Chapter 13: Self-Sucking Spectacle
The air in Travis’s bedroom was close, thick with the scent of cheap laundry detergent and the sharp, coppery tang of anticipation. Sara sat on the edge of the unmade bed, the springs groaning faintly beneath her. Travis stood before her, shivering though the room was warm, his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles, his monster cock dangling between his legs Ike an elephants trunk.
“Right now?” he asked, his voice cracking. He was trying to sound nonchalant, but his eyes were wide, darting from her face to the closed door.
Sara didn’t answer with words. She leaned back on her palms, letting her gaze travel slowly, deliberately, down his chest, his stomach, to the thick, heavy cock swelling as it began to stand rigid from the attention. It was a beautiful slab of cock meat, it was no wonder he couldn't keep his own mouth off it. A pearl of pre-cum glistened at the slit and Sara unconsciously licked her lips.
“Yes, now. I've thinking about it since yesterday,” she said, her voice low and steady. “My husband's at work, so it's the perfect time. Show me how you suck that beautiful cock while I can watch properly.”
Travis swallowed audibly. His hands, which had been hanging awkwardly at his sides, moved to grip himself. He gave a tentative stroke, his eyes locked on hers. The sight of his own large hand wrapped around his shaft seemed to embolden him. He began to work himself with more certainty, his fist gliding smoothly over the damp head, twisting on the upstroke.
“That’s it,” Sara murmured, shifting forward. She felt her own dampness seep into her underwear, a throbbing answer to the visual feast. As she leaned forward her cleavage pushed up in her tank top, which Travis stared at intently.
“You want it in your mouth, don’t you?” Sara coaxed, her own lips parting. “You love showing that big beautiful cock off to me, imagining it was my lips around it again.”
A groan escaped him. He nodded, almost frantically. He was close, she could see it in the tight clench of his balls, the tremor in his thighs.
“No,” she commanded, her voice slicing through his building pleasure. “Not yet. I didn’t say you could come yet. Show me.”
He stopped, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. He looked at her, a desperate question in his eyes.
“Bend over,” Sara said, nodding toward his cock. “An amazing cock like that should only ever cum when it's inside a hot hungry mouth." She leaned forward and kissed the leaking tip for emphasis, causing another deep groan of need from him.
"Or inside a hot, wet, pussy." She continued, leaning back and spreading her knees. "If you ever want to feel it in this one, then do as I say."
Travis’s face flushed a deep crimson, but he obeyed. He bent at the waist, his spine flexing. It was an awkward, straining angle. He opened his mouth, his tongue emerging to swipe a broad, wet stripe along the underside of his shaft before closing his lips over the swollen head.
A low moan vibrated from Sara’s throat. The sight was profoundly corrupt. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. He could only take the first few inches, unable to stretch himself far enough to go any further. The wet, slurping sounds were obscene. Saliva dripped from the stretched corner of his lips, trailing down his length to where his hand still worked the base.
“That’s it,” Sara breathed, moving closer on the edge of the bed, drawn in like a magnet. “Worship that beautiful cock for me. Like you need to drink it's cum to live.” His cock had ceased to be a part of him to Sara; in that moment it was an object, one for both of them to worship. It was the altar of the church of cock and it demanded both of their love and attention.
She reached out, her fingers brushing his sweat-damp hair. Then she gripped a handful, guiding his head, forcing him to take himself deeper. He gagged, a thick, choking sound, but she held him there, her own pulse hammering in her ears. “Take as much as you can baby.” Her other hand stroked the length of cock meat he couldn't reach, gliding smoothly along the shaft, occasionally wandering to fondle his heavy testicles.
When she released his hair, he pulled off, gasping for air, strings of spit connecting his lips to his glistening cock. She flicked her tongue across the tip, tasting the leaking semen with a moan. "That's a good boy." she cooed, planting kisses down his shaft. "You're almost there, I can feel you throbbing. You love showing this to me, don't you?"
Travis nodded, panting as he tried to catch his breath while Sara reverently stroked and kissed his twitching length. Sara smiled up at him, "Good, you should be proud to show this off. Now you can cum for me. Drink down every delicious drop and you get your reward."
