A room comes with a cost - Part 3 - Sexgeschichten

A room comes with a cost - Part 3

... his hand "guiding" my hip, fingers digging bruises.

"Arch more. Easier reach."

I bucked back... sharp, shoving his hand off, the motion wedging my shorts deeper, clit grinding cotton in a spark I bit back.

"Reach yourself. I'm not bending for your show."

Voice cracked on the edge... hate for the heat, the way my pussy clenched at the shove, slick blooming fresh. Liam laughed from the bed.

"Demerit 4: Resistance during duty. 5: Backtalk."

Pen scratched furious, the tally climbing like a death march.

By Steven's bed... tissues again, crusty and mocking... I snapped full: Reaching for one, sticky drag on my fingers, the smell sharp and personal.

"You jerks can't even..."

Hand slipped... deliberate?... smearing the mess across the carpet, a gray streak of rebellion.

"Oops. Clean it yourself."

Steven's hand cracked down... not check, swat... sting blooming hot through the shorts.

"Demerit 6: Intentional slack. That's it... shorts off. Rule escalation for resistance."

He hooked the waistband, yanking down to mid-thigh, panties bared... blue cotton, damp seam glaring. Cool air hit, my ass clenching exposed, the faint handprint from last night shadowing pink. I twisted... fighting the pull, kicking out.

"Fuck you! Demerit me all you want... I'm done playing."

Liam's pen flew: 7: Assault on supervisor. 8: resistance to supervising.

Steven pinned my wrists... rough now, no gentle... ass up and spread as he "checked" hard: Palm cupping ...

... full, fingers pressing my slit through the lace, grinding once.

"Wet anyway. Log it... demerit 9: Arousal denial."

The pressure sparked... vicious, the coil winding despite my thrash... and I bucked wild, knee connecting his thigh.

"10: Continued resistance."

Ten. The magic number hit like a bomb, the hour barely half-gone. Living room vacuum blurred into fury: Cord tangled deliberate, vacuum tipped "accidental," sass spilling with every push...

"This is bullshit! Log your own pervy asses!"

By end, the room gleamed through my rage, but the log? Bloated: Ten demerits, scrawled furious...

sass x4, resistance x3, slack x2, arousal "progress" x1.

I stormed to my room... shorts yanked up, door slamming... collapsing in a sob, fists pounding the mattress. Hated her. The fighter who'd racked the tally, the slut who'd dampened anyway, clit throbbing denied under the cotton.

What now? Evening review. Worse than last night. And I'd earned it... fought the want, lost to the heat.

Dinner was a minefield: Pasta steaming innocent, but the air crackled... Mike's eyes on me heavy, boys' smirks buried under forks. I picked at my plate, thighs clenched under the table, the damp seam chafing a constant whisper. Ten. Evaluation threshold smashed.

What hell now? Topless chores? Their "edging" full-force? The vid's ghost hung... my gagged beg, Mike's fingers milking me dry... twisting my gut with fresh hate. For craving it again, despite the fight.

Plates cleared, ...