Chapter 16: Afternoon Reverie
The silence in the house was a physical thing after Barbara’s door clicked shut. It pressed against Sara’s eardrums, a vacuum where the wet sounds of sucking and the low moans of a grateful man had been. Her body thrummed, a live wire stripped bare. The taste of Steven Barnes—earthy, mature, twice-over—was a ghost on her tongue. Her cunt ached, a hollow, clenching emptiness that her fingers in Barbara’s pristine bathroom had only aggravated.
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, her movements slow, deliberate. The space felt different now. Doug’s worn t-shirt on the floor, the indentation of his head on the pillow—these were artifacts from a past life. She was a visitor in her own museum.
She stripped, letting her clothes fall where they stood. The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, cutting her naked form into stripes of light and shadow. She lay back on the rumpled bed, the sheets cool against her feverish skin. Her phone was a cold, hard rectangle in her hand.
She found the video. The one from the rest stop off the interstate, two Thursdays ago. The one Doug didn’t know existed.
The screen flickered to life, shaky and dim. It was a first-person view from her phone, propped on her purse on the floor of a graffiti-stalled stall. A hole, roughly the size of a fist, had been gouged in the particleboard. On the other side, darkness, and the sound of ragged breathing.
Her own voice, tinny and eager from the speaker: “You there?”
A grunt. The head of a cock, thick and uncircumcised, nudged into the frame, poking through the hole. It was veiny, the skin ruddy.
In the video, her mouth descended. She watched herself, a detached observer, as her lips stretched around the stranger’s girth. The sounds were obscenely crisp: the wet pop of her lips sealing, the slick slide of her tongue, the low groan from the other side of the wall. She saw her own hand come into frame, cupping his balls, rolling them in her palm as she bobbed her head.
On the bed, Sara’s free hand slid between her legs. Her fingers found her clit, swollen and throbbing. She circled it, her breath catching as she watched the spectral version of herself work.
“Suck it, you slut,” the man on the video muttered, his voice muffled by the wall.
And she had. She watched herself hollow her cheeks, her neck muscles corded with effort. The pace was frantic, hungry. This had been before Barbara, before the calculated theater of the living room. This was raw, anonymous need. Her past self deep-throated him, gagging slightly, then pulling back with a string of saliva webbing her lips to his purple head.
“Gonna cum,” the voice warned.
Her past-self pulled off entirely. “Do it,” she’d panted, pointing her phone’s camera at her own face. “Cover my face.”
The first jet was a surprise, even now. It hit her cheekbone with a soft slap. The second painted her lips and chin. The third caught her in the eye, making her blink rapidly. She’d kept her mouth open, tongue out, catching what she could as he emptied himself over her features. The video ended with a close-up of her cum-glossed face, a slow, triumphant smile spreading through the mess.
Sara’s fingers plunged inside herself, two, then three, crooking against her front wall. She matched the rhythm of the memory, fucking herself with her hand, her hips lifting off the mattress. The orgasm built, a coiled spring in her gut. She moaned, low and desperate.
“Doug,” she gasped to the empty room, her eyes glued to the frozen, debauched image of her own face. “Fuck, Doug… Watch me swallow that cum.”
The bedroom door, which she’d thought was closed, swung open with a soft creak.
Doug stood in the doorway, a smirk on his lips. His tie was loosened. He must have come home early. His eyes went from her splayed legs, to her hand pistoning in her cunt, to the phone screen dropped on the bed next to her displaying in crystalline detail her cum soaked face.
Time crystallized. Sara froze, her fingers still buried inside her. Doug didn’t speak at first, his mind making a mental note to find that video later so he could watch it alone. Then, slowly, it traveled up her body, over her sticky fingers, her heaving breasts, to finally meet her eyes, looking back at him with need. He smiled a crooked grin, "There's my beautiful horny girl." and crossed over to her, bending over to kiss her hot lips, cupping one of her breasts and lightly tweaking a nipple, causing her to gasp against his mouth and arch her back off the bed.
"Thinking of me while watching some porn in bed huh?" Doug said, standing upright and beginning to undo his pants. Like many times before now, he allowed her to keep her lie, to thrill at the secrets she thought he didn't know. "And just what was my beautiful wife thinking of?"
Sara lifted her head up off the bed to kiss down his hardening shaft, relief flooding through her as her libido crashed back to replace it. "Mmm, this beautiful, perfect, delicious cock right here."
"Mmhmm, and is that all my love?" Doug said, gently, cradling her face as she licked the bead of semen drooling from his tip.
Sara blushed, heat rising to her cheeks, she fell back onto the bed, her head settling on the pillow, her tits bouncing tantalizingly with the movement, looking up at her husband's cock inches above her face, dripping onto her face, a devilish grin forming as she spread her legs again, her fingers resuming their interrupted work.
