Authors: Karpov Kinrade
I'm not really the type to submit. But that night with Vi was hot—being tied up and tortured by her sexy ass and tits. Well, until the vomiting. That was the opposite of hot. But before then, I was down. And hard. So it hasn't been a hardship—pun intended—to play Master and Servant a few more times with her, under less spectacularly disgusting circumstances. It's not my thing 24/7, but for a change of pace, something new, I can get into the groove of being handcuffed and teased.
And I love seeing Vi light up when she's in charge. She's sexy as hell as a Dom, and I enjoy getting to know that side of her more than I imagined I would. We don't go too kink. Some of the stories she's told me, I know without trying that it's not for me. For example, I have zero desire to lick the bottoms of her heeled boots, no matter how sexy they are on her perfect little feet. So we have lines, and we learn as we play, and we give and take, and sometimes I'm holding the handcuff key, and sometimes she is. All in all, our sex life is even better for it, which is something I never thought I'd say. My sex life never seemed like it needed to be (or even could be) better. But there you have it. Learn something new every day.
So… we've been having fun. And somewhere in all that fucking and fun, shit got serious. I don't know when it happened. Whether it was the late nights watching sitcoms together and laughing at stupid jokes, or the weekend afternoons spent sorting laundry, or the petty bickering over whose turn it was to do the dishes (somehow it's never Vi's turn…) or maybe those long mornings spent in silence bent over a jigsaw puzzle together. I don't know. All I know is that I'm sitting in Vi's favorite chair, and it smells like her, which I love, and I'm just checking shit on my phone not really doing anything when she comes in with a slight frown on her face, and I think something's wrong.
"What's up, babe?" I'm not checking my phone anymore. Instead, I'm watching her fidget with that gorgeous, red, curly hair of hers as she tries to look less nervous than she actually feels.
She holds up her phone as if presenting evidence in court. "My mom texted me."
"Okay?" We haven't talked too much about family, usually because I avoid the topic, but I know she has a good relationship with her parents but doesn't see them often.
"Remember when I told you they were about to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary?"
I don't but I nod anyways because I probably should. I'm not an idiot.
"Well, they've decided to have a renewing of the vows, and they want me there. Us there."
I'm about to say 'sure, no problem' until I realize two things. One, her parents live in California, so this is a weekend road trip. Together. As a couple. And two, this is not just any road trip, but a meet the parents trip.
I've never 'met the parents' for anyone. Parents usually don't want to meet the guy who bangs their little girl on occasion purely for the shared orgasms. Go figure.
But I play it cool. If I freak out, she'll freak out, and that won't be good for my cock tonight or my heart tomorrow. But if I'm too cool, she might think I'm not taking this seriously which, trust me, I am.
"What do they know about me?" I ask, buying time to figure out the best response.
She walks over, her body language more relaxed now that she sees I'm not in a state of panic. At least outwardly. When she slides onto my lap, all worry disappears into the soft curves of her sexy-as-hell body.
While my hand caresses her thigh, she fills me on the parental details. "They know we're dating. That it's getting kind of… serious?"
She says this like a question, and I know we need to talk about where this is going. We have, a bit, but there's a lot up in the air. "It is… serious," I say. "And whether I leave for tour or not, that doesn't change what I feel right now. Though, I don't know entirely how to define those feelings yet." We aren't ready for the 'L' word. At least I'm not. But it's close. "But I know I care deeply for you, Vi. And I'm not ready to walk away from you. Or us."
She rubs herself against my cock and wraps her arms around my neck. "Long distance would be hard," she says, a seductive smile on her lips.
"So hard," I say as my cock pokes against her. "I'd miss this," I say, kissing her deeply. And, God, would I ever.
There are a lot of reasons to stay in Vegas. I want to start my new life. I don't want to be on the road for another year of strip dancing. I don't want to leave Vi. I don't want to uproot myself again.
I also don't want to let the kids down. They need this after-school program. And I need the money to make that happen.
But as Vi runs her hands down my chest and pulls off my shirt, thoughts of the kids and the center and dancing float away. I want her. That's all I know.
"Will you go with me?" she asks.
It takes a moment to remember what she's talking about. Her parents. Right. "Yes. Sure, babe."
She could ask anything right now, and with her body pressed against mine with the promise of more, the answer would always be yes.
It should only take about four hours to get from Las Vegas to my parents' house in Belmont Shore, California—the hip, fun part of Long Beach, where's there's actual beach.
Of course it never only takes four hours. There's always stop-and-go parking lot traffic getting in and out of Las Vegas. Which is why I try not to ever leave my beloved city. It's practically designed to make you want to stay.
But my parents are renewing their vows, and it's been too long since I've seen them outside of Skype. And they want to meet my boyfriend.
