Chapter 2: The Bathroom Blowjob
The steam from the bath clung to the air, a wet veil. Claire’s hands, slick with soap, moved up my thighs. Her touch was deliberate, encompassing. My cock, which had softened to a half-hard state, began to thicken again under her attention, rising from the water’s surface.
“There he is,” she said softly, not teasing, just stating a fact. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, stroking slowly, the soap making her grip slippery and smooth. From beyond the door, the silence broke.
“Please.”
Jenna’s voice was a clear, desperate dart through the marble. It was followed by a low, resonant smack—a hand on bare flesh, hard enough to echo. I flinched. Claire didn’t. Her hand kept its rhythm, her eyes on mine.
“Please, Daddy,” Jenna cried out, her voice cracking on the word. “I’ve been so bad.”
Another crack. Sharper. My hips twitched upward, pushing my cock deeper into Claire’s fist. She smiled, a gentle, knowing curve of her lips.
“You like that sound,” she murmured. It wasn’t a question. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against the cool rim of the tub. Her breath was warm on my wet stomach. “You like knowing he’s taking care of her. Giving her what she needs.”
She lowered her mouth then, and took me in.
It wasn’t hungry or aggressive. It was a consummate act of acceptance. Her lips, full and soft, sealed around the head of my cock. Her tongue swept a slow, maddening circle underneath the ridge. A low groan punched out of me. Her gaze stayed locked on my face, watching every reaction as she began to bob her head with a steady, deep rhythm.
The world narrowed to two points of sensation: the hot, wet suction of her mouth, and the violent symphony from the living room.
“You think you deserve my cock?” Victor’s voice, calm and cutting, carried through the door.
“No, Daddy,” Jenna whimpered.
“Say it.”
“I don’t deserve it! I don’t!” Her cry was broken by another spanking blow, a series of them now, a rapid, punishing tattoo.
Claire hummed around my shaft, the vibration traveling straight to my core. Her hand cupped my balls, rolling them gently as she took me deeper, her nose brushing my pubic bone. She pulled off with a soft pop, her lips glossy. “He’s warming her up,” she breathed, her own breath coming quicker now. “Making her ready. She can take so much, that one. She’s built for it.” She dove back down, taking me all the way, her throat relaxing to accommodate me.
In the other room, the texture of the sounds changed. The slaps stopped. A slick, rhythmic squelching began, paired with Jenna’s ragged, sobbing moans. He was inside her now. The pace was brutal, unwavering. I could picture it—Jenna’s small, gymnast’s body bent over the arm of the sofa, Victor driving into her from behind, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
Claire read my mind. She released me again, stroking me firmly with her soapy hand. “He’s fucking her raw,” she whispered, her voice husky. “No mercy. That’s what she asked for. To be used. To feel him wreck her.” She leaned close, her lips at my ear. “But you… you need something else, don’t you, my boy?”
Before I could answer, she sank onto her knees on the bathmat and guided me to stand. Water sluiced off me. She turned me gently to face the fogged mirror, my back to her. My reflection was a ghostly outline in the steam.
“Watch,” she commanded softly, her hands on my shoulders.
She pressed close behind me, her lush, soft body a warm pillow against my back. One hand slid around my hip, her fingers resuming their steady stroke on my cock. The other hand traced down my spine. In the mirror, I saw the blur of our forms, her blonde head beside mine.
Then her hand dipped lower, past my tailbone. Her fingers, slick from the soap, pressed against my hole.
I froze. A jolt, not of fear, but of profound vulnerability shot through me.
“Shhh,” she soothed, her mouth against my shoulder blade. “This is my gift. To open you. To care for you.” She began to rub slow, insistent circles. “He gives her punishment. I give you grace. But grace can be felt just as deeply.”
Her fingertip pressed inside, just past the tight ring of muscle. I gasped, my hands bracing against the cool counter. The invasion was shocking, intimate, a surrender of a different kind. She worked her finger in deeper, with patient, inexorable pressure. At the same time, her other hand jerked my cock in a matching rhythm.
In the living room, Jenna was screaming. “Fuck! Yes! Use me! Please, Daddy, use your little slut!”
Victor’s grunts were guttural, animal. The sofa thumped against the wall in a relentless beat.
Claire’s finger was fully inside me now, curling, finding a spot that made my legs tremble. A broken sound escaped my throat. She added a second finger, stretching me, the burn a bright, clarifying fire. Her breasts heaved against my back.
“That’s it,” she coaxed, her voice thick. “Take it. Take this offering. Let me make you feel cherished and filthy at the same time.”
The dual sensations were unbearable, glorious. The rough ownership of her fingers inside me, the claiming pleasure of her hand on my cock, and the cacophony of Jenna’s rough usage just meters away. It was too much. The coil in my gut tightened violently.
“Claire…” I choked out.
“Come for me, Bill,” she whispered, her fingers scissoring inside me, brushing that electric spot again. “Let me feel you fall apart in my hands.”
My orgasm tore through me with a force that blinded. It was a silent, shuddering eruption compared to Jenna’s noisy climax. My cum shot in thick stripes across the fogged mirror, obscuring our ghostly reflections. My body clenched tight around her fingers, milking the sensation as I bucked against her. She held me through it, her arm a band across my chest, her fingers still working gently inside me until the last shiver subsided.