’s gaze above my shoulders. “What horrible, degrading, disturbing things do you not want him to do?”

“I don’t want him to fuck me. He’s too big. I can’t take his massive length in my tiny little cunt. Don’t let him fill me all the way up, Harrison,” I beg. “I can’t take it if he’s plunging his hard cock into me while you’re jamming yours into my throat.”

A hand slaps across my arse, the pain stinging and singing. “You don’t want this?” Harrison asks, twisting my collar, shoving himself between my lips as I pretend to hold them closed. “You don’t want this?” he asks, grabbing a handful of tit and squeezing, moulding, pinching my nipple hard, then rubbing the sting away with heavy strokes of his palm.

He pushes my head against the backrest, holding it in place with one hand, using the other to guide his cock into my mouth, then bracing himself as he begins to thrust.

Even opening my throat, I struggle. The motion is too quick to adjust to, saliva flows and stretches out in long lines from my mouth to his cock, gleaming strands of silver hanging in the air like liquid cobwebs.

The rhythm of those outside watching increases, their slapping palms joined with stomping feet, the rush of their exhalations mixing with the groans of satisfaction as they use our visual display to get themselves off, some with partners, others finding their indulgence in self-pleasure.

Each noise sends another lightning bolt of arousal singing through my body. The base beat of their demands throws Harrison and Daegan into the spotlight, their huge pulsating cocks as much a turn-on as the sheen of wetness between my thighs. Their rippling muscles a firm counterpoint to the soft curves of my hips and breasts.

Then Daegan grabs a handful of my arse in his hand, grunting while his huge cock twitches, withdraws, and sprays his load across my backside, spreading it with his hand into a glistening coat of cum.

And Harrison hauls me upright, holding me steady while he plunges inside the pussy his father so recently vacated, no time to relax, no withdrawal of sensation as he relentlessly chases his orgasm, my thigh muscles clenching, my cunt spinning into a delirium of strong convulsions just a second before he moans into my open mouth, then withdraws, painting me with his cum, scooping up fingerfuls to jam against my suckling tongue.

He curls me against him, shielding my face from those outside, knowing how vulnerable I am straight after I climax. Daegan reaches overhead to switch off the light, plunging us into darkness, pulling the curtains on our show.

Outside, the crowd disperses, moving to the other vehicles parked around the same rest area, an everchanging lineup of entertainers to keep their pleasure going throughout the night.

“You’re such a messy girl,” Harrison whispers as he and his father clean me with wet wipes, pull my clothing back into position before struggling into their jeans and t-shirts, sitting in exhausted satisfaction while we watch other shows unwinding from the comfort of our back seat.

“And how did that work for you?” Daegan asks, always taking notes, always adding to his repertoire of how to satisfy me. “Want to give it another try?”

“Tonight?” I say, my voice pitching upwards with mild panic.

“Not tonight,” Harrison says, kissing me on the side of the neck as he unfastens my collar. “I’m too tired to go again.”

“Did you hear that, Daegan?” I reach over to poke him. “Your son’s about to ask for snacks.”

“In the glove box,” he assures him while clambering between the seats to take the driver’s side. “Now fasten your seatbelts while I get you home.”

Harrison clambers forward too, taking the passenger side and immediately opening a foil packet and coating himself in cheese dust.

As I relax against the back seat, inhaling deeply to entrench the musky scent in my memory, my gaze shifts from father to son and back again, always cataloguing the similarities, the differences. I’m subsumed by a burst of sleepy warmth and my eyelids struggle to stay upright as Daegan steers us along the winding roads of the Port Hills, taking us to the safe comfort of our home.

Each man is wonderful in his own way. Each with so many endearing qualities, I’m grateful that neither made me choose.

I curl my legs onto the seat, hugging my knees to my chest, happy to doze and wake and doze again, knowing my family is around me, more love than I ever dreamed to hope for contained in the confines of our car.

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