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Beg For It

When he got into the car, he pressed his lips together, locked the doors, and sped onto the highway toward home.

“What was that?” I asked, jaw clenching. “You’re ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. I waited for his response—to scream, to yell, to scold me—but it never came.

“Are you just gonna sit there and ignore me?” I shouted because that was not what I planned to happen.

He was a frightening kind of quiet tonight. I needed something to get a rise out of him. Something. Something. Something.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the windshield. “You know what? I should’ve stayed there and fucked him in the bathroom. He touched me more in those last few minutes than you had all week.” No response. “His fingers gliding up the inside of my legs, his cock pressing against my thigh. God, he felt so big. Bigger than you.” Nothing. “I bet he could actually leave me shaking with pleasure—unlike you.” Nothing, absolutely nothing.

He calmly
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