Chapter 13: The Next Day's Report
The kitchen smelled of Colombian coffee and yesterday’s whiskey. Sunlight cut through the blinds, striping the marble island where Gloria sat, one leg folded under her. She wore a robe of scarlet silk, loosely tied. It gaped open as she leaned forward to pour cream, revealing the shadowed curve of a breast. Jay, across from her in rumpled cotton pajamas, stared into his black coffee as if reading grim futures in the dark liquid.
“You’re quiet,” Gloria said, her voice a morning gravel. “You slept like a rock. I could have marched a band through the bedroom.”
He grunted. “Long week.”
“It’s Monday.”
“I know what day it is.”
She took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of her mug. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator. She let it fester. He would break. He always did.
Finally, he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. “You went shopping with Claire yesterday.”
“I did.”
“Buy anything?”
“A few things.” A slow smile touched her lips. “A teddy. Black lace. It was… transformative.”
Jay’s knuckles were white around his mug. He said nothing.
“Thomas remembered me,” she continued, as if discussing the weather. “The boy from last week. He brought the champagne. His hands were shaking so badly I thought he’d drop the bottle. It was sweet.”
“Thomas.” Jay repeated the name like a curse.
“Mm. He has a very talented tongue. For a sales associate.” She set her mug down with a precise click. “Claire made him kneel. Right there on the dressing room carpet. I was wearing the teddy. She told him to lick me through it.”
Jay’s breath hitched. He shifted in his chair, his pajama pants tenting instantly.
“You can see it, can’t you?” Gloria whispered, leaning closer. The robe fell open further. “His young face, buried in my cunt through three hundred dollars of lace. His pathetic little tongue, working so hard. The fabric got soaked. You could see everything through it. My lips, swollen. His mouth, sucking.”
“Gloria.” It was a strangled sound.
“I came,” she said flatly, her eyes nailing him to his seat. “I came so hard I saw stars. I crushed his face into me and I rode his mouth until I screamed. Claire was watching. She had her fingers in her own pussy, getting off on it. Then I made him lick the come off the teddy. He did. He was crying. He loved it.”
Jay was fully erect now, the outline of his cock stark against the thin cotton. A bead of precise moisture darkened the fabric. His face was a mask of agony and arousal.
“Stand up,” Gloria said.
He did, clumsily, his chair scraping back.
“Open your pajamas. Let me see what my story did to you.”
With trembling fingers, Jay undid the drawstring. The pants slid down his thighs. His cock sprang free, thick and leaking, curving up towards his stomach. It twitched in the cool kitchen air.
“Now kneel,” she said, not moving from her stool.
He knelt on the hard tile, his cock jutting out, the vulnerability total.
“Tell me what you wanted to be doing in that dressing room,” she commanded, picking up her coffee again. She took a leisurely sip.
Jay’s mouth opened and closed. He was panting.
“Say it, papi. Tell me the filthy thing you wish you’d seen.”
“I…” he choked out. “I wanted… to watch.”
“Louder.”
“I wanted to watch him fuck you!” The words tore out of him, raw and ragged.
“How?” Gloria’s voice was ice. “Describe it. Where would his hands be? What would he say?”
Jay’s eyes were glazed, fixed on her. One of his hands drifted toward his cock.
“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” she snapped. “You talk first.”
He let his hand fall back to his thigh. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “He’d… he’d bend you over the chaise. Your lace pushed aside. He’d be young, hard… slamming into you from behind. His hands would be gripping your hips, hard enough to bruise. He’d call you names. Dirty names.”
“What names?” Gloria’s own breath was coming faster now. She uncrossed her legs, letting the robe fall fully open. She was naked beneath.
“His… his whore,” Jay rasped. “His rich, filthy whore. He’d say he’s going to fill you up. That your old husband could never fuck you this good.”
“And what would you be doing?” she whispered.
“Watching. Just… watching. Leaking in my hand like a pathetic old man.”
“And when he came?” she pressed, her voice a taut wire. “Where would he come?”
Jay’s control shattered. “In your mouth!” he shouted, the words echoing off the cabinets. “I’d want to see him choke you with his cock, see you gag on it, see his fucking cum spray all over your face and drip down your chin! I’d want to see you swallow every last drop and smile at me!”
The kitchen was silent again, save for Jay’s ragged breathing. The confession hung in the air, vulgar and undeniable.
Gloria smiled. It was a slow, victorious thing. “Good. Now you can touch.”
His hand flew to his cock, wrapping around the shaft with a desperate groan. He began to stroke, rough and fast, his eyes locked on her naked body, on the cunt that had been worshipped by a boy half his age.
“That’s it,” Gloria purred, sliding off the stool. She walked to him, standing over his kneeling form. She untied her robe completely, let it pool on the floor. “Stroke your old cock for the young man who fucks your wife. Do it. Imagine his cum on my tongue right now.”
Jay’s movements became frantic, his hips jerking into his fist. A deep, guttural sound was building in his chest.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” she said, her tone conversational, even as she reached down and cupped her own breast, pinching the nipple. “You’re going to spill all over this clean floor because your wife is a slut for a boy with a sales quota. Do it. Come for him.”
With a shattered cry, Jay climaxed. Thick, pearly strands shot from his cock, splattering onto the polished tile between his knees, onto his own pajama pants. His body convulsed, milked dry by his own rough hand.
He slumped, breathing like a wounded animal, spent and trembling.
Gloria crouched down in front of him, her face level with his. The scent of sex and salt filled the space between them. She looked at the mess on the floor, then back at his defeated eyes.
“Lick it up.”
He stared, uncomprehending.
“You made this mess worshiping my infidelity. Now clean it. With your tongue.”
A final, broken whimper escaped him. Then, slowly, he bent forward. His tongue, grey and old, emerged. He lapped at his own semen from the cold tile. He licked his fingers clean. The act was grotesque, profoundly humbling. He did it without looking away from her.
When he was done, she leaned in and kissed him deeply. He could taste himself, salty and bitter, on her lips.
“You’re a good husband,” she whispered against his mouth. Then she stood, leaving him kneeling in his own disgrace. She retrieved her robe, tying it lazily around her waist.
“We have him again on Thursday,” she said, walking to the sink to rinse her mug as if nothing had happened. “Thomas. Claire and I have special plans. You’ll want to be home. I might need a… witness.”
She left the kitchen, the scent of her perfume and their shared corruption trailing behind her. Jay remained on the floor, the taste of his submission coating his tongue, his body humming with a shame so profound it felt like the only truth he had left. The morning sun felt accusing now. He had a whole day to wait, to anticipate, to imagine what special plans could possibly top what had already been done. The waiting, he knew, was part of the punishment. And, God help him, part of the pleasure.