And I kinda want them to meet my boyfriend. I'm curious what they will think of Lachlan. They've met other guys I've dated. They know my kinks and my lifestyle and they've always been cool with it. I'm guessing they will be shocked to discover I'm not with a sub this time around.
I know
I
am.
We toss a coin to decide which car we should take and who gets to drive. Lachlan believes my beloved Camaro isn't safe—or big enough for his 6' 2" frame. I think his brand-new black Beemer is pretentious and boring.
So we flip. Heads the Camaro. Tails the BMW.
Heads.
I win!
The Camaro it is. And I get to drive.
We leave early, our weekend bags thrown into the trunk and
venti
cups of caffeine steaming between us. "All set?" I ask.
He nods, tucking his legs in and dramatically sighing. "I suppose. Though I might not be able to walk straight after this."
"I'll find some way of stretching you out again."
He laughs, and I rev the engine and pull out of our parking spot.
I love driving. I know not everyone does, but to me it's liberating. The road can take you anywhere, in any direction. All you need is a car and enough money for gas and the entire country is your playground.
What I don't love is bumper to bumper traffic, which is what we hit as soon as we 'park' on the 15 heading out of Vegas.
I'm half foot on the break, half ready to put pedal to the metal as soon as everyone gets out of the way. "I wonder if there's an accident."
Lachlan rolls down the window and peeks his head out. "Don't see anything. Just cars. Everywhere, cars."
"Fantastic. What shall we do to pass the time?" He winks suggestively, and I laugh. "Um, no. We might eventually have to move forward an inch, and then where would we be?"
"Happy. We'd be in Happyland while the rest of these schmucks complained and tweeted about their roadside misery of bumper to bumper madness."
"Happyland? Is this a thing now, because I'm not sure how I feel about that."
His hand lands on my thigh, riding higher and higher until his fingers graze my panties. "I can make you feel very… happy… about our Happyland. I promise."
I let go of the steering wheel and push his hand back to my knee, not without some level of regret—but still, safety first and all that shit, right? "Happyland it is. But it'll have to wait until we get to Long Beach."
"That would require movement on this freeway," he says, squeezing my knee.
"True."
"I have an idea." He pulls his hand off my knee and rummages through my glove box.
"What are you looking for?"
"Pen and paper?"
He pulls out receipts, business cards, napkins… not all of them clean. I laugh at the look on his face. And a stack of papers. "What the hell, Vi. Do you never clean this out? This has got to be your registration for the last… six years."
"What can I say? There's always something more interesting to do than clean out my car. Be glad there's no food in there."
He sticks his hand in and pulls out a half-eaten hamburger I don't remember buying. "You were saying?"
"Oh. Well, hey, I didn't tell you to go poking around in there. You entered at your own risk and without authorization. We frown on that sort of thing here in the States."
"I'll remember that." He continues to rummage until he finds what he's looking for. "Eureka! We've found gold. Well, a gold pen at any rate."
He scribbles something on the back of an old registration and then folds it. "I've written something on this paper. If you guess what it is in twenty questions, you win. If you don't, I win."
"What do we win?"
He ponders that for a moment. "Loser gives the winner a full body massage with oils."
"Agreed," I say. I could definitely think of worse ways to spend an hour than with Lach's hands all over my oily body, rubbing my muscles until I moan. Just the thought starts to make me wet.
"Okay, go!" he says. "First question."
"Can I do multiple choice?" I ask.
"Nope. Yes or no, only. Second question."
"Hey wait, that didn't count."
"Okay fine, but that's your only freebie. Now go!"
"Is it an animal?"
"No," he says.
"Inanimate object?"
"No."
"Place?"
"Yes."
"A place we've been together?"
"Not yet."
Hmm… not yet? Where could that be?
"Sixteen questions left, babe."
"Domestic?"
"It can be."
What the hell does
that
mean? "Is it someplace you've been?"
"No."
So, not Australia.
I'm having so much fun with Lachlan that I barely notice when traffic finally picks up and we're moving again. I space my questions out carefully, talking about other things in between as I consider my clues.
We're a few hours outside of Las Vegas when I have one question left, and I think I know the answer, but I'm not sure. And then the steering wheel jerks in my hand, and I nearly drive the car into the ditch on the side of the road. "What the fuck?"
I slow down and pull over, narrowly avoiding an accident with the side railing. Once parked, we get out to assess the damage. A blown left front tire.
"Ah man, that was my favorite tire," I say, kicking it.
Lachlan laughs. "You have a favorite tire on your car?"
"Yes, doesn't everyone?"
He just shakes his head and pops my trunk. "You got a spare in here?"
"Of course," I say. "I even know how to change it myself."
