Sin & Savior

CHAPTER 5, PART 3

As mercurial as his personality is, Ronel found it difficult to feel anything but intrigued by this young girl who had surreptitiously caught his attention. His brisk walk became a near-sprint as he headed towards the lot and toward his Proton Red BMW i8 Roadster Coupe with 5% limo-tinted rear windows, and 20% tint everywhere else. He knew it was illegal, but he'd generated so much income throughout his illustrious career any police officer or sheriff who'd ever even considered pulling him over for anything regarding it was always easily bought and purchased by either a dollar amount or a proposition to be close enough to him to get free sports-game tickets, elite gala invitations, or invitations to private viewings of his galleria works for their families. He'd never remove or change it, for the sake of his privacy, until hell froze over. Hell: even the temperature decrease in the interior cab of the vehicle during the summer months made the risk factor a concession worth making. And, as of yet, his driving record remained spotlessly clear.

He jettisoned open the butterfly door to his passenger seat and hastily ushered himself inside while he angrily considered what occurred inside of the University's court. He could not believe how he'd been spoken to or treated. And all on account of some petulant, bratty child who believed she was bigger or better than she was. It had been so long since the last occasion anyone generated a negative life consequence for him: he'd forgotten what it felt like. People always found their own ways of talking back to him, but he was an incredibly methodical thinker that knew how to identify what made people tick and to manipulate circumstance and situations in his favor by finding their pain points and pressing until they'd had no other choice but to cede for him whatever he wanted, or face severe consequence themselves.

Hotel staff giving him a harder time than he'd wanted? He just had brunch with the owner a week ago and would have their jobs if they didn't concede. Golf club attendee not distributing tees as quickly as he'd like? Their father was on his payroll, and he'd threaten their job instead, bringing the trickle-down effect of potential punishment to bear. He was nothing if not efficient. And, yet, it seemed, in this situation, he'd not been able to operate from his typical playbook because this girl turned around and pulled a "him" on him! He was FASCINATED by her. How did a child establish such psychology of authority at such an early age? She was at least 20 years his junior, from the looks of it, but she'd had the heart of a protective lioness, and he was entirely smitten by the idea of what she'd have concocted if it was her distributing his punishment.

He'd locked his doors, up-ended his windows from their cracked positions, cranked back his seat at an angle, then slowly lied back and settled into his seating. He'd reached out to the glove box and removed a gelled concoction from beside the Haynes manual he kept in it for emergency repair situations, and closed it behind him. As he sat the bottle into the cup holder and settled back into the plush curvature of the leather-wrapped heated seating, he began unzipping his pants and uncoiling himself from his boxers and chinos — his arousal evident beneath their fabrics. The earlier encounter stimulated him in a way he couldn't readily identify. This young woman was no one to believe she could disrespect him openly and believe she'd get away with it scot-free, and yet - after being physically manhandled by an entire security detail - his only concern was who the hell she thought she was to tangle with him, and why his blood was so excited by it. The prospect of her standing over him, bearing down on him....it drove him crazy in ways he'd never felt before. Perhaps...this was a fetish he'd had, but never known he'd possessed, unlocking something incredibly deep down inside his subconscious. Or, perhaps, it had just been so long since the last time it occurred....either way: he knew he had to cum, needed to release this build-up boiling his flesh into unsated reduction.

He squirted a handful of gel into his left palm, and went to work distributing it softly and slowly across his member. He was 6 inches long, but thick: short, but sturdy. He'd never gotten any complaints. At least - not about his size. He was 46 years old and couldn't keep a woman to save his life due to the fact that he was simply too authoritative for women to see his grander vision and follow his lead. All fine by him: he was comfortable being alone. It was moments like this which drove him to discomfort, but he was more than comfortable submitting himself to the task of circumnavigating his own carnality rather than requiring a woman to welcome responsibility for him.

He began from his head with 2 fingers and slowly tightened them as he worked his way down to the base of his shaft, adding an additional finger at the peak of each consecutive stroke, once his lilting palm had reached his frenulum at the back of the head of his inches. As he swirled his fingers in circles around himself, his right hand found its way onto his throat without his permission, unexpected by even him. He didn't think and did not breathe, as his entire palm wrapped itself firmly around his airways and constricted them. His face went flush as he stroked his dick harder and faster, misunderstanding the nature of the situation he was in. He had never behaved in this way before. He couldn't readily identify why he did so now, but all he knew is that he loved it. This feeling of powerlessness, helplessness, and of no control over what happened next.

As he fucked himself harder and faster, all he could do is think of the young woman who'd driven him here into this space — whipping him, stepping on him in 6-inch heels, demanding he do whatever it is that she said. As he constricted himself harder in both places and his orgasm snaked its way from his balls up his urethra and seated itself at the tip of his shaft begging to be emptied, he imagined her face, as thick, milky, hot ropes of cum ejected themselves all over his lap, his glove box, the dashboard, and windshield. He fell into collapse, his slippery, wet hand covering his balls and cock, his neck and face tossed back over the shoulder of the seat he sat inside, and an orgasmic efface of carnality and desire spread across his face. His eyes closed for what felt like aeons, until the reality of his situation struck him, and he opened them, hunting around his car to look for anything to clean himself with. It was then, aiming his eyes towards the seat, that he'd finally look to the right — towards his window — and see a familiar figure. A beautiful young woman in a basketball jersey, her eyes wide, and staring down upon him in abject horror. As Scarlett eyed him through his window, he met her eyes with the firmest contact he could find, and then...began fornicating himself once again. Defiant, indignant, and...wanting.