Chapter 4: The day after
The sharp click of the front door lock echoed too loudly in the silent apartment. Steve flinched, his hand pausing over the perfectly folded towel he was placing in the linen closet. He’d been moving on autopilot since dawn, cleaning the living room with a ferocity that bordered on obsession, scrubbing the faint, lingering scent of sex and betrayal from the sofa fabric. The damp spot was gone, the cushions plumped, the air smelling aggressively of lemon disinfectant. Yet the image – Natalie arching, Jack’s face buried, the raw sounds – was etched behind his eyelids.
Natalie stormed in, heels striking the marble floor like gunshots. Her tailored jacket was unbuttoned, her usually immaculate hair slightly dishevelled, and her expression was pure, incandescent fury. She slammed her briefcase onto the hall table hard enough to make the glass rattle.
"FUCK!" The word cracked through the sterile air. She kicked off her shoes, sending one skittering across the floor. "That little bitch!"
Steve approached cautiously, the resentment of the previous night momentarily eclipsed by the force of her anger. "What happened?"
Natalie whirled on him, eyes blazing. "Lucy. Jack's fucking girlfriend."
Steve’s stomach dropped. Lucy. Tall, confident, with skin like dark velvet and a fierce intelligence Jack sometimes nervously mentioned. "She knows?"
"Knows?" Natalie let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "She found a fucking text, Steve! On Jack’s phone! From me." She mimicked Lucy’s voice, sharp and accusatory. "'Tell Jack he did a good job servicing me yesterday. Couldn't have landed Henderson without his... assistance.' Stupid! Careless!" Natalie pinched the bridge of her nose. "She confronted him. Cornered him in the parking garage like some avenging goddess."
"What did she do?" Steve asked, a cold dread spreading through him.
"She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry." Natalie paced, her movements tight and agitated. "She was fucking calm. Said Jack has two choices: quit his job immediately, effective yesterday…" She paused, her gaze locking onto Steve with unnerving intensity. "Or… she wants reciprocity."
"Reciprocity?" Steve echoed, the word tasting sour.
"Exactly." Natalie stopped pacing, standing directly in front of him. The fury in her eyes was now overlaid with a calculating coldness that Steve recognized all too well – the look she got during hostile takeovers. "She wants Steve. You."
Steve felt the air leave his lungs. "Me? What does that mean?"
Natalie’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Her terms are very specific. Jack fucks her. But you… you get her ready first. Get her wet. Lick her cunt until she’s dripping. And then, while Jack’s fucking her… you keep licking. You service her clit the whole time. Just like Jack serviced mine last night."
The demand hung in the air, heavy and obscene. Steve felt a wave of nausea mixed with a treacherous, unwelcome flicker of heat. "You’re joking."
"Do I look like I’m joking?" Natalie snapped. "She wants her pound of flesh, Steve. And she wants it from my husband. She wants to humiliate me by using you."
Steve stared at her, the image of Lucy – her full curves, the thick dark bush Jack had once drunkenly bragged about – flashing unwanted in his mind. "And you agreed to this?"
Natalie’s jaw tightened. She looked away, towards the immaculate living room, her gaze lingering on the sofa. A muscle jumped in her cheek. "I don't want to," she hissed, the possessiveness raw in her voice. "The idea of his slutty girlfriend putting her filthy cunt anywhere near you…" She trailed off, fists clenched. "But I need Jack. He’s invaluable. Knows my systems, anticipates my needs… handles my… tension." Her eyes snapped back to Steve, sharp and demanding. "I agreed on one condition. I watch. I get to see exactly what that jealous bitch wants to do with what’s mine."
Steve felt a strange hollowness open up inside him. Bargained over. Like an asset. Property to be loaned out. The simmering resentment flared hotter, mingling with a sickening sense of inevitability. Resisting Natalie when she’d decided on a course of action was like trying to hold back the tide. And the thought of Lucy, her demand so blatant… it was terrifying and, shamefully, undeniably arousing in its raw audacity.
"So?" Natalie demanded, stepping closer. Her perfume, usually a sophisticated cloud, smelled sharp, aggressive. "Can you handle it? Can you lick Jack’s girlfriend’s pussy while he fucks her, with me watching? Or do I have to start looking for a new assistant tomorrow?"
