Chapter 3: Morning Glory: Throat and Cock Taken
The first sensation was the ache, a deep, resonant throb in muscles Dave hadn’t known he possessed. It pulsed in time with a dull headache behind his eyes. He was on his stomach, one arm hanging off the side of the bed, his face buried in a pillow that smelled of jasmine and sex. Morning light, weak and grey, filtered through the window.
He heard the shower running. A low, rumbling voice—Shane—saying something indecipherable, followed by Lola’s laugh, bright and clear. The domesticity of it was more jarring than anything that had happened the night before.
He rolled onto his back, the silk sheet sticking to his skin. The memories returned not as a flood, but in precise, brutal snapshots: the taste of them both, the crushing pressure of the sofa against his hips, the searing fullness, Lola’s whispered words. You like him fucking you like this?
The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of Lola’s citrus body wash. Shane emerged first, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair dark with water. He glanced at Dave, a flicker of assessment in those blue eyes, then a nod. Not a greeting, just an acknowledgement. Like confirming the presence of a familiar piece of furniture.
Lola followed, wrapped in a robe, her hair in a damp twist. “You’re alive,” she said, smiling. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand finding his under the sheet. Her touch was gentle, a contrast to the manhandling of hours before. “How’s the world feeling?”
“Different,” Dave said, his voice gravel. It was the truest thing he could muster.
Shane was getting dressed, pulling on his jeans from last night, fishing his t-shirt from the floor. “Got a big pour today. Concrete won’t wait.” He sounded exactly as he had in the pub: practical, unhurried.
“Right,” Dave said.
Shane finished dressing and walked to the bedroom door. He paused, looking back at them. Not at Lola, but at Dave. “You’re handy with your mouth. And you take direction.” He said it like he was reviewing a subcontractor’s work. “We’ll do it again.”
It wasn’t a question. A strange thrill, cold and sharp, went through Dave. He just nodded.
Then Shane was gone. The front door clicked shut. The apartment seemed to exhale.
Lola lay down beside him, curling into his side. “He likes you.”
“He likes that I sucked his dick and let him fuck me,” Dave corrected, the crudeness feeling necessary.
“Same thing, to a man like him.” She traced a finger over his pectoral muscle. “It’s a compliment. He’s picky.”
They lay in silence for a while. Dave’s mind raced, but his body was languid, heavy. The throb between his legs was returning, a slow, insistent heat unrelated to the ache of overuse. He could still feel the ghost of Shane inside him, a phantom stretch. Lola’s hand drifted lower, under the sheet, her fingers brushing through his pubic hair.
“He left us a mess to clean up,” she murmured, her voice taking on a familiar, hungry tone. Her fingers wrapped around him, finding him already half-hard. “All that tension and no proper finish for you two.”
Before Dave could process her meaning, she moved. With a quick, fluid motion, she slid down the bed, tossing the sheet aside. She took him into her mouth, swallowing him to the root in one go. Dave gasped, his back arching off the mattress. Her technique was all enthusiastic greed, no teasing, just deep, wet sucks designed to bring him to the edge fast.
But she stopped just as abruptly, pulling off with a wet pop. She crawled back up his body, her robe falling open. Her eyes were dark. “I want to watch,” she said, her breath hot on his face. “I was so fucking turned on last night, but I couldn’t see everything. I want to see you with him. Properly.”
“He’s gone,” Dave managed to say.
“He’ll be back.” She said it with absolute certainty. “But right now, I want the version in your head. Show me what you really wanted to do to him.”
She pushed at his shoulder, rolling him on top of her. But then she wriggled out from under him, directing him onto his back instead. She straddled his thighs, not taking him inside her, just staring down at his body, at his hard, leaking cock. “Tell me,” she commanded.
The words felt torn from him. “I wanted to fuck his mouth. After. I wanted to make him choke on it.”
Lola’s lips parted. She was wet; he could see the shine on her inner thighs. “Yeah?”
“I wanted him to know I wasn’t just taking it. That I could give it, too.”
She climbed off the bed and walked to her closet, rummaging for a moment before returning with a large, flesh-colored silicone toy, a thick, veined dildo with a suction cup base. Without a word, she pressed it to the footboard of the bed, where it stuck fast, jutting out obscenely. It was a mockery of a man standing there, waiting.
“Then show me,” she said, her voice low. She got onto the bed on her hands and knees, positioning herself in front of the toy, her back to him. Then she looked over her shoulder, her expression fierce. “Fuck my mouth, Dave. But imagine it’s him.”
The raw command, the blatant setup, destroyed the last of his hesitation. He moved behind her, his knees on the mattress. He guided his cock past her lips, not into the waiting heat of her cunt, but towards her face. She turned her head, opening her mouth, her tongue outstretched.
He fed himself into her, setting a slow, deep rhythm. She took him beautifully, her throat working, her eyes watering but locked on his. The toy stood before her, an impotent spectator. Dave’s hand tangled in her hair, not gently. He fucked into the wet, tight heat of her mouth, his hips snapping forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat each time. The sounds were filthy, obscene: wet gags, his own guttural groans, the creak of the bed.
“That’s it,” Lola gagged around him, the vibration nearly undoing him. “Use me. Fuck his pretty face.”
He lost himself. The image fused in his mind—Lola’s blonde hair was Shane’s darker stubble, her submission was Shane’s powerful body forced down. It was revenge and worship twisted together. His pace turned punishing, animalistic. He was claiming something, asserting a dominance he hadn’t known he needed.
Lola’s hand snaked between her own legs, frantically rubbing her clit as she choked on him. Her moans were muffled, desperate. The sight of her getting off on her own degradation, on his use of her, pushed him to the brink.
“Gonna come,” he warned, his voice a ragged strip of sound.
She didn’t pull away. She took him deeper, her nose pressed into his pelvis, her throat fluttering wildly around him. That was all it took. With a shout that tore from the core of him, he erupted, pumping his release down her throat in hot, pulsing jets. She swallowed convulsively, milking him with every contraction until he was spent, shuddering, his grip in her hair loosening.
She collapsed forward, coughing, wiping her mouth, but she was smiling triumphantly. She turned and crawled up to him, kissing him, letting him taste the salty, spent version of himself on her tongue.
“See?” she panted, resting her forehead against his. “Now you know what you want. And you know how to take it.”
He did know. The confused curiosity was gone, burned away in the crucible of the last twelve hours. What remained was a clearer, sharper hunger. It had parameters now. It had a face.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Lola reached for it, handing it to him. A single message from the now-familiar number.
Concrete’s setting. Free tonight. Your place or hers?
Dave looked from the screen to Lola’s expectant, gleaming eyes. He felt the soreness in his body, a welcome trophy. The phantom stretch returned, but this time it felt like an invitation.
He typed his reply, his fingers sure and steady.
Mine. 8 pm. I’ll text the address.
He hit send. The game had rules now. And he was learning how to play.