Chapter 2: Chapter 2
The silence in the office was absolute, thick with the weight of her words. Mike stared, his mind white noise, until Elly rose from her chair with a practical sigh. “Come on, then,” she said, her tone shifting from apologetic to briskly maternal as she walked past him toward the downstairs bathroom. “If you’re going to let a man like that fuck you raw, the least I can do is show you how to clean the pipes properly.” She opened the bathroom cabinet, pulling out a small, packaged enema bag, and ran the tap.
Mike stood frozen, the reality of her eavesdropping twisting into this bizarre, clinical care. “It’s not… we used a condom today,” he managed to stammer, the words feeling childish.
“Yesterday you didn’t,” Elly said, her voice firm but not unkind as she tested the water temperature. “And given the ferocity of that man’s thrusts, I’d say basic preparation is just common sense.”
The next evening, James arrived with a bottle of wine, his easy grin faltering only for a second when Elly welcomed him at the door. Over a pasta dinner she’d prepared, the conversation was surprisingly normal—courses, volleyball, architecture—but the air thrummed with a loaded, unspoken understanding. Elly asked pointed questions about his family and career plans, her eyes occasionally flicking to Mike with a look that was both warning and wicked complicity.
Over coffee, Elly’s tone softened into one of genuine concern. “I heard how… vigorous it was,” she said quietly to James, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “A cock like yours, you’ve got to be careful.” She met his eyes directly, a flush on her cheeks. “I learned the hard way with a man who didn’t understand the difference between passion and punishment.”
James set his cup down, his usually playful eyes turning serious. “I try to be,” he said, his voice lower. “Caring, I mean. Lube, definitely. I check in. I’m not a monster.” He glanced at Mike, then back to Elly. “It’s supposed to feel good for everyone.”
Elly nodded slowly, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. “That’s a good policy.” She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the middle distance. “My lesson was a rugby player from Kingston I met at a festival. Huge, beautiful Black man, built like a sculpture.” She took a sip of wine. “He took me back to his tent and fucked my ass like he was trying to win a prize.”
She paused, letting the image hang in the quiet dining room. “No warm-up, just spit and this relentless, pounding rhythm. I came so hard I saw stars, but the next day,” she shook her head, laughing softly. “I couldn’t walk properly for 24 hours. Felt like he’d rearranged my insides with a fence post.” She looked pointedly at James. “Passion is one thing. Aftercare is another.”
Mike stared at his plate, his face hot. James shifted in his seat, a new respect in his expression. “Point taken,” he murmured.