The challenge hung there. The threat. The demand. Steve looked at his wife, her eyes hard and unyielding. He thought of Lucy, tall and dark and furious. He thought of the hollowness he’d felt last night after she’d used him and walked away. The taste of her release still felt like a phantom sensation on his tongue. He swallowed, the sound loud in the sudden silence.
"Yeah," he heard himself say, his voice flat. "I can handle it."
Natalie studied him for a long moment, her gaze searching for any sign of weakness, any flicker of true refusal. Finding none but the bleak acceptance she expected, she gave a single, sharp nod. "Good. They’re coming over tonight. Be ready."
The master bedroom felt colder than usual, despite the soft morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. Steve stood near the foot of the massive bed, its crisp white linens seeming impossibly stark. He’d showered meticulously, shaved smooth as Natalie insisted, dressed in simple grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. He felt exposed, waiting.
Natalie sat rigidly in an armchair near the window, legs crossed tightly, a tumbler of amber liquid in her hand. She hadn’t touched it. Her gaze was fixed on the bedroom door, her knuckles white where she gripped the glass. The air crackled with tension – her possessive fury a near-tangible force.
A knock. Too soft. Natalie’s eyes narrowed. "Enter."
The door opened. Jack stood there, looking pale and deeply uncomfortable, shifting his weight. Behind him, radiating a fierce, confrontational energy, stood Lucy. She was taller than Steve remembered, her dark skin glowing in the soft light, clad in figure-hugging dark jeans and a simple black top. Her hair was pulled back, emphasizing high cheekbones and eyes burning with a mix of anger and determined challenge. Her gaze swept the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on Steve, assessing, before locking onto Natalie.
"Lucy," Natalie said, her voice icy. "Jack."
"Nat," Lucy replied, the nickname delivered like a slap. Her voice was lower than Steve expected, resonant. She walked in, her stride confident, ignoring Jack’s nervous shuffling. She stopped near the bed, looking Natalie dead in the eye. "Got your little show set up, I see." Her gaze flickered towards Steve again. "Is he prepped?"
Natalie’s knuckles whitened further on the glass. "He knows his role. Get on with it."
A flicker of something – satisfaction? Vindication? – crossed Lucy’s face. She turned her back on Natalie with deliberate disregard and focused entirely on Steve. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans. "Alright, Steve," she said, her tone brisk, practical, yet laced with an undercurrent of heat. "Let's see what Natalie’s husband is made of."
She pushed the jeans down over her hips in one smooth motion, stepping out of them. Her panties were simple black cotton, already showing a dark patch of dampness in the centre. Without ceremony, she hooked her thumbs into those too and slid them down her long legs, kicking them aside. She stood before him, naked from the waist down, her full hips and thighs powerful, her dark bush a dense, neatly trimmed triangle pointing downwards, glistening faintly. The musky scent of her arousal, deeper and earthier than Natalie’s expensive perfume, instantly filled Steve’s nostrils.
"On your knees," Lucy commanded, pointing to the plush rug beside the bed. Her voice brooked no argument, echoing the authority Steve was used to, yet rougher, more primal.
Steve knelt. The carpet fibers pressed against his bare knees. He was eye-level with her mound, the thick dark curls, the glistening pink folds already peeking through. The scent was overwhelming, primal, a stark contrast to the sterile lemon smell he’d scrubbed the living room with. He felt Natalie’s gaze burning into his back.
"Go on," Lucy urged, spreading her stance slightly. "Get me wet. Show me what good pussy-licking looks like." She glanced over Steve’s head towards Natalie. "Since your wife clearly values the talent."
Steve leaned forward. The first touch of his tongue to her outer lips sent a jolt through him. She was already slick, hot. He pressed in, parting her folds with his tongue, seeking the swollen bud of her clit. It throbbed under his first tentative lick. Lucy let out a soft sigh. "Oh yeah… that’s it… get right to the good stuff." Her hand came down, fingers tangling roughly in his short hair, not guiding, just holding him in place. "Lick it. Properly."