Travis bent again, his movements frantic now. He sucked himself with a furious, sloppy desperation, his hand a blur on the lower half of his shaft and Sara leaned back to watch. His whole body was a taut wire, vibrating with the strain. Sara watched the muscles in his ass clench, his shoulders hunch.
He made a guttural, animal noise, deep in his throat. His back arched violently. His sucking stopped, replaced by a series of convulsive swallows. His Adam’s apple bobbed furiously. Thick, white semen leaked from the corners of his stretched lips, dripping down his chin and onto the dusty floorboards between his feet. He kept swallowing, over and over, until the pulses subsided.
Finally, spent, he straightened. He stood there, panting, covered in his own mess, his softening cock slick with spit and semen. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Sara withdrew her wet fingers from her own pants. She stepped forward, closing the distance. She cupped his jaw, her thumb smearing the stray cum on his chin. She brought her thumb to her own mouth and sucked it clean, never breaking his gaze. The taste was bitter, salty, layered with perverse pride.
“Good boy,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Good boy,” she said, her voice hoarse.
She held his gaze for a long moment, the silence punctuated by his ragged breathing. Her own heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. The power was a drug, purer than any orgasm. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she leaned back on Travis’s rumpled sheets. The mattress sighed under her weight.
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her simple cotton panties. She slid them down her thighs, over her knees, and off her ankles, letting them drop to the floor beside the bed. The air in the room felt cool against her exposed skin. She spread her legs, planting her feet flat on the mattress, offering herself.
“Your reward.” Her voice had dropped to a husky whisper, “Don’t be a greedy boy or I'll have to punish you. She motioned with one hand, “Come get a snack.”
Travis stared, his eyes dark and hungry, all previous shyness incinerated. He dropped to his knees between her legs, his hands sliding under her thighs to pull her toward the edge of the bed. He didn’t hesitate. He buried his face in her, his mouth and tongue seeking her out with a frantic, clumsy eagency. “Yes, a snack.” he muttered almost absent minded as he licked a line from her dripping pussy to her clit.
Sara let her head fall back, a sharp gasp escaping her as his tongue found its target. He was sloppy, overly eager, but the direct, wet heat of it was exactly what she needed. She let him lap at her for a minute, her hips stirring against his mouth. The image of him swallowing his own load was still vivid behind her eyes, fueling her depravity.
With one hand buried in his damp hair, guiding his rhythm, she fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. She found it, her fingers leaving faint smears on the screen. She selected Doug’s contact and put the phone to her ear, staring at the water-stained ceiling as it rang.
Travis’s tongue circled her clit, then plunged into her, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan.
Doug answered on the third ring. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Mmm, hey,” Sara breathed, putting a breathy, practiced warmth into her voice. She pushed Travis’s head deeper, her cunt muscles clenching around his probing tongue. “Everything’s fine. Just… thinking about you.”
“Yeah?” She could hear the faint click of his keyboard in the background. “What about?”
“About last night. How you fucked me over the couch.” She arched her back, grinding herself against Travis’s face. “I’m so wet just thinking about it, baby.” This part was true. She was sopping, and Travis was drinking her down messily. Her tone shifted to a conspiratorial whisper. “In fact, I’m touching myself right now.”
Doug’s keyboard stopped. “Are you.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a flat, assessing statement. She ignored the strange chill in his tone, lost in her own audacity. “Yes,” she breathed into the phone. “I have my finger on my clit. I’m thinking about your cock. I need it.”
As she said the words, she locked eyes with Travis, whose mouth was glistening with her fluids. With her free hand, she gestured urgently. She pointed at his cock, which was already half-hard again, then pointed firmly at her own soaked opening. She mouthed the word now.
Travis understood. He rose up on his knees, his thick erection bobbing between his legs. He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her.
Sara’s breath hitched, a real tremor this time. “Oh God, Doug,” she moaned into the receiver, the sound only half-feigned. Travis slid inside and he entered with a deliciously rude thickness, having just watched him worship his own cock minutes ago turned into a visceral thrill.
“Feels so good just thinking about you,” she whispered, as Travis began to move. His thrusts were slow, tentative at first, trying to be quiet. But the sensation was too much. His hips jarred against hers with a soft, rhythmic slapping of flesh.
