Cheating stories

Miss Erin's Homecoming Pt. 03

by cuckolder

08/14/2016 02:49 in cheating


As Alex walked back toward the employees' exit, he began to recount how his life had transformed. How did an assertive, confident and successful man transform into the simpering, cock-locked humiliation toy his girlfriend and her bull had created? The answer, as it was with nearly everything in his life, narrowed down to his own choices and desires.

Erin had given him a chance. Or, more accurately, Brock had. She had been talking about Brock every other day since he took the job as the Director of Customer Satisfaction at Mile High Airlines. It was immediately clear that he was to be hands-on with his flight attendants, and the changes he made to their protocol were demeaning and thrilling at the same time in Erin's eyes. Their uniforms changed overnight from semi-professional business suits to short, slutty outfits only worthy of a common office tramp. The tight blouses were constantly undone down to show their cleavage, tucked into navy miniskirts that left very little to the imagination. Erin even regaled Alex with a tale of one of her friends who'd dared to leave an extra button on her blouse done up. She told her then-unlocked boyfriend with bated breath that Brock had simply taken a pair of scissors and cut away the useless top buttons from her blouse and those of the other stewardesses on the flight.

"Including mine," she said, as she offered the lapel of her blouse to her boyfriend for visual confirmation.

Stewardess. This particular term was another of Brock's sweeping changes. No more were they flight attendants, they were stewardesses, and announced themselves as such. An old-school, borderline-misogynist term that was made the default identifier for an entire group of women under his watchful eyes. If he ever caught any of his charges using the term 'flight attendant', there were severe repercussions.

As he approached the BMW, he sighed at the thought that he'd become everything he dreaded and desired in such a short amount of time. Careful what you wish for.

Alex had been given a chance, once the new relationship dynamic became clear. But the deep truth is that Brock's power over his girlfriend had been just as terrifyingly thrilling to him as it had been to her. A deep, hidden part of him craved that type of control in his life. Someone to subjugate him without regard for his pride or his pleasure, to use him simply for their own devices.

On that fateful night, Erin was dressed as a perfect representation of this cross-section in their lives. She wore one of Alex's old plaid button-up shirts, her sleeves rolled back halfway up her forearm. That was tucked into a leather skirt that Brock had bought her, which led down to three-inch knee-high leather boots. On top, she was Alex's, down below, she belonged to Brock. And it was put into Alex's hands to whom she, and he, would fully belong.Brock watched as Erin fitted the plastic prison over Alex's shaved cock and slid the lock through the clasp, then spoke.

"Alex, this is your chance. You may step away, remove that cage, and go back to your home and your life. Erin will either choose to stay with me or go back to you, but I warn you - this is the only chance you'll get like this from me. If you stay, if that lock closes, you become property of Erin, who is property of me. We will endeavor to push your limits as far as they'll go, humiliate and deny you at every turn, and only reward you when you've deeply amused us. If you are staying, you may ask your girlfriend to close to lock. If not, you'll take it off yourself."

The way his cock bobbed in the little cage at the thought of Erin administering this degradation to him was indication enough, but he did take a moment to consider the ramifications of his decision. When would he be permitted to fuck his girlfriend again, or receive any sort of release? Was this only exciting now at the onset and would he come to regret submitting to it? That was the question that drove his real decision. He projected himself in the future, rationally hating the treatment he was receiving, stuck inescapably in it under the amused thumb of his girlfriend and the unyielding eyes of her bull, and the concept of him thrilled him like nothing else ever had.

"Please, Miss, will you close the lock on my chastity cage?"

Present-day Alex was every bit the remorseful, regretful whelp he had dreamed he'd be through rose-colored glasses back then. As he had accurately predicted, the car had been lightly coated in a thin layer of dust from being parked in the gravelly employees' lot. He sighed, knowing that this was unacceptable and resolving to get it washed before picking up Brock.

His trip to the gas station was uneventful, though he felt a bit like a chauffeur dressed in his crisp shirt and bowtie filling his girlfriend's car with premium gas and taking it through the car wash. He opted for the full package, including a wax coat at the end. It had been four weeks, and if he was especially well-behaved, his owners may allow him a humiliating orgasm at the end of the evening. He was meticulous to every detail, even pulling into a parking spot after proceeding through the car wash to thoroughly inspect the black, shiny luxury car for imperfections.

Everything made him think of his denied state.

