Several days pass since my last meeting with 'granny'. Sophie's description seemed so wildly different from the woman I'd interacted with that it seems like it can't be the same person. I try to hide my anxiety, but I dare not ask any more about her. That would only raise suspicion.
I don't like keeping things from Flint and Scarlett, but I can't just tell them I might have been letting a stranger into our house. The disappointment they'd have in me would be bad enough, but the humiliation would just make it worse. I should have told them after the first time she came by. Now, I don't know what to do.
Maybe I'm panicking over nothing. Maybe Sophie's description is off. This is Sophie we're talking about. Or maybe granny stopped smoking. And swearing. She did get into the house on her own, so she must have a key, right? She seems to know all about Scarlett and Flint like she -is- Scarlett's grandmother. And why would she give me cream for my arm?
Then again, why would she suddenly act differently? Why would she want me to keep her visits a secret? Why was she never around anyone else? What kind of crazy person impersonates someone's grandmother?!
It's maddening to not know. I do all I can, which is to remain extra vigilant. I make sure the doors and windows are all locked at night, and I keep tabs on everyone, making sure I know where they are when they're home. I don't use the cream anymore, not that I need it, and I hid it under the steps of the deck. I somehow feel more comfortable keeping it out of the house.
It feels a bit like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far, nothing. Maybe she'll show up and this will turn out to be just a misunderstanding. Until then, I just look out for my family.
And they do for me, sometimes in ways that I could do without.
"Puuuppy!" Scarlett calls for me in a dulcet tone that makes me think something's up.
She waits until she's in grabbing distance before she continues, "I've got this flea and tick med-"
My eyes widen and I immediately get to my toes to sprint away. Unfortunately, I don't make it more than a step before her quick fingers grab my collar and yank me back.
"Uh-uh, puppy, you're going nowhere," she informs me.
"I don't have ticks or fleas!" I shout, trying to remove the collar, only to find that she's grabbed the part with the clasp.
"Yes, and I intend to keep it that way," she says.
She holds up the tube of that foul-smelling liquid she intends to put in my hair. We went through this once before, and I was naive enough to think for a moment that anything humans call 'medicine' might not be awful.
"I don't want it! It smells bad and feels weird! No!" I continue to try to wiggle free.
"It's not that bad, Acorn," she continues to hold me with one hand.
"Says you! Humans can't smell anything properly!" I pause in my struggle, to lull her into a false sense of security.
"Doesn't matter, you're still getting it," she doesn't release me but brings the other hand open to crack open the tube.
I take the opportunity to reassert my struggling, and to my surprise, actually break free from her grasp. I immediately bolt, though with complete uncertainty of where I think I'm going to go.
A few quick strides and a hand catches the back of my shorts, sending me sprawling forward onto the ground. It also results in said shorts (and underwear) being pulled to my ankles as Scarlett tumbles in roughly the same pattern behind me. I have just enough time to wiggle free from my pants and clamber to my feet before she's after me again.
I sprint through the kitchen, sans any sort of pants, with my penis flapping in the air. It's not my proudest moment, but neither is getting the flea medicine. Hopefully Sophie isn't seeing this.
I'm making a turn out of the kitchen when Scarlett catches me at the waist and sends on yet another quick trip to the ground. There's no wiggling away this time. When I regain my senses, she's got me pinned down on my back, with her hands on my shoulders.
"...Acorn!" she declares, catching her breath, "It's not that bad!"
I just pout and avert my eyes. And pretend I don't notice that she's straddling over my very exposed cock. She almost certainly notices after a few moments, though, even if she doesn't say so.
"It'll only take a second," she says, cracking open the end of the tube.
She runs her fingers through my hair and pours the foul smelling liquid over my scalp. She rubs it into my skin with her fingertips, a process which would be very pleasant without the fluid.
I give my most exaggerated of grimaces and look away, but it has no noticeable effect in deterring her or making her feel bad about this. The smell fills my nostrils and the feel of it makes me dizzy. The latter could also be caused by her tits being basically in my face.
"Was that so terrible, puppy?" she asks as she finishes.
Determined to still be mad, I just look away in the other direction and cross my arms. I say nothing.
"You know, the effectiveness of your pouting is somewhat diminished by the raging erection you've got going on," she smirks.
I try to control my flushing cheeks as I watch her pull up the front of her skirt. As if either of us needed confirmation that I'm very hard and that her pussy is resting right on top of said erection. And is extremely warm. And separated from by only the thin layer of cotton that is her panties.
"Would you look at that?" she says, coyly, dropping her skirt.
She leans down over me, her breasts resting on my upper chest, and her face right beside mine. I continue to try to avoid eye contact and stay calm, with diminishing returns.
"Are you really still mad about the flea treatment, puppy?" she leans close to my ear, "Or are you just thinking about... my pussy?"
I purse my lips as if to hold in any reaction. That lasts about as long as it takes her to push her hips down and grind herself against my cock. My mouth flies open in a sharp gasp.
"I think I have my answer," she whispers, continuing to rub herself up and down.
I try to stand my ground and argue a point that is rapidly becoming abstract and distant, even to me. All that comes out, though, is a long, incomprehensible whimper, which I'm not sure she even knows are supposed to be words.
"That's my good boy," she presses her hips harder, "You're not all upset about some silly flea medicine. Not when all you can think about is your Mistress and her warm pussy, and how there's only a little strip of cloth between you and her. Isn't that right?"
There's no fighting her, is there? Just wanting more, I wrap my arms around her and push my hips up.
"Tsk. Uh-uh, Acorn," she grabs my wrists and pulls them away, pinning them to the ground beside me, "Mistress controls this. My good puppy is just going to lie there and feel me rub myself off against his little cock."
