Chapter 9: The Assassin's Reward
For a good hour, Abdou continued to fuck Marie in every position imaginable.
He took her on her side, one of her legs hooked over his shoulder, the other pinned beneath him as he drove into her with deep, grinding thrusts that shoved her face into the pillows. He flipped her onto all fours, his massive hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, the slap of his flesh against hers a steady, wet percussion in the room. Slap-slosh-slap. He made her ride him, her tired thighs straining as she bounced on the monstrous thickness that seemed to reach her throat, her own cries—Uhn! Uhn! Yes!—a frantic, broken chorus.
Marie kept coming. Each orgasm was a seismic shock, wracking her exhausted body, leaving her trembling and slick. They blurred into one another, a cascade of involuntary surrenders. When he wasn’t fucking her, she was tending to his penis, stroking it with both hands to coax it back to its terrifying fullness, or cleaning it with her tongue, removing the mixed sheen of semen and her own fluids. The taste of herself, of him, of their combined use, was salty and metallic and somehow right.
She had never experienced anything like it. The relentless focus, the utter consumption, the way her mind had simply stopped its normal chatter and existed only for the next touch, the next filling. Finally, spent and boneless, she collapsed onto the bed, the world swimming in a hazy afterglow. Abdou grunted, rolled off her, and left the room without a word.
Silence, thick and heavy, settled over the sunlit sanctuary. Marie lay there for a long time, listening to the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Her body felt alien—a well-used, thoroughly claimed territory. The ache between her legs was profound, a hollow, stretched sensation that was both sore and thrilling. When she moved, a fresh trickle of warmth escaped her.
Reality seeped back in, cold and insistent. She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. 11:30 p.m. The number glared back at her. A spike of pure, undiluted panic lanced through the fog.
Her husband.
He would be watching TV, maybe texting her to ask if her “book club” was running late. A wave of nausea, hot and sharp, washed over her. She shoved it down.
Moving stiffly, she pushed herself off the bed. Her legs threatened to buckle. She found her bra and her simple floral dress, both discarded on the floor. She put them on, her fingers fumbling with the small buttons. Her panties were a ruined scrap of lace, soaked and torn. She couldn’t possibly put them on. The idea of wearing them home, sitting in the car with the evidence smeared against her, was unthinkable. She balled them up and stuffed them deep into her purse. The empty, sore feeling between her legs was both a shame and a secret as she walked, bare beneath her dress, out of the bedroom.
The apartment was quiet. No more thumping headboards, no screams. Just the low hum of the refrigerator. She made her way towards the living room, her footsteps soft on the polished wood floor.
She stopped dead in the archway.
Abdou filled the large sofa, a mountain of shadow and muscle. He was still naked, his body a landscape of exertion. The low light gleamed off the sweat on his shoulders. And there, on the floor in front of him, was Valérie.
Valérie was on her knees, her back to Marie. Her blond hair was messy, her shoulders slumped with a familiar exhaustion. Her head bobbed slowly, rhythmically, in Abdou’s lap. Marie could see the powerful curve of his thigh, the dark thatch of hair, and the unmistakable, thick shaft of his penis disappearing into her colleague’s mouth. Gluck. Gluck. A soft, sucking sound punctuated the quiet. Abdou’s large hand rested possessively on the back of Valérie’s head, not forcing, but guiding.
Marie’s breath caught. A jolt, equal parts shock and electric arousal, shot through her core.
Abdou looked up. His eyes, dark and knowing, found hers across the room. A slow, faint smile touched his lips.
“You’re back,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Good.”
Valérie didn’t stop. Her pace continued, devoted. Schlrp. Gluck.
“Look,” Abdou said, his hand patting Valérie’s head. “Your friend. Happy to see her?”
Marie’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t speak. She watched, transfixed, as Valérie’s cheeks hollowed with effort.
“She’s a good milf,” Abdou stated casually, as if discussing the weather. “Tight little mouth. Knows her job. Just how I like ‘em.” His gaze pinned Marie. “But tonight… one hole ain’t enough. Want two.”
At the sound of Marie’s name, Valérie tried to turn her head. Her eyes, wide and glazed, met Marie’s over Abdou’s thigh. Recognition, then a flood of shame and something else—complicity—flashed in them.
Abdou’s hand tightened in her hair, forcing her face back down. “Keep sucking,” he commanded, his tone flat. “Yeah. Fucked Marie too. Wrecked her married cunt. Drowned it.” He looked back at Marie. “Now you. Join her.”
He jerked his chin towards the space on the floor next to Valérie. “Two mouths. Better for this dick.”
Marie hesitated. The scene was surreal, a depravity she’d fantasized about but never imagined real. Her husband’s worried face floated before her again. The clock was ticking. She should leave. Run.
But Valérie’s muffled moan around Abdou’s cock was a siren song. The sight of it, glistening and huge, parting her colleague’s lips, sent a fresh, searing heat flooding between Marie’s own sore legs. Her own mouth watered.
She took one step. Then another. Her purse slid from her shoulder and thumped softly onto the floor. She sank to her knees on the thick rug, right beside Valérie. The smell of sex and musk was overpowering.
Valérie pulled her mouth off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the swollen head. She panted, her eyes desperate. Without a word, she nudged Marie forward, offering her the place.
Marie leaned in. She didn’t kiss it. She ran her tongue slowly up the underside, from the heavy base to the tip, tasting Valérie’s saliva, the pre-cum beading at the slit, the essential, musky scent of Abdou himself. A deep, guttural sound came from above her.
“Yeah. Like that. Filthy bitch.”
Encouraged, Marie opened her mouth and took the head inside. It was too wide, stretching her lips unbearably. She relaxed her jaw, letting him push deeper. Gllck. Valérie immediately bent her head, her tongue licking and flicking at the shaft, the balls.
They worked in a silent, feverish tandem. Marie sucked, her hand stroking what she couldn’t fit. Valérie attended to the rest, her touches fervent. Abdou’s breathing grew heavier, his hand now fisted in Marie’s unbound dark hair, setting a brutal pace for her mouth. Thrust-gluck-gag. Thrust-gluck-gag.
“Enough,” he growled suddenly, pulling himself from Marie’s lips with a slick sound. He stood, his erection standing straight out, angrily red and dripping. “Bedroom. Now. Time to fuck.”
He turned and walked, a giant heading back to the rumpled bed. Marie and Valérie looked at each other, their faces flushed, their breathing ragged. No words passed between them. None were needed. In their eyes was the same shattered understanding, the same addictive hunger.
They rose on unsteady legs and followed him, two wives in a torn dress and a rumpled blouse, walking silently toward the next stage of their ruin.