An errant glob of wax made him consider how similar his ejaculate would look, sticking to the pristine exterior of Miss Erin's car. Wiped away with the shammy cloth kept neatly stowed in the trunk, obliterated as was the control he had over his own pleasure six months ago. A drop of water left from the car wash made him think of kneeling at the foot of what used to be his bed as Brock and Erin fucked, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead from anticipation and unfulfilled need. Again, eradicated, as were any concerns of his desires from the minds of his Keepers. And when the car was perfect, an obfuscated reflection stared back at him through the shiny black exterior of the car. A thoroughly conquered whelp of a man, off to take his girlfriend and her fuck-buddy to a romantic dinner that he would serve happily.

Brock's house wasn't far, just a few minutes away. He pulled up to the well-appointed rambler, parking on the street just in front and taking a deep breath before approaching the front door. The routine for picking up Brock was well-established and chiseled into his mind. He rang the doorbell and stood, his hands behind his back, and waited. And waited. Brock and Erin did so love to make him wait. About 30 seconds after he rang the doorbell, Brock appeared and opened it. Alex recited the requisite greeting.

"Good evening, Mister Samson. Your ride is here for your date with my girlfriend."

Brock wore a black sportcoat over a dark green button-up shirt, unbuttoned to just show a tuft of his generously-distributed chest hair. His charcoal wool pants and shined black leather shoes completed his outfit, starkly contrasted in style with the little waiter boy in front of him. He humphed in approval and strode right past, leaving Alex to scramble to catch up with him. He scurried ahead and opened the back door for Brock to climb in. Woe betide the chaste slave whose lethargy would have necessitated his Keeper opening his own door. That simply would not have done.

Brock spoke to Alex only a few times on the way to his and Erin's home, and every time he did, it was a question wrapped in a humiliation. The latter, Alex assumed, was the point of the conversation anyway, but he had to answer with enthusiasm and respect all the same.

"What did you get up to over the past week while your girlfriend was off fucking the French, wimp?" He asked.

'Wimp' was Brock's favorite degrading term for Alex. It so clearly demonstrated the stark difference in their station. He cringed at the implication of Erin's robust sex life in comparison to his miniscule one, but instantly masked the biting pain with an aire of compliance and enthusiasm. "I had plenty of chores to keep me busy, Sir! I made sure her home was perfect for her when she returned home."

Brock seemed pleased with that answer and moved on. "How long has that cock been locked away? Are you even sure it still works?"

"Four weeks now, Mister Samson," as if he wasn't already acutely aware. He was the only one with keys to his chastity device. The only one who could possibly grant him the relief he so desperately craved. It seemed Brock wanted to have some fun, so maybe a joke would lighten the mood. "I guess I don't know if it still works, Sir! There's only one way to find..."

"That is NOT your decision to make, wimp!" Came the short, gruff response from the back of the car. Every word was staccato and laced with anger and power at even the inference that Alex would suggest such a thing. He knew, immediately, that he had made an egregious error.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." His tone was immediately muted and downtrodden, and the rest of the ride to pick up Erin was silent.

Again, Alex pulled alongside his home instead of into his own driveway. Brock busied himself with his phone while Alex went to retrieve his girlfriend. She made him wait even longer, but the view ended up being worth the wait.

What emerged from his front door was a vision of pure sexual allure. The red satin minidress came down to her mid-thigh and was cut to show off her ample breasts. Her slim waist was drawn in further by what he could only assume was a waist cincher lying beneath. Brock would almost certainly find out what was underneath that dress, and Alex had a pretty good chance at that reveal as well. Her makeup was artfully done, lips painted the same red as the fabric of her dress. Her red heels matched the ensemble as well, and her blonde hair was drawn into two, playful pigtailed braids.

"Good evening, Miss Erin. Your ride is here for your date with Mister Samson."

Similar to his required greeting for Brock, but with the knife twisted just a bit. He was obligated to speak in full sentences, to be the one who fully recognized that he was picking up his girlfriend for a date with the bully that had transformed both of their lives. He stood dutifully with his hands behind his back.

"Hi, sweetie! How do I look? Do you think he'll like it?" She was giddy and excited, the same way she used to be for dates with him.

"You look very sexy, Miss Erin, I'm sure he'll love what you've chosen to wear for him," he answered honestly. Indeed, it was already having an effect on Alex as his cock swelled as much as his plastic prison permitted. It was further enhanced by the way Erin patted him right on his locked cock, finding the lock itself and giving it a playful tug as she walked past.

