Chapter 14: A Confession While Being Eaten Out
The smell of garlic and rosemary filled their small apartment as Paul stirred the simmering pasta sauce, the rich red bubbling gently. Lisa, leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of wine, laughed at his impression of one of his co-workers. They ate at the small table by the window, the city lights twinkling below as they talked about everything except Derek, Marcus, or red lace. For a few hours, the easy rhythm of their old companionship returned, punctuated by familiar jokes and the soft clink of cutlery. After washing the dishes together, his hand brushed hers on the rim of the sink, and they shared a quiet smile that felt, for a moment, like a fragile recovery from the turmoil their relationship had endured during recent days.
They settled onto the worn sofa, Lisa tucking her feet beneath her as Paul pulled the soft blanket over them. The familiar opening credits of their show rolled, casting a blue glow over their entwined bodies in the dark room. He kissed the top of her head, his arm a heavy, comforting weight around her shoulders, and for the first time in days they both felt truly comfortable around each other.
The final credits rolled, casting their silent apartment in a sudden, dull gray light. They untangled themselves from the blanket, the comfortable spell broken by the mundane need to prepare for sleep. In the bedroom, Paul turned his back as he stripped off his t-shirt and sweatpants, and Lisa watched the familiar landscape of his shoulders dip as he stepped out of his briefs. When he turned around, the sleek black fabric of the male thong hugged his hips, a stark and unexpected contrast to his usual modesty. A genuine, warm smile touched Lisa’s lips as she saw him wearing it, a silent acknowledgment of the new, fragile path they were walking together.
“It looks good on you,” she said, her voice low. “Now come here and eat my pussy.” He moved to the bed, the new fabric tightening across his thighs as he knelt, and she guided his head down with a firm hand in his hair. Her musky scent filled his senses as his tongue found her wet, swollen folds, tracing a desperate path to her clit. She arched her back, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as his mouth worked, every flick and suck a silent plea for her approval. “Just like that,” she moaned, grinding against his face, “make me come before we sleep.”
Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him deeper. “Just enjoy that fucking pussy, Paul,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth, “and don’t expect anything back tonight, okay?” He groaned into her, a muffled sound of assent, and his tongue lapped at her soaking cleft with renewed, submissive hunger. She could feel the wetness smearing his chin, could hear the slick, obscene sounds of his devotion. He was getting good at this, his own needs vanishing into the taste of her.
He moaned against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her clit. “Oh god, Paul, yeah,” she gasped, her hips lifting. She let him lap at her for another minute, her own breath coming in short, sharp pants, before she pulled his hair to slow him. “Keep licking, but listen,” she whispered, her voice thick with arousal. “I met an attractive black man called Derek at the gym today.”
He made a muffled sound of surprise against her, a soft “mmph?” lost in her wetness, but his tongue didn’t stop circling her clit. “His shoulders were so fucking wide,” she breathed, her hand flexing in his hair, “and his skin was this deep, beautiful brown, all sheened with sweat from his workout.” She arched, pushing her cunt harder against his mouth as the image solidified. “I watched the muscles in his back move under his tank top, and I just walked right up and asked him to spot me.”
His hand came up to cradle her ass, his finger sliding along the seam of her cheeks as his tongue plunged deeper inside her. "My mouth was so dry, and my heart was slamming in my chest," she confessed, her voice trembling not with fear now, but with the power of the memory. "But I did it, Paul, I fucking walked right up and asked for what I wanted." She held his head firmly in place, grinding her slick cunt against his relentless mouth, a low moan escaping her. "And I'm so goddamn proud of myself for doing it," she breathed, the admission feeling like a key turning in a long-locked door.
His tongue faltered for just a second, a flicker of tension in his jaw against her thigh. “I have his number now,” she gasped, her voice rising, “and I can’t wait to talk to him tomorrow and set up a meeting.” She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, her back bowing off the bed. “I want to fuck Derek, Paul,” she screamed, the raw confession tearing from her throat. A violent, shuddering orgasm ripped through her immediately after, her cunt clamping rhythmically against his stupefied tongue as she cried out into the quiet room.
Paul climbed up from between her legs, the taste of her still sharp on his lips, and lay down stiffly beside her on the damp sheet. She pushed herself up, reached for the cotton pajama pants discarded on the floor, and slid them over her hips with a tired sigh. The room was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the ragged sound of his own breathing. He stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent gleam of his black thong still clenched between his buttcheeks. “Were you serious?” he finally asked, his voice a dry crack in the dark. “About what you just said?”
She rolled toward him, her body a warm curve against his tense side, and slipped an arm around his waist. Her hand drifted down, fingertips tracing the rigid outline of his cock straining against the sleek black fabric. “Yes,” she whispered into the space between his ear and the pillow, her breath hot. “Every word was true.” Her fingers closed around him, squeezing gently through the underwear, feeling his pulse throb against her palm.
She could feel him growing impossibly harder in her grip, a visceral response to her words that excited her. “I want to feel his big, black cock stretching my pussy open,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “I want Derek to pound me so deep I can’t think, and I want to feel his hot cum shoot inside me.” Her hand began a slow, firm stroke over the slick fabric, milking his helpless arousal. Paul shuddered, a strangled groan escaping his throat as his hips bucked into her touch, betraying everything.
“I love this,” she whispered, her hand still working him through the damp fabric. “I love knowing you’re this hard listening to me talk about another man’s cock.” She felt his whole body tense, then surrender into her grip. “You get off on this, Paul, on being my cuckold,” she said, her voice low and certain. “You just need to let yourself enjoy it as much as I do.”
Her strokes slowed, becoming a languid, teasing exploration over the damp fabric. He groaned, a ragged, desperate sound into the pillow as his hips strained upward, chasing the fading pressure. “Feel how hard you are for me,” she murmured, her voice a soft taunt in the dark, “and for what I’m going to do.” With one final, almost pitying squeeze, she lifted her hand away completely, leaving him exposed and achingly untouched. They embraced, her body folding into the curve of his tense back, her lips pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he shuddered with unmet need.
His erection, a trapped and painful ache against the black fabric, slowly softened against her thigh as the minutes stretched into a hollow quiet. The damp sheet clung to their skin, a cooling reminder of her climax and his service. “Good night, Paul,” she whispered finally, her voice slurred with impending sleep, her arm growing heavy across him. “Night, Lisa,” he breathed back, the words tasting of salt and her, his body going slack with exhausted surrender. They lay like that, breaths slowing into unison, and drifted into separate, dreaming sleeps.