He obeyed, circling her clit with the flat of his tongue, then flicking it rapidly. Her taste flooded his mouth – musky, salty, complex. Different from Natalie’s. More… vital. Heavier. Her thighs tensed. "Fuck, yes," she breathed, her grip tightening on his hair, forcing his face harder against her. "Suck it. Suck my clit, Steve."
He closed his lips around the hard nub, sucking gently, then harder, swirling his tongue over the sensitive tip. Lucy moaned, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated through her body and into his mouth. "Oh god… just like that… you do know your way around a cunt." Her hips began to rock slightly against his face. "Jack! Get your fucking clothes off! Don't just stand there!"
Steve heard Jack scrambling behind him, fabric rustling. He kept his focus on Lucy’s clit, sucking and licking, driven by the command, the scent, the taste, the pressure of her hand holding him captive. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. Her wetness coated his chin, dripped down onto his throat.
Suddenly, her grip tightened painfully. "Alright, Jack," she gasped. "Get behind me. Fuck me. Hard. Right now. And Steve…" She pushed his face down lower. "Keep sucking my clit. Don’t you fucking stop."
Jack moved into position behind Lucy, his erection bobbing thick and flushed. Steve caught a glimpse of it from his vantage point pressed against Lucy’s mound. Lucy reached back, guiding Jack’s cock, positioning him at her entrance. She was dripping, Steve’s saliva and her own arousal slicking the way. Jack pushed forward with a grunt, burying himself inside her in one deep thrust.
"OH FUCK!" Lucy yelled, her body jerking. Her pussy clenched around Jack’s cock, the walls fluttering against Steve’s cheek. "Fuck yes! Harder, Jack! Pound my cunt!" She shoved Steve’s face back up firmly onto her clit. "LICK! NOW!"
Steve pressed his mouth back to her swollen clit, lashing it with his tongue as Jack started to thrust. Hard, deep strokes that drove Lucy forward onto Steve’s face with each powerful push. Steve had to brace himself against her thighs to keep steady. The wet slap of Jack’s hips against Lucy’s ass filled the room, punctuated by Jack’s sharp grunts and Lucy’s guttural moans.
"YES! OH GOD YES! FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD!" Lucy screamed, her voice ragged. She was using Steve’s head like a handle, grinding her clit against his mouth with brutal force as Jack hammered into her from behind. "Don’t stop licking! Make me cum, Steve! Make my fucking pussy explode!"
Steve felt her clit pulsing wildly under his tongue, a hard, frantic throb. He sucked harder, driving his tongue against it relentlessly. The dual assault – the deep, full penetration and the focused clitoral stimulation – was pushing her rapidly towards the edge. Her thighs clamped. She threw her head back, a raw, animalistic cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm hit. Her pussy convulsed violently around Jack’s cock, a gush of hot fluid soaking Steve’s chin and Jack’s thrusting shaft.
"CUM IN ME, JACK! FUCKING FILL ME!" Lucy shrieked, riding the crashing wave, still grinding her spasming cunt against Steve’s mouth. "OH FUCK! OH FUCK! STEEEVE!" Jack groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, frantic. "Ahhh! Fuck, Luce! I’m cumming!" He slammed deep, holding himself there as he pulsed inside her. Steve felt the hot jets through the walls gripping him, mingling with Lucy’s own release coating his face.
Lucy shuddered violently, collapsing slightly forward, her grip on Steve’s hair finally slackening. She panted, gasping for air, a sheen of sweat covering her dark skin. Jack stayed buried inside her for a moment, panting against her back, before slowly pulling out with a wet sound. Steve sat back on his heels, wiping his slick chin with the back of his hand, breathing heavily. Lucy’s musky taste saturated his mouth. He didn’t dare look at Natalie.
Lucy straightened up slowly, turning towards Jack. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. "See?" she said, her voice rough but satisfied. "That’s how it’s done." She gave him a hard, possessive kiss. Then she turned, pulling her jeans back on without bothering with her panties. She looked down at Steve, still kneeling, her expression unreadable for a moment. "You’re not bad," she conceded flatly. Then her gaze shifted past him, landing on Natalie. "We’re square, Nat. Jack stays." She grabbed Jack’s arm. "Let’s go."