Either she was unaware of the deeper effect of her sweet teasing, or, more concerningly, she was very aware of it and did it anyway. In either case, the momentary attention to his cock made him stop, shudder and close his eyes. When he opened them, she was three paces ahead and he needed to really scramble to catch up to her and get the door.

A quick check of the rearview mirror revealed that from the moment Erin slide in next to Brock, he was all over her. The contrast in the way Alex was allowed to observe Erin's appearance with his eyes and the way Brock was permitted to explore her with his hands was crystal clear as his large hands roamed without impediment all over her body. They kissed passionately in the backseat, as was their standard greeting. Alex gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and drove toward the restaurant.

"Did you have a pleasurable trip to France, Erin?" He asked her.

"Oh, it was divine, honey, everything was so beautiful and elegant there. And the men were so romantic! But not any more than you, Brock," she assured him in a way she would have never assured Alex.

"I trust you performed well on the flights to and from, as well," he said with mock sternness toward her.

Her response was a giggling, "Oh, yes, Sir."

"Prove it. Show me where the emergency exits are on this vehicle."

Things were getting heated before they were even out of the subdivision.

"Well, they're here, and, uh," she pointed, her voice shaking a bit in anticipation. An indicative hand pointed toward one of the rear doors, and its wrist was grabbed firmly.

"No. Show me." And with that, he grabbed her by her hips, turned her around and planted her straddling him, her back to her boyfriend. She let out a surprised squeal and giggled again, her hands momentarily resting on his shoulders before she cleared her throat.

"The emergency exits on this vehicle are at the aft, located to your left and right, Sir," she said with more confidence, accompanied by a definitive wiggle of her ass against her bull's crotch. She indicated to each of the back doors with her hand before placing her fingers on the back of Brock's neck, stroking him tantalizingly. "In case of a water landing," she pointed toward a lake passing by in the mirror, "we'll scold our driver very harshly. You wouldn't put us in the water, would you, little boy?"

She actively engaged him. Made sure he was paying attention to them and their displays of affection. "No, Miss, I wouldn't put us in the water." He wasn't able to zone out, even if he wanted to. Deep down, he didn't want to anyway. The familiar twinge of jealousy and envy was savory, in its own way. He couldn't have what Brock had, but he was beginning to believe that he didn't deserve it. That he was every bit the wimp Mister Samson called him, the little boy Miss Erin called him. The degradation playtoy destined for a life of teasing and denial.

It wasn't long before he heard the familiar sound of pants being unzipped, lips against flesh and leather creaking as the two lovers in the back positioned themselves just so. He was approaching the restaurant, but something more important was happening in the backseat. He glanced up nervously in the rearview and caught Brock's smirking grin facing him back. When they locked eyes, Brock narrowed on the driver and issued a terse command.

"Drive around, wimp," he barked, before turning his attention back to the girl writhing in his lap, "Oh, no panties? Naughty girl."

Erin giggled, but it wasn't the same sound she made when Brock grabbed her and pulled her into his lap. It was a breathy giggle, one soaked in anticipation and admiration of her bull and her boyfriend's bully. "I didn't want anything in the way for you, stud," she whispered just loudly enough that Alex could hear it.

Dutifully, Alex passed the restaurant and made a circle around the block. The BMW's windows were tinted a deep black, so this semi-public display of sexual intensity was only being put on for his benefit. He kept his eyes on the road for a moment, stealing glances into the rearview. He saw braided pigtails shifting to and fro. He saw a man's hardened gaze belying his relaxed body, his hands never leaving his sex kitten's hips. He heard soft noises as his girlfriend pulled out the cock of her bull, and finally a gasp of ecstasy from her and a sigh of release from him as she pushed her sweet, dripping pussy over it.

"Oh, you're so big, stud. So thick..." She moaned, as she sat on his cock for just a moment. The beads of sweat, the same ones he wiped away from the car earlier in the day, began to form on Alex's forehead. His knuckles turned white. Ten and two.

"You like being fucked with a thick cock, don't you Erin? Bigger than those Frenchmen, and certainly bigger than that little boy in the driver's seat," Brock taunted.

"Oh yes, Brock, oh," her words were cut off by Brock gripping her hips, lifting her up, and pushing her back down on his cock, fucking her without her expecting and drawing another impassioned squeal from her.