"I like a girl who can take care of herself." He looks me up and down, drawing my attention to my high heels, short skirt and silk blouse. "But are you sure you want to change it in that outfit? Because I'm happy to do it."
I prop a hand on my hip and consider my options. Play the damsel in distress and let my boyfriend change the tire, or ruin my outfit proving I can handle it all myself. This is actually a hard choice for me. I don't like depending on anyone else for things. It's why I learned how to change and check my oil, change my tire and assess minor engine repairs. I know a lot about this car, and while I'm not a mechanic, I know enough to not be scammed by one. But relationships can't survive with one person trying to be everything all the time—not to mention, neither would this outfit. I'm learning that with Lachlan. Sometimes we have to soften, to allow our partner to step in and lead, help, support. So I do that, and my favorite red heels thank me as Lach pulls out the tire and gets to work.
My phone bings, and I slide into the passenger seat and check it. It's a text from Zoe and it's not good.
He's being such a douchebag, I can't even. What do I do? Help!
What's he done this time?
I type back, groaning inwardly.
He insists we can't have sex until we get married. He says his priest had a long talk with him and that I'm to blame for his unhappiness because I'm forcing him to live in sin by not marrying him.
"Everything okay?" Lachlan asks from the front of the car.
"Man trouble," I say through the open door.
"Zoe's guy again?"
"Who else?" Lachlan had heard enough of our conversations to know all about Zoe and her emotionally-stunted lover.
"What's he done this time?" he asks.
I fill him in and he makes a noise that is not very pleasant. "Tell her that if this guy can't take responsibility for his own choices, he's not a real man and doesn't deserve her."
I text her Lachlan's advice and wait. Her response makes me laugh.
That man of yours, does he have a brother?
LOL No. But we can definitely find you something better than this guy. Ask yourself, do you want to live with someone who blames you for his alleged sins instead of taking responsibility himself?
There's a long pause before she replies.
No. It makes me feel like shit. Like I'm a horrible person.
I look outside at Lachlan as he pulls the old tire off and sticks the spare tire on. I never feel like shit with him. He always makes me feel special, cared for, considered. Zoe deserves this. She deserves the best out there. I've kept my silence for months now, knowing it's her decision, but I can't hold my tongue any longer.
Dump him. He doesn't deserve you. And he'll never change.
Her response comes fast.
People can change.
"She says people can change," I tell Lach.
"Nope. I mean, sure, they can. But how long has she been with this guy?"
"A few years."
"And has he changed?"
"No."
"There you have it."
I text these questions to Zoe and she replies with a sad face crying emoticon.
We're yelling at each other now. I told him he's had plenty of time to figure his shit out and I'm done waiting for him to grow up. He said this would all be fixed if I'd marry him.
I shake my head and relay the new info to Lachlan.
He sighs. "The only thing marrying him would accomplish is putting her in a more permanent set of miserable circumstances."
I text that to her with my own thoughts.
His neurosis, his showers after sex, his chronic Catholic guilt taken to extremes, his blaming of you for his own shit, none of that will change by putting a ring on your finger. You have to decide if you want to be with this man BASED ON WHO HE IS RIGHT NOW. Do you want this man in front of you? AS HE IS.
Long pause. I wait nervously for her reply. Have I pushed too far? Is she freaking out? I wish I was there and could see her face to face and talk through this. But she's a grown woman, and I know she's strong enough to face this.
No. I don't want this. I'm done.
She doesn't text again for another several minutes, and Lachlan is joining me at the car, having just finished putting away the trashed tire and tools, when her next text comes.
It's done. I've kicked him out and invited Ben & Jerry to come spend the weekend with me. What have I done?
You've opened yourself to something truly great. You've freed yourself from a toxic relationship that was hurting you. Call Tate. He's great with breakups, and he'll bring Ben & Jerry's best friend Jack Daniels. You can all party together.
Great idea. Calling now. Sorry to interrupt your trip. Have fun with the parents.
You aren't interrupting anything. Hang in there, kid. You'll get through this and be stronger for it.
I put the phone down and look up at Lachlan, who's standing by the door looking so fucking sexy, and I realize we're sort of in the middle of nowhere and there's no one else around and this man is a god with his body and I'm a seriously lucky woman. "About that car sex…"
After the mind-blowing part, I pull up my panties and he tosses the condom and we would probably smoke a cigarette if we were living in an 80s television series. He holds me on his lap in the front seat and smiles. "You guessed the 20 questions."
"What?" I stroke his face, still lost in our lovemaking.
"Happyland," he says, his grin spreading. "That was the answer." He squeezes my ass. "This was the answer."
"But you said it's someplace you hadn't been," I object. Because we've clearly been here before. Many, many times.
He shakes his head. "Not in a car. That was the point. Happyland in the car. With you."
I laugh with him and kiss him again, because damn this man is amazing.