Chapter 3: The Pegging
The silence after Mike left was different. It wasn’t empty; it was thick, saturated with the smells of sex and saltwater and the fading woodsmoke from the hearth. David remained bent over the couch arm, his ass sore and open, the ache a deep, throbbing reminder of the silicone that had just filled him. His own cum was cooling on the leather, a sticky patch beneath his cheek. He didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
Kathryn unstrapped the harness, the sound of the buckles snapping open loud in the quiet. She laid the heavy dildo on the coffee table with a soft, wet thud.
“Stay there,” she said, her voice low and husky.
She walked to the kitchen, her bare feet whispering on the floorboards. David heard the faucet run, the clink of a glass. The normalcy of it was almost worse. His mind replayed the last hour on a brutal loop: the taste of Mike’s spend mixed with her arousal, the brutal stretch of the fake cock, her grunts as she drove it into him. His cock, soft and spent now, twitched against his thigh.