Carved in a Heart

*If you haven’t already, you can read part one of this story here*

Sitting at one of the outdoor tables at The Hand That Feeds – the bistro across the road to my office block which is owned by my father-in-law – I listen to my husband’s excited chatter. The family is opening up another three places within the next week, and Simon’s token ‘area manager’ job title is suddenly about to mean something. He’s delighted, and I’m delighted for him.

I really do adore this man. I love listening to him when his exuberant nature takes over. He talks with his hands, throws his arms wide, his clear blue eyes sparkle like sunlight on water. He raises his voice and bangs the table, his contagious laugh spreading not just to whoever he’s talking to, but to anyone within earshot.

I know I’m smiling dreamily at him. I can’t not, he’s just so bloody happy. Just as I lift my espresso cup to my lips, shaking my head at the way he’s sweeping his arm out in a ‘one day this will all be ours’ gesture, a shadow creeps across the table from behind me.

Simon’s happiness redoubles, and he booms, “Wayne my boy! Have a seat, eat with us!”

My smile becomes a parody of itself. I grip my tiny glass cup too hard. A flash of heat rolls off my cheeks and rushes down to my ankles, leaving me with a shiver trapped in my chest. The shadow shifts and as soon as I see Wayne reaching out to shake my husband’s hand I feel a maddening seep of fluid oozing from between my lips to soak my knickers.

I’m still smiling, so broadly my jaw aches. If Simon looks at me he’ll see how fake it is. He’ll see my discomfort. But he isn’t looking at me, his attention is all for Wayne. My best friend’s son. The twenty-one-year-old who had shoved me up against at door at his birthday party and licked my pussy while my husband, my best friend, and our daughters sang songs in the room beneath us.

Wayne is talking to Simon, but he’s looking at me. His hot stare makes my skin prickle, and his lopsided grin can’t be called anything other than dirty. I know he can see me squirming. I’m thinking about his whiskers chafing my thighs, his tongue plunging into my cunt, and I know he knows. I know he’s thinking about it, too, because he’s licking his lips, oh so slowly.

Simon pulls out a chair, but Wayne shakes his head. “I can’t stay, Sir,” he tells him, much to my relief. “I have to get back to watch my sister while Mum heads off to her yoga class.”

“Ah, okay,” Simon nods. “Say, if you don’t mind going through the park you could walk with Briony. She’s attending the same class as your mother. I’ll follow right after I’ve checked up on the new staff in the kitchen here.”

Well, that was a cat that got the cream smile if there ever was one. “I don’t mind at all.” Wayne rounds the table and grabs my jacket, pulling out my chair. “Ready to go now?”

Oh boy. “Sure,” I say, sounding far too chipper.

Simon eyes me for just a second, but a crash from inside the bistro distracts him. With a quick peck on my cheek and a slap on Wayne’s shoulder, he scurries off.

I’m the one who walks away this time, leaving Wayne to follow in my wake, just as he’d done to me back at the party. I weave between cars idling at the traffic lights, dodge skateboarders at the entrance to the park and wave at a cluster of women whose daughters are in my girl’s class at school. It takes so much will to keep myself from turning around to see if Wayne has actually followed, but I power through the urge, not as much as glancing over my shoulder.

The noise from the park grows quieter as the trees around us become denser. Empty beer cans litter the long grass, and I know if I look hard enough I’ll find used condoms and probably syringes, too. And this is why Simon had the bright idea to have Wayne escort me home. The park is beautiful, but this small corner of it is seedy and dangerous.

I’ve rounded the bend in the path when Wayne finally jogs up beside me. He’s still carrying my coat, and I blush when I realise that he also has my handbag, which I had completely forgotten to pick up. Still facing forward, he looks down at me from the corner of his eye, trying not to smile.

“Briony?” There’s an inquisitive lilt to his voice that makes me nervous, even as the deep timbre of it makes my cunt clench.

“Yes?” I answer, aiming for a motherly tone but sounding more teasing than anything else.

“Do you see that tree over there with the heart carved in it?”

Shifting my gaze to where he’s pointing, I squint and just about make out the outline of a heart. I nod, feeling a bit giddy at the thought that, maybe, that little romantic gesture had been his, and that he’d been thinking about me when he made it.

Wayne steps off the path into the grass. He’s swaying a little, chewing the corner of a smile as though he’s fully aware that whatever he’s about to say is naughty.

“I want you on your knees, right under that heart.”

“Why?” I ask. Coy and breathless, but knowing.

“So I can trace my fingers over it while you suck my cock.”

I know Simon isn’t far behind us. Know he could round that same corner and see me there, on my knees, skirt around my hips so I can finger my pussy while sucking off my best friend’s son – Simon’s godson. But I don’t even hesitate. I stride toward the tree, feeling the long grass tickling my thighs, smiling when Wayne catches up and almost lifts my feet off the ground when he gropes my ass.

