IR Future - Part 11

The bedroom, so to speak, is bare except for the bed, table, and dresser. You sit on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Turning off the overhead and going by lamplight doesn’t help at all. Lara’s wounds look just as scary.

“Um, she gave me cream for your butt,” you tell her.

Lara turns her head so that she can speak. She seems defeated.

“Get on with it, then,” she replies.

“You provoked her,” you tell her quietly as you squeeze some cream into your palm, then rub it between your hands so it won’t be startlingly cold when it touches her skin.

Lara just sighs.

“What?” you ask. “What is that look?” You try not to think too hard about what you’re doing, and gently rub the cream into her tender buttocks. She doesn’t squirm or give any overt sign of pain, but the reaction of her body tells you how much she’s suffering.

“I want her bad,” Lara murmurs, but even that sounds pained.

You stop what you’re doing in disbelief. “The Satan lady?”

Lara groans in frustration and her hips move.

Your eyes widen as she explains in detail exactly what she wants to do to Fru Satan. You get back to work with the cream to keep yourself busy as you listen. Lara is specific and explicit. It’s not clear if Lara is turned on by petite Nordic women or if it’s the domination… if that’s even the word for what Fru Satan is doing to the two of you.

You can acknowledge that Fru Satan is, in most respects, an attractive woman. But you are not attracted to her. Lara is in a big way.

“Need a handjob?” she asks tiredly.

You’re at half-size and it’s visible in your panties, which are all you’re wearing. Maybe from touching Lara or maybe from her incredibly passionate narrated fantasy. Or both.

Before you can answer you hear a footstep in the hallway and stiffen. You thought that you were done for the night. You quickly shift to hide the half-chub and look toward the doorway.

Fru Satan appears. She wears a cute little matching set of shorts and a top. It’s the same kind of weird, bougie sleepwear that Ingrid sometimes wears. You aren’t even sure where Ingrid gets it. She looks good in it. You like taking it off her. Or just getting frisky while she’s still wearing it.

You swallow as Fru Satan approaches the bed and climbs on.

“Fat piggies. Make room,” she commands, although less harshly than usual.

Lara doesn’t move a muscle. You scooch a bit, and she nestles between you, then helps herself to the covers.

“Piggy,” she says. You flinch. “Light.”

You lick your lips. “Yes, ma’am.” You reach out and turn off the lamp.