Full Throttle (Ch. 02)
soppingwetpanties
This is another one of David's fantasies dealing with unrequited submission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
Chapter Two
Allen Peabody was buck naked, licking his lips, having the time of his life eating his cum dribbled into his mouth by Jennifer's slut Lainey, a beautiful California blonde who ordinarily wouldn't give him the time of day. What a nasty wonderful surprise to meet Jennifer as a cash paying customer in his antique store, a customer who had a penchant for original (and expensive) Stickley furniture and BDSM. Allen always had detailed submissive fantasies, some of which he tried with paid Dommes, but never with his ex-wife Madeline and never, ever with his current girlfriend Emily.
Nothing compared in intensity, pleasure and depravity to the short time he'd just spent with Jennifer and her two sluts Lainey and Troy.
When he arrived at Jennifer's home Lainey warmed up his ass with an aggressive spanking with her riding crop followed by a vigorous butt fucking from Jennifer in the dining room of Jennifer's home while Allen was holding on for dear life with his hands gripping an original Stickley dining set valued at over $100,000 (it was the finest example Allen had ever laid eyes on). The Domme used a black dildo kept in her Range Rover's glove compartment she affectionately referred to as "the big boy." The big boy stretched Allen's virgin asshole to the limit and brought him to a head splitting orgasm. Lainey was conveniently sucking him off while the butt pounding ensued, so all of his spunk was caught in her hot little mouth.
Jennifer was chatting with someone on the phone and gesturing with her hands while Allen was busy lapping up the remnants of his prodigious production of cum.
"... why not?" Jennifer asked, Allen caught in mid-sentence.
"... then fuck you!" Jennifer shouted into the phone. The well-endowed brunette hung up and looked at Allen and the startled expression on his face.
"That was none of your business," Jennifer said. "At least not yet."
"OK," he said, avoiding apologizing. He was catching himself. She told him not to apologize for who he was so he didn't.
He'd put his phone on silent but it was buzzing on the library table where he left it. Jennifer gave him a scowl when the incessant buzzing continued. Embarrassed, he stepped out of the dining room and into the hallway.
The caller ID said it was Emily. Emily was in her early 50's, attractive enough but dressed in a manner charitably described as frumpy. She had a nice body with generously sized breasts and long slender legs, but none of that mattered much because despite numerous hints from Allen she didn't seem interested in anything but vanilla sex. Allen liked vanilla, but not the same flavor every day of his life. He described his relationship with Emily as "comfortable."
Jennifer, on the other hand, was a vivacious big-titted brunette with a nasty streak a mile wide (and a mile deep). She was able to deliver the first truly satisfying sexual experience of Allen's adult life with a genuine gusto for old fashioned down and dirty sex. She explored the boundaries of filthy. She delivered "heart pounding excitement" instead of "comfortable." Allen was fully prepared to break up with Emily for even the remote chance of seeing Jennifer again.
Unfortunately for Allen, in the midst of all this carnal bliss, he'd forgotten that he had a 7:30 p.m. reservation that night at a high end expensive French restaurant (or is that an oxymoron?), Le Petit Amour, in Morristown, he'd guaranteed with a non-refundable $300 deposit. It was to celebrate his and Emily's eight month "anniversary" together. He was supposed to pick up Emily at work at 7:00 p.m. and then take her to the restaurant. This was to happen in 90 minutes. This was the mother of all fuck-ups and his light bulb hadn't yet gone on.
It was 5:30 p.m., and from Jennifer's house to Morristown was at best a 90 minute drive without significant traffic. During rush hour it was likely to be well over two hours. To compound his problem, he had no car. He'd ridden with Jennifer from his shop to her house in her Range Rover and was so excited about going with her he hadn't thought through how he'd get back home. Imagine Jennifer's reaction when he asked her if he could borrow her brand new really expensive Range Rover to drive sixty miles as dangerously fast as he could so he could have dinner with his girlfriend. Even his butt couldn't withstand the punishment for that moronic request.
All of those logistical challenges were moot for one reason - - he didn't want to leave Jennifer's house - - ever.
"I can't talk right now," he said, still tasting his own cum. "I'm in a meeting."
It would have been hilarious for Emily to see who Allen was "meeting" with -- two naked sluts, Lainey and Troy, and a wickedly perverted Domme.
"Are you going to be here at seven?" she asked, of course in the complete dark as to Allen's current precarious (and naked) position. She, as usual, continued talking despite Allen's admonition.
"My meeting ended early so it'd be great if you could pick me up at my office around 6:30. There's a sale at my favorite women's clothing store, and it's right next door to the restaurant, so I was hoping we could stop there first. I hope it's not a bother."
As soon as Emily started talking Allen's lightbulb turned on and he realized he had royally screwed up. He hadn't given a second's thought about the dinner that night, or Emily, so he didn't even have a lie prepared to tell. He was forced to give her a highly sanitized version of the truth.
"I'm sorry Emily, I can't make the dinner," he said, ripping the band aid off.
There was a disturbing silence on the phone. Allen felt like the piece of shit he was.
"You're not?" she asked. Her voice was trembling and she sounded like she was going to cry.
"I'm sorry. I had to deliver a piece of furniture to Spring Lake and..."
"Spring Lake? That's sixty miles from here."
"I know," said Allen. "But it was a $10,000 sale and you know... business has been slow and the table I sold has been sitting in my shop for six months."
There was a longer punishing silence. "I guess the money's more important than our relationship..."
Even though Allen wanted to break up with her this conversation was going the exact wrong direction.
"No, no," Allen interjected. "It's not that."
"So what is it?"
It was Allen's opportunity to tell her about Jennifer - - how he'd met this beautiful slut and just had the best orgasm of his life. That sex with Emily was boring. Of course he wimped out and didn't say that.
"I... I don't know... I guess I wasn't thinking."
Allen mentally rolled up in a ball, bracing himself for the expected tongue lashing. He would have rather faced ten more strokes from Lainey's riding crop. Unfortunately, Emily exceeded his expectations.
"I'm disappointed in you Allen. Really disappointed. We've spent a lot of time together and I thought we were good for each other, but apparently I'm not that important, otherwise you wouldn't have forgotten about our dinner. All those nice things you said to me over the last eight months. Once, you said you loved me. Did you mean it? Or were you lying?"
Then rage set in. "For crying out loud, you just changed the reservation today. How could it have slipped your mind?"
The answer of course was he was sniffing Jennifer's asshole at his store after he'd changed the reservation. That made him forget. It would have made any horny undersexed submissive middle aged man forget. The truth wasn't available so he apologized again.
"All I can say is I'm sorry."
Allen could hear soft sobbing on the other end of the line. He was between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to be with Jennifer but it wasn't in his nature to be cruel (or at least this cruel).
"How can I make it up to you?" he asked in lieu of breaking up with her.
Again silence. A long agonizing silence.
"You can't," she said.
Allen was at a loss as to what to say next. He'd never been a flaming asshole before.