As Erin began to fuck Brock in earnest in the backseat, Alex continued driving around in pointless little circles. His attention was more diverted by the second, and watching those braided pigtails bouncing up and down from behind was mesmerizing. So mesmerizing, in fact, that Brock took notice over Erin's shoulder and shouted at his driver with vigor.

"Eyes on the road, wimp!" He growled, and Erin simply moaned in response. She had not only grown accustomed to her bull shouting orders at her boyfriend, but the act seemed like it had become an aphrodisiac for her. Every time she went away with Brock for a few days, she came back a harder-edged Mistress for her subbie toy. But that only seemed to last a day or so before she was back to his playfully tormentous girlfriend.

"Oh, fuck!" exclaimed Erin as Brock grasped her by her right pigtail and twisted her head to face forward so that her expression was visible to Alex in the rearview mirror. Her face twisted in pain and intense pleasure as the orgasm built for both of them. Brock leaned forward, pressing her back against Alex's headrest and growled into her ear, "Not until I do, you little slut."

Alex could feel Erin nodding against the back of his head rest as clearly as he could hear the grumbling moan from Brock as he ejaculated into his girlfriend. She let out a gasping "Yes!" before releasing herself. It was, at least, the second such orgasm for her of the day and quite possibly not the first for Brock. The audible theatrics in the backseat may have been comical to anyone who hadn't been denied his own release for four weeks now. As it was, all it did was make Alex stiffen up even more in his little plastic cage and grip the steering wheel even harder.

Erin panted a few breathless thank-you's to the man wielding the thick cock still emptying inside her, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning to him as she gasped for breath. "Thank you, baby, that was so good. You know exactly what I need." She let off a soft giggle as she whispered, "I hope we didn't distract our little driver too much."

Each word was a stab to the fully-perforated ego of her boyfriend in the front seat, but at this point, he was fully lost in his subspace. He was thinking of his girlfriend's creamy pussy that Brock was able to enjoy seemingly at will, the way she'd feel wrapped around him. His cock pushed against his locked-on cage and he opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the foreboding man in the backseat.

"Who gives a shit? I'm famished, baby," was the smirking reply from a fully-satiated Brock. "Take us to dinner, cuck."As Alex walked back toward the employees' exit, he began to recount how his life had transformed. How did an assertive, confident and successful man transform into the simpering, cock-locked humiliation toy his girlfriend and her bull had created? The answer, as it was with nearly everything in his life, narrowed down to his own choices and desires.

Erin had given him a chance. Or, more accurately, Brock had. She had been talking about Brock every other day since he took the job as the Director of Customer Satisfaction at Mile High Airlines. It was immediately clear that he was to be hands-on with his flight attendants, and the changes he made to their protocol were demeaning and thrilling at the same time in Erin's eyes. Their uniforms changed overnight from semi-professional business suits to short, slutty outfits only worthy of a common office tramp. The tight blouses were constantly undone down to show their cleavage, tucked into navy miniskirts that left very little to the imagination. Erin even regaled Alex with a tale of one of her friends who'd dared to leave an extra button on her blouse done up. She told her then-unlocked boyfriend with bated breath that Brock had simply taken a pair of scissors and cut away the useless top buttons from her blouse and those of the other stewardesses on the flight.

"Including mine," she said, as she offered the lapel of her blouse to her boyfriend for visual confirmation.

Stewardess. This particular term was another of Brock's sweeping changes. No more were they flight attendants, they were stewardesses, and announced themselves as such. An old-school, borderline-misogynist term that was made the default identifier for an entire group of women under his watchful eyes. If he ever caught any of his charges using the term 'flight attendant', there were severe repercussions.

As he approached the BMW, he sighed at the thought that he'd become everything he dreaded and desired in such a short amount of time. Careful what you wish for.

Alex had been given a chance, once the new relationship dynamic became clear. But the deep truth is that Brock's power over his girlfriend had been just as terrifyingly thrilling to him as it had been to her. A deep, hidden part of him craved that type of control in his life. Someone to subjugate him without regard for his pride or his pleasure, to use him simply for their own devices.