They left without another word. The bedroom door clicked shut. The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the overwhelming scent of sex and the echo of Lucy’s cries. Steve slowly got to his feet, his knees aching. He still tasted her. He still felt the ghostly pressure of her hand in his hair, the violent grinding of her clit against his mouth.
He finally looked at Natalie. She hadn’t moved from the armchair. The glass was still in her hand, untouched. Her expression was terrifyingly blank, her eyes fixed on the spot where Lucy had stood. Her knuckles were bone-white. The air vibrated not with fury now, but with a chilling, silent rage that seemed to suck all the warmth from the room. Her gaze, when it finally lifted and locked onto Steve, was glacial. Accusing. Utterly possessive. She didn’t speak. She just watched him, her husband, covered in another woman's juices. The silence stretched, thinner and sharper than any blade.
The silence stretched, thinner and sharper than any blade. Natalie’s knuckles remained bloodless around the untouched glass, her gaze drilling into Steve like ice picks. The air, thick with Lucy’s musky scent clinging to his skin and the humid aftermath of sex, felt charged with dangerous electricity. Steve couldn’t move, awaiting the detonation.
When it came, it wasn’t a shout. It was a low, venomous hiss that cut through the stillness. "Look at you." Her eyes raked over him, lingering on the drying sheen coating his jaw, the damp patches on his t-shirt. "Covered in that jealous bitch’s fucking juices. Smelling like her cheap cunt."
She rose from the armchair with predatory grace, placing the glass down with unnatural precision. Her heels clicked on the hardwood, slow, deliberate steps bringing her terrifyingly close. The scent of her expensive perfume warred violently with the primal aroma Steve wore. "Did you enjoy it?" she breathed, her voice dangerously soft. "Licking Jack’s leftovers? Getting your face soaked in another woman’s sloppy seconds?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His throat felt packed with sand.
"Don't bother lying," she snapped, her hand shooting out, fingers tangling cruelly in his hair. She yanked his head back, forcing him to meet her glacial stare. "I saw how hard you got. How eagerly you buried your fucking face in her bush." Her lips curled. "You liked it, didn't you? Being ordered around by that dark-skinned slut? Having her grind her filthy pussy all over your mouth?"
Steve flinched, the truth of it a raw wound. "Natalie, I—"
"Shut your lying mouth!" she snarled, tightening her grip until his scalp screamed. A tremor ran through her, raw fury barely contained. "You’re disgusting. Absolutely fucking repulsive." She released his hair with a shove that made him stumble. "Get to the bathroom. Now. Move!"
Steve stumbled backwards, fear coiling in his gut alongside the lingering shameful heat. He retreated down the hallway, her furious presence a storm cloud pushing him forward into the cool sterility of the master bathroom. The stark white tiles, the gleaming chrome fixtures – it felt like a morgue.
Natalie followed, slamming the door shut behind them, the sound echoing like a gunshot. She stalked to the sink, wrenching the faucet on full blast. Ice-cold water roared into the basin. She snatched a washcloth from the rack, plunged it into the frigid water, and wrung it out savagely, water droplets spraying the mirror. Without a word, she turned, the sodden, freezing cloth clutched like a weapon in her fist.
"Get on your fucking knees," she commanded, her voice trembling with barely leashed rage. "Right here."
Steve sank down onto the hard tile floor, the cold seeping through his sweatpants instantly. He braced himself. Natalie loomed over him, her eyes blazing. She grabbed his chin roughly, forcing his face up. "My husband," she spat the word like poison, "covered in another woman's cunt juice." The frozen washcloth slammed against his skin, scraping harshly across his chin, his cheeks, his lips. It was brutal, less cleansing and more like scouring. The icy water stung, the coarse fabric rasping against his stubble. She scrubbed relentlessly, focusing on his mouth, grinding the cloth over his lips as if trying to erase the memory of Lucy’s taste, her texture, her scent. "Filthy. Degenerate. SLUT."
The cold was painful, the scrubbing almost violent. Water dripped down his neck, soaking the collar of his t-shirt. Natalie leaned in, her breath hot on his wet, abraded skin. "Did you swallow her cum, Steve? Hmm? Did you gulp down that jealous bitch’s nasty release like a good little whore?"
