Page 15 of Deranged Imposter

I shot cum on her arched back when she was sleeping, so this is nothing.

She yelps when she walks into the sink and drags the miniature chair by the tub. Her huffed breath fans coldly over my ear as she plops down on the stool, aggressively snatching the bottle of shampoo from my extended hand.

“This is salon treatment, so I should be compensated for it. I’m not free labor,” she gripes while popping the cap open.

It’s hibiscus scented. I’m going to smell like a fruit salad after this.

As she squirts the gel onto her palms and fluffs up creamy foam, my hand mimics the speed and I pray she doesn’t notice the distinction between the types of squelching sounds.

“You’re not skilled enough for a salon,” I purr, ignoring the vindictive plop of shampoo on the top of my head. “But what do you want?”

“For you to wash your own hair,” she mutters and gently massages circles into my scalp.

I love the feeling of being cared for. It’s even better when she’s doing it while I have a hand fucking my cock, using her lovely voice to heighten the fantasy of her spreading her glistening folds while the tiny hole beckons to be stretched.

She will forgive me if I squish her thighs around my cock and cum on her stomach, right? It’s not too out of bounds to eat her sensitive pussy and drink her essence like a depraved man marked as a sinner, right?

As long as I rub my cock against her pussy and avoid her virgin hole, it’s not a big deal, right? If the dripping tip got sucked into her cunt, it’s called an accident?

She’s forgiving because she loves me and is a good girl.

Good girls get rewarded.

“I’ll buy you a car,” I suggest as I relish her nails scratching my head. “A vacation, too. You’ve been working hard.”

Too hard. And it’s taking her time from me while giving it away to people who don’t deserve it. We haven’t talked about her group project, and I’d like to know the details before her next mandatory trip.

I hope, with every burning fiber of my being, that the professor falls into a ditch.

She pretends to ponder my offer for a moment and hums to fill the silence. Her movements are slow and gentle, lathering the wet strands by my ears when she answers.

“You can give 'not mad at me' as a gift.”

The stroke on my cock slows down, not chasing after the coiling knot in my stomach but rather becoming a comforting act.

She’s scared, not overly so, but the slight quiver in her voice says enough. Isa is anything but weak-willed; she humbled me as a child, knocking down the building of arrogance as a young boy, and is a constant reminder that I’mMikah—not one of the Masinis, just a man seeking her approval.

I catch one of her wrists with the hand that’s been warmed by my cock. Filthy, but I cast the thought aside. Bringing her sudsy palm onto my chest, holding it above my heart to familiarize it with the heartbeats.

So, when she inevitably reveals the maddening issue, she’ll know I’m matching that energy.

“I’m not going to run,” she complains, but doesn’t draw her hand back. “I don’t want you to chase after me, which you will because you’re you, and crack your head open.”

I can’t seem to shake the dread off my spine as I angle my head to look up at her. The room is too dark, but there are general outlines and slopes to puzzle her together.

“I’m letting you touch for free. Don’t complain; that’s being ungrateful.”

I’d be able to see her eyes rolling if the lights were on.

She scoffs and pats my chest, soap flinging everywhere. “Yeah, you sound like a Gemini.”

The ambiguity of the statement, sounding much of an insult, is hard to tie to a conversation. I wait with pinpricks nailing my jaw, soreness screaming behind my neck, and shivers on my exposed knees.

She mumbles, “It’s not like you’ll care, but I feel bad for forgetting about it.”

My patience surprises me as my hard cock twitches under the water, oozing from the lack of attention.

“When I came back from the trip,” she says while taking her hand back from my chest to finish washing my hair. “This lady came up to me with an accordion folder. Do you know how much stuff it can hold? She filled it up and gave me an arm workout.”

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