On that fateful night, Erin was dressed as a perfect representation of this cross-section in their lives. She wore one of Alex's old plaid button-up shirts, her sleeves rolled back halfway up her forearm. That was tucked into a leather skirt that Brock had bought her, which led down to three-inch knee-high leather boots. On top, she was Alex's, down below, she belonged to Brock. And it was put into Alex's hands to whom she, and he, would fully belong.Brock watched as Erin fitted the plastic prison over Alex's shaved cock and slid the lock through the clasp, then spoke.

"Alex, this is your chance. You may step away, remove that cage, and go back to your home and your life. Erin will either choose to stay with me or go back to you, but I warn you - this is the only chance you'll get like this from me. If you stay, if that lock closes, you become property of Erin, who is property of me. We will endeavor to push your limits as far as they'll go, humiliate and deny you at every turn, and only reward you when you've deeply amused us. If you are staying, you may ask your girlfriend to close to lock. If not, you'll take it off yourself."

The way his cock bobbed in the little cage at the thought of Erin administering this degradation to him was indication enough, but he did take a moment to consider the ramifications of his decision. When would he be permitted to fuck his girlfriend again, or receive any sort of release? Was this only exciting now at the onset and would he come to regret submitting to it? That was the question that drove his real decision. He projected himself in the future, rationally hating the treatment he was receiving, stuck inescapably in it under the amused thumb of his girlfriend and the unyielding eyes of her bull, and the concept of him thrilled him like nothing else ever had.

"Please, Miss, will you close the lock on my chastity cage?"

Present-day Alex was every bit the remorseful, regretful whelp he had dreamed he'd be through rose-colored glasses back then. As he had accurately predicted, the car had been lightly coated in a thin layer of dust from being parked in the gravelly employees' lot. He sighed, knowing that this was unacceptable and resolving to get it washed before picking up Brock.

His trip to the gas station was uneventful, though he felt a bit like a chauffeur dressed in his crisp shirt and bowtie filling his girlfriend's car with premium gas and taking it through the car wash. He opted for the full package, including a wax coat at the end. It had been four weeks, and if he was especially well-behaved, his owners may allow him a humiliating orgasm at the end of the evening. He was meticulous to every detail, even pulling into a parking spot after proceeding through the car wash to thoroughly inspect the black, shiny luxury car for imperfections.

Everything made him think of his denied state.

An errant glob of wax made him consider how similar his ejaculate would look, sticking to the pristine exterior of Miss Erin's car. Wiped away with the shammy cloth kept neatly stowed in the trunk, obliterated as was the control he had over his own pleasure six months ago. A drop of water left from the car wash made him think of kneeling at the foot of what used to be his bed as Brock and Erin fucked, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead from anticipation and unfulfilled need. Again, eradicated, as were any concerns of his desires from the minds of his Keepers. And when the car was perfect, an obfuscated reflection stared back at him through the shiny black exterior of the car. A thoroughly conquered whelp of a man, off to take his girlfriend and her fuck-buddy to a romantic dinner that he would serve happily.

Brock's house wasn't far, just a few minutes away. He pulled up to the well-appointed rambler, parking on the street just in front and taking a deep breath before approaching the front door. The routine for picking up Brock was well-established and chiseled into his mind. He rang the doorbell and stood, his hands behind his back, and waited. And waited. Brock and Erin did so love to make him wait. About 30 seconds after he rang the doorbell, Brock appeared and opened it. Alex recited the requisite greeting.

"Good evening, Mister Samson. Your ride is here for your date with my girlfriend."

Brock wore a black sportcoat over a dark green button-up shirt, unbuttoned to just show a tuft of his generously-distributed chest hair. His charcoal wool pants and shined black leather shoes completed his outfit, starkly contrasted in style with the little waiter boy in front of him. He humphed in approval and strode right past, leaving Alex to scramble to catch up with him. He scurried ahead and opened the back door for Brock to climb in. Woe betide the chaste slave whose lethargy would have necessitated his Keeper opening his own door. That simply would not have done.

Brock spoke to Alex only a few times on the way to his and Erin's home, and every time he did, it was a question wrapped in a humiliation. The latter, Alex assumed, was the point of the conversation anyway, but he had to answer with enthusiasm and respect all the same.

"What did you get up to over the past week while your girlfriend was off fucking the French, wimp?" He asked.

'Wimp' was Brock's favorite degrading term for Alex. It so clearly demonstrated the stark difference in their station. He cringed at the implication of Erin's robust sex life in comparison to his miniscule one, but instantly masked the biting pain with an aire of compliance and enthusiasm. "I had plenty of chores to keep me busy, Sir! I made sure her home was perfect for her when she returned home."

