"Are you wet enough?" He questions with hooded eyes.
I nod curtly. "Only the sound of your voice and my pussy jumps in excitement."
"Good. Turn around." He orders as both hands grip my waist, flipping me around before I can argue. "Sit on it and go...
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When you find yourself drowning in your own mistakes, when the gut wrenching nightmares don't leave you alone, when all you've done is struggle to remain mentally sane, the weight of your trauma at some point swallows you up until you lose touch with everything.
That was what happened two weeks ago when I woke up from a terrible nightmare and sent my wife packing. I woke up from the same nightmare that has always plagued me, only this time, it wasn't just Bianca that I'd killed. I ripped Mirabella's heart out of her in my dream and when I finally woke up, I found that I'd already done some damages to her physically.
I panicked and I had to tell myself the truth, the truth that I was a danger to her.
I sent her away only to protect her from my monsters and I regret it.
Her fragrance still lingers in the part of the mansion where she stayed, I still think about how she touched herself in my office whilst calling out my name, how I buried my face into her beautiful, heavenly pussy. She's my undoing and she's my chance at life; the reason I'm still alive this day.
I sometimes run my fingers over my almost healed stitches and think about what would have happened to me if she wasn't here the day I got shot. I owe her my life as much as I hate to admit it.
A knock is heard on the door and I immediately put away the important documents I have in hand. "Come." My voice bellows. One of my men walks in and informs me that my father has returned and is waiting to have a meeting with me in his office. A meeting I presume is about Mirabella's absence. That old man will not leave me alone.
I groan frustratedly as I make myself available for my father's scrutiny. The moment I walk into his office, he forcefully throws the glass cup he has in hand my way and I dodge it with wide eyes.
"Come here boy!" He commands and I discreetly roll my eyes. The old fucker still thinks of me a boy. His little boy. "Where the fuck is your wife?" He looks unamused and that's a look he takes up whenever my wife is the topic of discussion.
From the day I realized my wife's true identity, I've kept my father up to date but it still surprises me how he's not upset with her in any way despite her lies and deception. I sometimes feel that my father desperately wants her around me and I wonder why.
"I sent her home." I answer in a clipped voice.
"Why?"
"You know why father and I'd appreciate it if you refrained from interfering in my business especially when it's about my wife."
Father chuckles dryly and just like the wind, I fail to see him move towards me and in one swift move, his fist collides with my nose and I stumble. I look into his eyes and scoff at his readiness. "I guess we're doing this," I mumble under my breath and charge at him.
We thrash each other as we hash out whatever our differences seem to be. It's not a regular thing but this is why my relationship with my father still holds water; the fact that we fight and curse each other out as much as we want until we're at ease with each other, that's how weve managed to maintain a good relationship.
