The Ox Who Got the Cream

"Fuck, that was good," he heaved, his hands gripping her leather-coated ass to spread her cheeks and inspect his cock buried inside her, their fluids mingling and oozing from the tight borders of her pussy and shining down his exposed girth. "What a fucking sight, Layla. You were made for me."

It was a rare occasion he used her real name, since he normally preferred to antagonize her with cat pet-names when no one else could hear them. In that moment, using her everyday name whilst she was dressed as a fox and stuffed with his cock was starkly humiliating.

"Let me go!" Layla hoarsely demanded; thankful her flushed cheeks were covered from his gloating perusal.

"Shh," he tutted, keeping a firm hold on the cuffs she angrily pulled against. "You're coming home with me, remember?"

A light pressure on her neck, and Layla quickly felt tired and dizzy.

Her pretty eyes slowly blinked open then immediately snapped closed. The vision was too much. After cautiously opening one eye, she realized she wasn't rapidly falling; the car was going at such speed it was impossible to focus on anything. It was all a chaotic blur, much like her mind.

Well, now you know what it's like in the Oxmobile.

"I hope you're taking me home!" she snarled, despite knowing better.

Truce laughed; the deep, rich sound insulting. "You think I'd present you to your parents wearing pornographic leather, with my fresh load dripping out of the hole in your suit?" he scoffed, taking a sharp turn. "Don't be ridiculous."

Layla gasped with fright when a ringtone sharply echoed through the vehicle.

"Hello?" Truce cheerfully answered.

"Trucey, did you manage to catch up with Layla?"

Layla winced at her father's voice.

"Yeah, I caught her," Truce beamed. "We're just en route to my place for coffee. I know it's late; I'll put her up in a guest room. That ok?"

"Safest house in Gothic City? Fine by me, son."

Layla's jaw hung open with outrage. At the same time, what could she say?

"Layla," Truce said suddenly, outing her like the bastard he was. "Say 'hello'. You're on speaker, George."

"Layla? You there, sweetheart?"

"Hey, Dad," she croaked.

"Pottery class, huh? You should have said you were with Truce. No need to sneak around. All this time pretending to hate him; your mother will be tickled pink!"

Layla glared at one of the polished black speakers from Truce's state-of-the-art sound system. "We're not dating, Dad!"

"Not yet," Truce chimed in with revolting enthusiasm.

George laughed too fucking heartily for Layla's comfort. If she weren't dressed like a dominatrix and leaking cum she would have had a nasty comeback. As it was...

"Alright, your mother's shouting for me. You kids have fun."

"B-But-!" Layla stuttered, looking down at Oxman's gloved hand sliding up her thigh to the makeshift opening of her suit.

George dropped off the call. Layla snapped her thighs together and slapped Truce's hand away. She wished she could leave an ugly cum-stain on his passenger seat, but knew the Oxmobile interior was designed to transport a multitude of ugly events, so Ralphred would probably find a way to get rid of it.

Unconcerned by the speed they travelled, Truce had the gall to grin at her. "Come on, that was fun. Don't pout."

"I fucking hate you!"

"Sourpuss. You knew I'd catch you, sooner or later."

Layla's green eyes flashed defiantly at the window. "I prefer never."

Oxman chuckled at the dark road ahead. "Let's see if I can't change your mind in the Oxcave."