Brock seemed pleased with that answer and moved on. "How long has that cock been locked away? Are you even sure it still works?"

"Four weeks now, Mister Samson," as if he wasn't already acutely aware. He was the only one with keys to his chastity device. The only one who could possibly grant him the relief he so desperately craved. It seemed Brock wanted to have some fun, so maybe a joke would lighten the mood. "I guess I don't know if it still works, Sir! There's only one way to find..."

"That is NOT your decision to make, wimp!" Came the short, gruff response from the back of the car. Every word was staccato and laced with anger and power at even the inference that Alex would suggest such a thing. He knew, immediately, that he had made an egregious error.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." His tone was immediately muted and downtrodden, and the rest of the ride to pick up Erin was silent.

Again, Alex pulled alongside his home instead of into his own driveway. Brock busied himself with his phone while Alex went to retrieve his girlfriend. She made him wait even longer, but the view ended up being worth the wait.

What emerged from his front door was a vision of pure sexual allure. The red satin minidress came down to her mid-thigh and was cut to show off her ample breasts. Her slim waist was drawn in further by what he could only assume was a waist cincher lying beneath. Brock would almost certainly find out what was underneath that dress, and Alex had a pretty good chance at that reveal as well. Her makeup was artfully done, lips painted the same red as the fabric of her dress. Her red heels matched the ensemble as well, and her blonde hair was drawn into two, playful pigtailed braids.

"Good evening, Miss Erin. Your ride is here for your date with Mister Samson."

Similar to his required greeting for Brock, but with the knife twisted just a bit. He was obligated to speak in full sentences, to be the one who fully recognized that he was picking up his girlfriend for a date with the bully that had transformed both of their lives. He stood dutifully with his hands behind his back.

"Hi, sweetie! How do I look? Do you think he'll like it?" She was giddy and excited, the same way she used to be for dates with him.

"You look very sexy, Miss Erin, I'm sure he'll love what you've chosen to wear for him," he answered honestly. Indeed, it was already having an effect on Alex as his cock swelled as much as his plastic prison permitted. It was further enhanced by the way Erin patted him right on his locked cock, finding the lock itself and giving it a playful tug as she walked past.

Either she was unaware of the deeper effect of her sweet teasing, or, more concerningly, she was very aware of it and did it anyway. In either case, the momentary attention to his cock made him stop, shudder and close his eyes. When he opened them, she was three paces ahead and he needed to really scramble to catch up to her and get the door.

A quick check of the rearview mirror revealed that from the moment Erin slide in next to Brock, he was all over her. The contrast in the way Alex was allowed to observe Erin's appearance with his eyes and the way Brock was permitted to explore her with his hands was crystal clear as his large hands roamed without impediment all over her body. They kissed passionately in the backseat, as was their standard greeting. Alex gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and drove toward the restaurant.

"Did you have a pleasurable trip to France, Erin?" He asked her.

"Oh, it was divine, honey, everything was so beautiful and elegant there. And the men were so romantic! But not any more than you, Brock," she assured him in a way she would have never assured Alex.

"I trust you performed well on the flights to and from, as well," he said with mock sternness toward her.

Her response was a giggling, "Oh, yes, Sir."

"Prove it. Show me where the emergency exits are on this vehicle."

Things were getting heated before they were even out of the subdivision.

"Well, they're here, and, uh," she pointed, her voice shaking a bit in anticipation. An indicative hand pointed toward one of the rear doors, and its wrist was grabbed firmly.

"No. Show me." And with that, he grabbed her by her hips, turned her around and planted her straddling him, her back to her boyfriend. She let out a surprised squeal and giggled again, her hands momentarily resting on his shoulders before she cleared her throat.

"The emergency exits on this vehicle are at the aft, located to your left and right, Sir," she said with more confidence, accompanied by a definitive wiggle of her ass against her bull's crotch. She indicated to each of the back doors with her hand before placing her fingers on the back of Brock's neck, stroking him tantalizingly. "In case of a water landing," she pointed toward a lake passing by in the mirror, "we'll scold our driver very harshly. You wouldn't put us in the water, would you, little boy?"