He gasped as the cloth scraped particularly hard over his mouth. "No... I—"
"Liar!" She threw the wet cloth aside with a wet slap against the tiles. It landed in a soggy heap. Her hand was instantly back in his hair, fisting it painfully. "You need to remember," she hissed, her voice dropping to a guttural, commanding rasp thick with possessive fury. "Remember who owns this mouth." Her other hand went to the clasp of her tailored trousers. "Remember who you serve."
With sharp, jerky movements, she shoved the sleek black fabric down over her hips, kicking it aside. Her black lace panties followed, ripped down her thighs and discarded. She stood before him, naked from the waist down, her own dark bush thick and glistening faintly, starkly familiar yet radiating her potent, unique musk that instantly cut through the lingering scent of soap and Lucy. It was primal. Claiming.
"Clean it properly, slut," she demanded, her voice thick and dark, pushing his face forward with brutal force. "Wash my husband’s filthy mouth off my cunt with your fucking tongue. Eat me. NOW. Show me you remember where your tongue BELONGS!"
Her pussy was hot against his cold, stinging face, the dense curls tickling his nose, the rich, heady aroma of her own arousal overwhelming the last traces of Lucy. Natalie gripped his hair like a handle, anchoring him to her flesh. "LICK! Cleanse it! Worship MY pussy, you fucking traitor!"
He pressed forward, his tongue instinctively seeking her folds. She was swollen, slick, radiating heat that felt like a brand after the washcloth's chill. His tongue parted her lips, sliding through her wetness – her wetness, tangy and sharp and uniquely Natalie – lapping at the glistening pink flesh. He focused on the hooded nub of her clit, circling it with broad strokes, trying to erase everything but her taste, her scent, her demand.
"Yesss," she hissed, grinding her hips forward, smearing her essence over his scrubbed skin, reclaiming the territory. "That’s it. Get it all. Every last fucking trace of that bitch." Her thighs tensed, muscles corded. "Suck it! Suck my clit hard, Steve! Prove you’re still mine!"
He sealed his lips around the hard little bud, sucking fiercely, pulling it into the heat of his mouth. He flicked his tongue rapidly over the sensitive tip. Natalie gasped, her grip tightening impossibly, pulling his hair at the roots. "Oh FUCK! Just like that! Harder! Show me you want it! Show me you need MY cum!"
Her hips began a frantic, demanding rhythm, driving her cunt hard against his mouth, riding his face with the same possessiveness she’d displayed on the sofa with Jack, but now fueled by pure, incandescent rage and the need for absolute dominance. "Faster! Don’t you fucking dare stop! Make me cum! Give me MY orgasm! NOW!"
Steve obeyed, driven by fear, ingrained obedience, and the visceral power of her arousal flooding his senses. He sucked and licked with desperate intensity, his jaw aching, his tongue probing deep into her entrance before swirling back to torment her clit. Her moans escalated, sharp cries tearing from her throat, raw and unrestrained. She fucked his face with abandon, her wetness coating his chin, his throat, soaking into the collar of his t-shirt anew. "OH GOD! YES! RIGHT THERE! DON'T STOP! DON'T YOU FUCKING STOP, YOU SLUT!" Her body tightened like a coiled spring, every muscle rigid. "I'M CUMMING! TAKE IT! SWALLOW MY CUM, STEVE! SWALLOW IT ALL! EVERY FUCKING DROP!"
Her release hit violently. Hot, salty fluid gushed over his tongue, flooding his mouth as her cunt convulsed rhythmically around nothing, milking the air. She screamed, a raw, guttural sound of pure, furious triumph, grinding her spasming pussy hard against his lips and nose. He swallowed reflexively, the taste uniquely hers, a potent mix of salt and musk and iron, scalding his throat. Her thighs clamped around his head, trapping him as she rode the crashing waves, shuddering and gasping his name mixed with obscenities. Only when the violent tremors subsided into heavy, shuddering breaths did her grip on his hair finally loosen. She slumped slightly, pressing her forehead against the cool tile wall above the sink, her body still trembling with residual shocks. Steve stayed on his knees, breathing raggedly, his face buried in the warm, wet heat of her, coated in her release. The scent of Natalie’s orgasm filled the small room, erasing everything else. Her hand, still tangled loosely in his hair, felt less like a restraint now and more like a claim staked.