"I may have been thinking about you watching me... how you reacted seeing me... with other cock." She looked up at him with wide eyes, feigning reluctance in her admission. Doug's cock twitched. "At how you came so hard. How this beautiful cock covered my face watching me suck Ben."
Her voice was a breathy taunt, a deliberate echo of the video still glowing beside them.
She let her head fall back, exposing her throat. “The gloryhole, feeling how hard you were inside me as I wrapped my lips around a stranger,” she confessed, the words a humid release. “He was… thick. I could feel every vein on my tongue as it pulsed his cum into my mouth.”
She reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, squeezing in a rhythm that mimicked a sucking mouth. Her other hand slid back between her own legs, fingers slipping easily into her soaked cleft. “And you, baby. You stood there and watched me. Your dick got so hard. You came all over me, without even a touch, just from watching my lips stretch around your friend.”
Doug’s breath hitched. He remembered the damp, shameful heat spreading in his boxers, the stunning helplessness of it. He drove his hips forward, forcing the head of his cock past her lips. She took him eagerly, her tongue flattening against his underside. The obscene, wet sounds of her mouth on him filled the room.
She pulled off with a pop, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to his glistening crown. “I need more,” she gasped, her eyes wild, her fingers working frantically at her clit. “I need another cock. It can be anyone, friend, stranger. I don't even need to see his face, I just need to feel him slide between my lips, Doug. Please.”
She was begging, writhing beneath him, her hips bucking against her own hand. Her walls began to flutter around her fingers, the orgasm coiling tight at the base of her spine. “Let me have another one. Just one more. I’ll be so good, I won't forget your cock this time. I'll make him cum so hard, and I’ll swallow every drop, for you. You want to see that don't you?"
Her pleas were coming faster, frantic as her orgasm built. Doug's cock pulsed madly, he tried to hold back, but seeing the pure hunger in his wife's eyes was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He fought to keep his hand away from stroking himself as he watched his wife writhe in the bed below him. Her eyes gleaming with lust, looking over his throbbing dick, at him, begging for another.
"I'll be such a good cumslut babe. Just one more cock. Just one more." Her body tensed, her eyes shut, reliving all the cocks she'd milked dry in secret. Her eyes flew open with her last frantic plea. "Please Doug, let me have more cum."
Her plea was her undoing. Sara’s back arched violently off the bed, a silent scream stretching her mouth wide as her cunt clenched and spasmed around nothing. The climax ripped through her, waves of intense, helpless pulsing that left her shuddering.
Watching her come undone begging for another man’s seed was the trigger. Doug groaned, a raw, animal sound. He didn’t touch himself. His cock jerked, untouched, and the first hot spurt landed across her clenched eyelids. The second painted her lips, still parted in her silent cry. Rope after rope followed, striping her cheeks, her chin, dripping onto her heaving breasts. He spent himself entirely on her face and tits, his own orgasm a furious, neglected release triggered solely by her words.
He collapsed beside her, his heart hammering against his ribs. The smell of sex and salt filled the air. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then he moved, pulling her onto him. She was limp, compliant, her skin slick with his cum. He guided his cock, still semi-hard, into her from below, seating her deep with a single, forceful thrust.
She gasped, her body accepting him, so sensitive from her own climax that the fullness was almost painful. He began to move her on him, his hands on her hips setting a relentless, grinding pace. His cum smeared between their bellies, warm and viscous.
“You want more cock,” Doug ground out, his eyes locked on hers as he drove up into her. She nodded, her hands palming her tits. She bit her lower lip as she looked down at him with a grin.
“It doesn't even matter whose?” Doug’s thrusts became sharper, more desperate.
Sara shook her head slowly, causing drops of semen to drip off her cheeks. "No baby, I just want cock." She rolled her hips into him, meeting frantic thrusts. "Mmm, no I need cock."
“Who’s next, Sara?” he demanded, his voice guttural. His hands tightened on her flesh, sure to leave bruises. “The delivery guy? The new neighbor? Tell me whose cock you’re gonna swallow.”
The imagery, the hint of permission in his voice, pushed her toward another cliff. “Any of them,” she whimpered, her inner muscles fluttering around his driving length. “All of them. I’ll take them all, I’ll drink every last drop, for you. I’ll be your fucking slut. Just give them to me baby. Feed me their cum."
That did it. His final thrust buried him to the hilt, a broken shout torn from his throat as he emptied what was left inside her. She collapsed forward onto his chest, his cooling cum a slick paste between them, her body trembling with unsaid promises and the certain, thrilling knowledge of what tomorrow would bring.
