Chapter 4: First Taste
The kiss broke, leaving Marie breathless against him. Tariq didn’t release her. Instead, he began walking her backwards, steering her with the pressure of his body, away from the living room and into the narrow hallway that led deeper into the apartment.
“Wait,” she breathed, her voice unsteady.
He didn’t. His gaze was fixed on her, a dark, hungry focus. “No more waiting,” he said, his voice a low rumble. The backs of her knees hit something solid—a small console table against the wall. He caught her before she could stumble, his hands on her waist like iron bands.
Then he spun her, her face now toward the wall adorned with a blurred abstract print. He pressed his body against her back, pinning her there. The cool wall against her cheek, the overwhelming heat of him at her back. She was trapped, and a shiver that was equal parts fear and exhilarating submission coursed through her.
One of his large hands wandered along the hem of her dress, the touch slow and deliberate. His fingers traced the line of her thigh, then slowly moved up until they reached the lace of her panties. He didn’t push them aside. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, continuing their journey to the lips of her vulva. She gasped, her forehead pressing into the wall.
“Still so wet,” Tariq murmured into her ear, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Even wetter than before. Dripping for me.”
He found her clitoris with the pad of his thumb, applying a precise, circular pressure that made Marie cry out, a sharp, unbidden sound that echoed in the confined hallway. Her hands flattened against the wall, seeking an anchor that wasn’t there.
Then he slid a single finger along the entrance to her vagina, a slow, teasing pass that made her moan and push her hips back against him involuntarily. “Please,” she heard herself whisper, not even sure what she was asking for.
“I know what you need,” he said.
Slowly, he inserted one finger into her. She let out a small, choked cry. Tariq’s hand was already large, and his fingers were long and thick, perfectly proportioned to his size. The invasion was sudden and profound. Marie felt stretched, filled in a way she hadn’t been in years. It felt like a small penis entering her.
“I’m going to take my time fucking you,” he promised, his breath hot on her neck. And at that same moment, he inserted a second finger alongside the first.
Marie’s cry was louder this time, a mix of shock and overwhelming sensation. Tariq’s two large fingers spread the walls of her vagina, and this time, it absolutely felt like a penis was entering her. It was an undeniable, physical truth. She gasped as he began to move them inside her, a slow, deep pistoning that seemed to reach a place deep within her core.
“So tight,” he commented, his voice a rough whisper. He was narrating her degradation, her pleasure. “Even around just my fingers. Your pretty married pussy is clenching down, trying to hold on. It knows what’s coming.”
He continued to move his fingers in and out of her with a relentless rhythm, while his thumb found her clit again, circling and pressing in time. Marie’s breathing grew faster and faster, shallow pants that fogged the cool wall in front of her. She moaned and cried out with each thrust, the sounds foreign to her own ears, the sounds of a woman unraveling.
“This is nothing,” Tariq growled, his voice vibrating through her back. “Nothing compared to what my cock will feel like when it opens you up. When it’s in your married pussy, deeper than your husband has ever been.”
His words excited her even more, a filthy, perfect counterpoint to the physical assault. She felt her own juices trickle down her inner thighs, a slick, warm confession. The coil in her belly tightened impossibly. She felt the orgasm coming, a wave gathering force, ready to break her apart against this wall.
Tariq sensed it. He slowed the movement of his fingers, just a fraction, drawing the thrusts out longer. Marie whimpered, the peak receding, hovering just out of reach, an exquisite torture. “No…” she breathed.
Then he sped up again, his fingers fucking her harder, his thumb pressing harder on her clit. “Come for me,” he commanded.
And she did. Marie exploded. It wasn’t a gentle cresting wave; it was a violent detonation that ripped through her, tearing a scream from her throat that he smothered by turning her head and crushing his mouth to hers. Her body convulsed, held upright only by his bulk pinning her to the wall and his arm locked around her waist. Her legs buckled, useless.
When the last tremor passed, he held her because her legs could no longer support her. She was boneless, liquid, her mind blank static. He slowly withdrew his fingers from her soaked flesh, the sound obscenely wet in the quiet hallway.
He turned her in his arms to face him. Her vision was blurry. He brought his glistening hand to her face and placed his two slick fingers against her parted lips.
“Suck,” Tariq ordered, his eyes holding hers, allowing no refusal, no modesty.
Dazed, humiliated, and still vibrating with spent pleasure, Marie opened her mouth. She took his fingers inside, tasting herself—salty, musky, fundamentally altered. She sucked them clean, her eyes closed, a final, submissive act.
He pulled his fingers from her mouth with a soft pop. “Good girl,” he said, the words a dark benediction. Then he bent, hooked an arm behind her knees, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms, carrying her toward the bedroom.