He hangs my bag and coat on a low hanging branch. Not one that conceals us from the path, though he has two of those to choose from. No, he picks the one on the other side, the one that turns my coat into a black backdrop that our pale skin stands out against.

I lean back against the tree, watching silently as Wayne unbuckles his belt. He removes it slowly, one loop at a time, then steps forward and, without giving me a chance to protest, secures it around my wrists.

I start to speak but stop myself when I see him smirk. He wants me to object. Wants me to tell him no. So…I don’t. I look up at him, making sure my eyes are doe-wide, and use my tongue to make my lips glisten with invitation.

Just as he had at the party, Wayne pulls my top down. I’m wearing a bra this time, but that doesn’t bother him. He just reaches into the cups, pinching my nipples and shaking my tits until the fabric rests just beneath them. I wonder if he’ll test them in his hands again, but he doesn’t. He dips his head and wraps his lips around the one on the right, sucking it and licking in the exact same way he’d eaten me out. Then he moves on to the left, and once both nipples are rock hard, wet and aching, he lifts his hands and flicks his fingers so that they just skim the very tips. It stings, and so does the little volley of slaps he rains down on them.

Then I’m forced to my knees, my hands hoisted above my head with the belt, and Wayne’s cock is brushing the side of my face. The shiny head drags over my skin, leaving a wet streak on my jaw, and then I’m opening my mouth wider, sticking out my tongue and moaning as that beautiful cock passes between my teeth.

Of all the things I can do to a man, sucking his dick is my favourite. I like to take my time, to squeeze his balls, nip his thighs, lick his perineum. Wayne doesn’t give me a chance to do any of that. With one hand gripping the belt and the other holding my head still, he pounds my mouth.

Rough bark scrapes my back. Gnarled roots dig into my knees, tearing holes into my stockings. Mascara blackened tears roll down my cheeks, saliva drips between my tits and I gag and choke as this hot, vicious little fucker rams his cock down my throat. It’s so hard it doesn’t to want to yield to the curve of my neck, but he makes it.

“Oh God,” he groans, stilling his hips and using my hair to drag my head back and forth. “You dirty whore…horny, sex-starved little bitch, suck that fucking cock… make me empty my balls right into your belly.”

Dirty whore? Probably. Horny? Always. But sex starved? My laugh forces a trickle of spit from my nose. It’s cute that he thinks so and, though he’s really amused me, I decide not to burst his bubble. I’ll let him think he’s my world because, in this exact moment of time, he is.

Each time he rears back I glance toward the path. If Simon catches us…

Wayne must be feeling the time-sensitive nature of our situation too, because he lets go of the belt, holds my face in his hands and goes for it. My pussy is tightening and releasing, looking for something to fill it. My clit is pulsing, my muscles aching with tension. And there’s nothing I can do about it, because Wayne is leaning into me, giving me all his weight, squashing me into the tree and rendering me helpless as he blows his load in my mouth. The taste of him makes me want to cry. It makes me want to reach down and push my fingers into myself so that I can undo all the knots he’s tied up inside of me.

When he backs away I open my legs wider, reaching down with bound hands to give myself some relief. But he pulls me to my feet, makes sure my skirt covers my ruined stockings and whips the belt from my wrists. He doesn’t even put it on, he just drapes it over his arm along with my coat and bag and tows me back toward the path.

“Sorry, Mrs Jonson,” he chuckles. “I fed your hungry cunt at the party, today was all about me. We better make tracks before your husband shows up.”

Just as he says it, who should appear but Simon. He rushes toward us, red-faced, and I scramble to prepare myself for the imminent brawl.

“What the hell is happening here?” Simon yells.

As cool as can be, Wayne hurries forward and thumbs over his shoulder. “She’s taken ill, Sir. Sweating, puking…it brought tears to her eyes, poor thing.”

To my utter shock, Simon doesn’t appear to doubt him. Damn, if he fucks as well as he lies…

“I’ll get her home,” my husband says, not even noticing the belt over Wayne’s arm when he hands over my things. “Tell your mother she won’t be joining her for yoga tonight.”

“Not a problem. I’ll pop over tomorrow, Briony. See how you’re getting on.”

I watch him jog up the path. Shiver when he turns and waves, grinning like a man who had just had his dick sucked. Any other day I’d be mad about missing yoga, but I won’t let it bother me today. Instead, I’ll console myself with thoughts of just how many poses this young stud might fold me into tomorrow.

As Simon wraps his arm around me and we set off on the short walk home, something occurs to me. What the hell had been carved into that heart?

Week #169

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