Sara drifted off to sleep quickly, exhausted and well fed from her day's activities. Doug waited until she started softly snoring and extracted himself from the bed, quietly picking her phone up on the way to the bathroom. It was still frozen on a still of her cum covered face at the gloryhole. Doug closed the door, wrapped his hand around his cock, and pressed play.
Doug locked the bathroom door with a soft click. The stillness was broken only by the faucet’s drip onto porcelain. He leaned against the cool sink, the phone’s screen a blue-white rectangle in the dimness. Her face, glossy and ruined, stared back.
He pressed play.
The audio was tinny but clear. A stranger’s grunt. The wet, rhythmic sounds of a mouth working. Then her voice, eager and muffled: “Do it. Cover my face.” Doug’s hand moved on himself, a slow, firm stroke. He watched the first pulse of cum hit her cheek, the way her eyelid fluttered. His own breathing turned shallow.
He came quickly the first time, a tight spasm that left stripes across the bathroom tiles. The image hadn’t stopped. He kept watching, kept stroking himself through the sensitivity. Her tongue darting out to catch a drop on her top lip. Her smile. The way she licked her fingers clean. A low heat, relentless and humiliating, built again in his groin.
His second orgasm was a slower ache, milked out with rough twists of his fist. He imagined the texture, the taste. He thought of Barbara’s living room, of Steven Barnes’s cock in her mouth, of her swallowing with a docile hunger. His hips jerked against nothing. He bit down on a towel to stifle a raw sound as he came again, less volume but a sharper, more piercing pleasure. He sagged against the sink, spent.
He cleaned the tiles, splashed water on his face. The phone, sticky now, he wiped clean with a corner of the towel. He slipped back into the darkened bedroom. Sara was a curled shape, breathing deep. He placed the phone exactly where it had fallen on her rumpled pillowcase. He watched her sleep for a moment, the innocent slackness of her jaw, and felt a fissure open inside his chest, wide and dark and exciting.
The smell of searing steak and rosemary pulled her from sleep. Sara blinked, the light softer now. Evening. She felt hollowed-out, clean. Her fingers went to her face, remembering the phantom traces. She saw her phone on the pillow and a jolt of panic, cold and slick, shot through her. Had she left it on? She grabbed it. The screen was dark. She turned it on. It was on the home screen. A sigh, heavy with relief, escaped her. He hadn’t seen.
She showered, the water washing away the lingering scent of sex and dried salt. She dressed in soft cotton shorts and a tank top, feeling domestic, contrite. The kitchen was warm, lit by the under-cabinet lights. Doug stood at the stove, flipping a steak.
“Hey,” she said, padding in.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” He didn’t turn around. “Figured you needed the rest. You were out hard.”
“I was,” she said, sliding onto a stool at the island. The lie sat between them, comfortable as an old couch. “Long day.”
He plated the steaks, brought them over with a salad. They ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes, the cutlery clicking.
“Not hungry?” he asked, noticing her pushing food around.
“Just… had a heavy lunch,” she said, spearing a leaf of arugula. Her stomach was full of something else entirely, a warm, secret sustenance.
Doug nodded, chewing. “Right. Well, save room for news.” He took a sip of his beer. “Colonel’s throwing a formal shindig Friday. Pre-summer break celebration. Mandatory fun.”
Sara looked up, her interest piqued. “Black tie?”
“The works. Dress uniforms for us. You’ll have to dig out that little black thing you wear that makes my jaw drop.” He grinned. “Gotta show off for the Junior officers. Let them see what a steady, mature life looks like.”
He meant it as a joke. A casual, husbandly boast. But the words ignited a slow fuse in Sara’s gut. Young fellow infantry soldiers. The phrase lit up in her mind like a neon sign. She saw them immediately: trim waists in dress blues, close-cropped hair, hands calloused from rifle drills. Boys playing at being men, full of restless, uncomplicated energy.
“Sounds fun,” she said, her voice perfectly even. She took a small bite of steak, the meat tasting of promise.
Inside, a theater curtain rose. She would wear the backless dress, the one that clung to her hips and dipped so low in the back the whisper of her thong would be a ghost under the silk. She’d lean just so when shaking their smooth, young hands. She’d laugh at their jokes, her fingertips brushing a uniformed forearm. She imagined one of them, later, in a dark corner of the hotel, his dress jacket unbuttoned, his cock, probably thick and eager and unfamiliar, in her practiced hand. She imagined Doug nearby, talking shop, utterly unaware as she knelt on expensive carpet.
She swallowed her food, a bland counterpoint to the vivid, salt-bitter taste flooding her memory. “I can’t wait,” she said, and her smile was genuine, dazzling, and entirely for herself.