Chapter 2: The Aftermath
The fire had burned lower. David stayed on his knees, the taste of Mike’s spend still coating his tongue, a sour, salty paste mixing with the sweetness of Kathryn’s arousal. He heard the faucet run in the kitchen, the casual sound of domestic life overlying the animal reality of the living room. His jaw ached.
Mike’s heavy footsteps returned. He stopped in front of David, looking down. He’d washed his hands, David noted dumbly. The man’s boots were scuffed but clean.
“You missed a spot,” Mike said, his voice devoid of mockery. It was a simple statement of fact.
Before David could process it, a large hand fisted in his short brown hair, yanking his head forward. He cried out, a strangled sound, as his face was shoved into the heated, musky space between Kathryn’s thighs where she still lay sprawled on the couch.
The smell was overwhelming—sex, sweat, the tang of his own shame. Mike’s grip was iron, holding him there. “Clean her. Properly.”
David’s nose was pressed against her swollen lips. He opened his mouth, his tongue lashing out instinctively to find her clit. Kathryn gasped, her hips jerking. “Oh, fuck, yes. Right there, David.”
He lapped at her, his tongue flattening against her sensitive flesh, then probing at her entrance. The flavors mingled—Kathryn’s familiar tang, now layered with the bitter, alien thickness of Mike’s semen leaking out of her. David gagged, then forced himself to swallow, to keep licking. He slurped at the mixed fluids, sucking them from her folds, his nose buried in her auburn curls. Each swallow was a violation, a confirmation of his place.
Kathryn’s fingers threaded into his hair, not to pull him away, but to hold him closer. “Good boy. Lick it all up. Every drop he left in me.”
Mike released David’s hair but didn’t move away. David heard the rustle of denim, the zip. He kept his mouth sealed over Kathryn’s cunt, his tongue working her clit in frantic circles as she began to moan in earnest, her legs clamping around his ears. Then he felt the soft, heavy weight of Mike’s half-hard cock slap against his cheek.
“Open,” Mike commanded.
David pulled his mouth from Kathryn’s wetness with a obscene pop. He turned his head, mouth open like a fledgling bird. Mike guided himself in, pushing his softening cock past David’s lips until the head nudged the back of his throat. It was slick with saliva and residual slickness from Kathryn.
“Suck it clean,” Mike said, his breath even. “Get your wife’s taste off me.”
David obeyed, hollowing his cheeks, running his tongue along the thick vein underneath. He tasted Kathryn on Mike’s skin, tasted the salt of his own earlier tears, tasted the stark, clean soap from Mike’s hands. It was a cocktail of debasement. His own cock, trapped in his jeans, throbbed with a painful, leaking need.
Mike fucked his mouth slowly, without passion, a maintenance task. His hazel eyes watched the fire. After a minute, he pulled out with a wet sound. “Enough.”
Kathryn was panting, her chest flushed. She reached down and cupped David’s chin, her thumb smearing moisture across his cheek. “Look at you,” she murmured, her blue eyes bright with possession. “My pretty, used boy.”
Mike zipped up. He looked at Kathryn. “I’ve got an early brief. You’re good?”
“I’m perfect,” she said, her smile lazy and sated.
Mike nodded. He didn’t look at David again. He simply picked up his coat from the arm of the chair, shrugged into it, and let himself out. The solid click of the front door was louder than the slam would have been.
Silence settled, thick and humid. The only sounds were the settling fire and David’s ragged breathing. He remained on his knees, his face a wet mess, his soul scoured raw.
Kathryn shifted on the couch, wincing slightly as she sat up. She looked down at the sticky mess between her legs, then at her husband. “Get up,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less certain.
David stumbled to his feet, his joints protesting.