Page 57 of Pay the Piper

Oh my God.

“Do you want children?”

I nod. Finally, he moves his hand from my mouth and replaces it with his own, searing me with a kiss that’s too indecent for our location.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. And Abby?”

“Yes?”

“Never diminish what we have by qualifying it with the length of our relationship again. It hurts my feelings and devalues what we have needlessly.”

“I’m sorry.” I’ve never felt so shitty in my life. He’s right. I need to stop minimizing our connection. The timeline doesn’t matter for a cosmic bond like ours.

“I forgive you. Now, I know exactly where I want to go next.”

Before long, we’re on a slow-moving dark ride that’s less thrill and more rest. It’s old and clearly less popular with park patrons because it’s all but deserted as we step into our cozy little car. With Misha’s arm around my shoulders, I nestle against his chest and put my legs across his lap. Geez, this ride really is dark. I might take a nap.

Bzzz.

Oh fuck. The plug I had forgotten about between the candy store and my ovaries exploding in the alleyway surges back to life. Forgetting about it doesn’t mean it hasn’t been working this entire time, though. I hadn’t noticed how wet my panties had gotten under my shirt, but now I can feel that they’re soaked through. Before I can think about the logistics of maybe drying them covertly with a hand dryer in a bathroom, the plug begins a brand new pulsating rhythm, and I feel him.

With a gentle nudge, Misha pushes my outer leg onto the empty bench facing us in our little car. The ride continues its slow progression through seemingly endless, mostly dark scenes, showing the park’s history and dioramas of future plans. When I’m spread for him, the gusset of my panties sticking to me obscenely, he languidly begins to explore.

“Oh, darling. Why didn’t you tell me that you were suffering so? Is this from your toy?”

“Misha, I don’t think—” I whisper, but he cuts me off.

“That’s right, baby. You don’t think. You don’t have to. Nobody will see or hear. You saw how empty the cars in front of and behind us were, didn’t you? We’re fine. I’d never let anyone see you or hear your delicious little sounds.”

After rubbing his knuckles gently back and forth across my clit, pressing the ruined, sticky fabric of my panties into my already sensitive flesh, he finally pulls them to the side. I’m puffy and open for him, I can feel it, and I’m literally dripped onto his fingers when he slides two in to the knuckle.

“Fuck, baby. You never answered me. Did you make all this because of your toy?”

With the plug and his fingers scissoring inside me, stretching me open and pressing into my G-spot every few strokes, I can barely think, let alone answer him.

“No,” I gasp. “Not the toy. I mean, mostly not the toy…it was—”

“Hmm? What was it?”

“It was you with the kids!”

His hand stills inside me, thick fingers perfect yet not what I wish I was clenching around as I ride the orgasm that’s been building for longer than I realize. When I finally come down, aftershocks violent as he removes his fingers and licks them clean, I realize the ride’s stopped. A brief message plays that we’ll be moving shortly and to stay in the vehicle.

Methodically, Misha pulls himself out of his shorts and boxers. I can barely see him, but his face is serious, as if he’s performing an incredibly important task. He pulls me up to straddle him, wrenching my useless panties even farther to the side, and buries himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. A vague portion of my brain warns me that we shouldn’t be doing this, that there could be people and cameras and arrests for public indecency in our future. But Misha’s in charge. He wouldn’t let that happen.

He also isn’t thrusting, and I whine my displeasure as he presses his nose into my neck, breathing deeply.

“It was me with the children, Abby? That’s what made this perfect cunt drip for me? Watching me with them?”

“Yesss,” I hiss, and he rewards me with a few lazy thrusts. He’s so strong, moving me up and down his cock all on his own, which is good. I don’t think I could ride him right now if he begged me to. I’m too drunk on lust, on him.

“Mmm. And did you like it when you finally forced my hand? When you made me spell it out for you? That you’re the only one I’ll ever be putting babies in?”

“Fuck,” I whine.

“Or is it the fact that I’d gladly start right fucking now that’s got you weeping for me?”

I’m well beyond coherent thought, nothing but one long, uninterrupted wave of pleasure as he continues his maddening pace. I think he’s matching it to the pulses of the plug, thrusting then grinding my clit against the rough hair at the base of his cock.