“What are you doing, Sara?” Doug’svoice was a low, quiet rumble in her ear. There was a note in it she couldn’t place—not anger, not arousal. A kind of crystalline attention.
“I’m… I’m fucking myself with my fingers,” she lied, her voice beginning to fracture as Travis picked up his pace, driving deeper. His cock hit home, making her gasp, a wave of pleasure jolting to her core “Just two fingers… dreaming it was yours…”
Travis was grunting now, soft, helpless sounds he tried to smother. Sara reached up and clamped her hand over his mouth. She stared into his wild eyes, her own expression warning him to be silent. He fucked her harder, the bedframe giving a faint, rhythmic creak against the wall.
“Yeah?” Doug said. The keyboard was silent. “Tell me what you’re imagining.”
“I’m imagining…” she panted, the line between performance and reality blurring into a dizzying haze, “imagining you coming home early and finding me like this. Pulling my hand away and shoving your cock right into my wet, messy pussy.” With each vulgar word, Travis pistoned into her with renewed force, as if the language itself was driving him.
She could hear Doug’s steady breathing on the line. “Keep going,” he said softly.
Travis was losing control. His thrusts became ragged, brutal. The scent of sex filled the room, a musky, humid cloud as the bed began to make increasingly louder noise in protest. Sara’s own climax was coiling, a tight spring in her belly fed by the deception, by the feel of this young man slamming into her, by the sound of her husband’s detached voice in her ear.
“I’m going to come, Doug,” she whimpered, the truth of it undeniable. "I'm going to come just like I did on your cock at the gloryhole."
“Do it,” he commanded, his voice suddenly straining, she imagined him touching himself on the other end.
It was the permission she didn’t know she needed. Her body convulsed, a silent, seismic wave of pleasure that ripped through her. Her cunt clenched violently around Travis’s invading cock, milking him. He stifled a cry against her palm, his own orgasm triggering, his hips stuttering as he emptied a hot, thick load deep inside her. She felt the pulses in time with the spasms of her own release.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their strained breathing and the faint electronic hiss of the phone line. A slight panting from Doug, maybe he was jerking off listening to her.
“Sara?” Doug’s voicecut through the haze.
“Yeah,” she managed, her voice utterly spent. She pushed weakly at Travis’s shoulder. He had finally softened to the point of slipping out of her. Thick semen trickled onto the sheets in his slow withdrawal and she felt herself drip his leavings between her legs.
“I have a conference call,” Doug said, his tone perfectly normal, utterly mundane. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The line went dead.
Sara let the phone fall from her ear onto the pillow. Travis collapsed beside her, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared sin. She stared at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, the neon glow from the street below painting everything in a sickly, pulsating light.
She stared at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, the neon glow from the street below painting everything in a sickly, pulsating light. Travis’s cum was a warm, leaking presence inside her, a stark physical truth that now felt cheap. The thrill had dissolved, leaving a metallic taste of shame and the sour odor of sweat-damp sheets.
“That was insane,” Travis whispered into the stale air, his voice filled with awe.
Sara didn’t answer. She slid off the bed, her legs unsteady. She found her panties on the floor, the cotton cool and unpleasant against her sensitive skin. She could feel Travis watching her, could sense his desperate hope for a repeat performance, for some sign this meant more than a filthy transaction. She dressed quickly, avoiding his gaze.
“Remember, that cock only cums inside something nice and warm. Understood?" Sara said, kissing his jawline as she went to leave. Travis nodded and Sara left the house, walking slowly, triumphantly, across the street back to her house.
At Doug’s work, the ginger reservist medic was kneeling underneath Doug’s desk, milking his cock dry. The only sounds were the wet, rhythmic pulls of her mouth and the low hum of his computer. He’d listened to his wife’s performance, her breathy lies about her fingers, while watching the top of this woman’s head bob diligently in his lap.
She swallowed down every drop as he came listening to his wife, her throat working around him, taking it all without a spill. And she immediately went right back to casually worshipping his shaft as he leaned back in his chair, her tongue lapping at the softening flesh with a proprietary ease he found deeply calming.
“You're getting good at this Terri,” Doug said, his voice conversational as he stared at the spreadsheets glowing on his monitor. His hand rested on the medic’s head, not guiding, just claiming.
She hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration travelling up through his nerves.