She actively engaged him. Made sure he was paying attention to them and their displays of affection. "No, Miss, I wouldn't put us in the water." He wasn't able to zone out, even if he wanted to. Deep down, he didn't want to anyway. The familiar twinge of jealousy and envy was savory, in its own way. He couldn't have what Brock had, but he was beginning to believe that he didn't deserve it. That he was every bit the wimp Mister Samson called him, the little boy Miss Erin called him. The degradation playtoy destined for a life of teasing and denial.

It wasn't long before he heard the familiar sound of pants being unzipped, lips against flesh and leather creaking as the two lovers in the back positioned themselves just so. He was approaching the restaurant, but something more important was happening in the backseat. He glanced up nervously in the rearview and caught Brock's smirking grin facing him back. When they locked eyes, Brock narrowed on the driver and issued a terse command.

"Drive around, wimp," he barked, before turning his attention back to the girl writhing in his lap, "Oh, no panties? Naughty girl."

Erin giggled, but it wasn't the same sound she made when Brock grabbed her and pulled her into his lap. It was a breathy giggle, one soaked in anticipation and admiration of her bull and her boyfriend's bully. "I didn't want anything in the way for you, stud," she whispered just loudly enough that Alex could hear it.

Dutifully, Alex passed the restaurant and made a circle around the block. The BMW's windows were tinted a deep black, so this semi-public display of sexual intensity was only being put on for his benefit. He kept his eyes on the road for a moment, stealing glances into the rearview. He saw braided pigtails shifting to and fro. He saw a man's hardened gaze belying his relaxed body, his hands never leaving his sex kitten's hips. He heard soft noises as his girlfriend pulled out the cock of her bull, and finally a gasp of ecstasy from her and a sigh of release from him as she pushed her sweet, dripping pussy over it.

"Oh, you're so big, stud. So thick..." She moaned, as she sat on his cock for just a moment. The beads of sweat, the same ones he wiped away from the car earlier in the day, began to form on Alex's forehead. His knuckles turned white. Ten and two.

"You like being fucked with a thick cock, don't you Erin? Bigger than those Frenchmen, and certainly bigger than that little boy in the driver's seat," Brock taunted.

"Oh yes, Brock, oh," her words were cut off by Brock gripping her hips, lifting her up, and pushing her back down on his cock, fucking her without her expecting and drawing another impassioned squeal from her.

As Erin began to fuck Brock in earnest in the backseat, Alex continued driving around in pointless little circles. His attention was more diverted by the second, and watching those braided pigtails bouncing up and down from behind was mesmerizing. So mesmerizing, in fact, that Brock took notice over Erin's shoulder and shouted at his driver with vigor.

"Eyes on the road, wimp!" He growled, and Erin simply moaned in response. She had not only grown accustomed to her bull shouting orders at her boyfriend, but the act seemed like it had become an aphrodisiac for her. Every time she went away with Brock for a few days, she came back a harder-edged Mistress for her subbie toy. But that only seemed to last a day or so before she was back to his playfully tormentous girlfriend.

"Oh, fuck!" exclaimed Erin as Brock grasped her by her right pigtail and twisted her head to face forward so that her expression was visible to Alex in the rearview mirror. Her face twisted in pain and intense pleasure as the orgasm built for both of them. Brock leaned forward, pressing her back against Alex's headrest and growled into her ear, "Not until I do, you little slut."

Alex could feel Erin nodding against the back of his head rest as clearly as he could hear the grumbling moan from Brock as he ejaculated into his girlfriend. She let out a gasping "Yes!" before releasing herself. It was, at least, the second such orgasm for her of the day and quite possibly not the first for Brock. The audible theatrics in the backseat may have been comical to anyone who hadn't been denied his own release for four weeks now. As it was, all it did was make Alex stiffen up even more in his little plastic cage and grip the steering wheel even harder.

Erin panted a few breathless thank-you's to the man wielding the thick cock still emptying inside her, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning to him as she gasped for breath. "Thank you, baby, that was so good. You know exactly what I need." She let off a soft giggle as she whispered, "I hope we didn't distract our little driver too much."

Each word was a stab to the fully-perforated ego of her boyfriend in the front seat, but at this point, he was fully lost in his subspace. He was thinking of his girlfriend's creamy pussy that Brock was able to enjoy seemingly at will, the way she'd feel wrapped around him. His cock pushed against his locked-on cage and he opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the foreboding man in the backseat.

"Who gives a shit? I'm famished, baby," was the smirking reply from a fully-satiated Brock. "Take us to dinner, cuck."


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