Chapter 5: The Shower Scene
The bedroom door stayed shut for a long time. Matt hovered outside it for a while, listening to nothing, then drifted back to the living room. Derek was gone, the cold chai cup left on the arm of the chair. Matt cleaned the table, scrubbing at the damp spot until the wood gleamed, then stood there, hands on the polished surface, breathing hard.
From down the hall, the pipes shuddered and groaned.The shower.
Matt moved toward the sound, drawn to the hum of the water, the promise of steam. He found Derek leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, arms crossed, listening to the rhythmic patter through the door. Derek glanced at him, his boyish face calm, and put a finger to his lips.A conspirator’s gesture. Matt stopped, obedient.Derek pushed off the wall and opened the bathroom door without knocking.
A wall of humid, jasmine-scented air rolled out. The room was a steam-filled cave, the ancient bulb casting a sickly yellow glow on the cracked black and white tiles. India was a silhouette behind the frosted glass of the shower stall, her head tipped back under the stream.
Derek didn’t pause. He kicked off his shoes, stepped over the discarded pile of her clothes from the table, and walked directly to the shower. He slid the curtain back on its rattling plastic rings.India jumped, her hands flying up to cover her small breasts. Water streamed down her face, plastering her straightened hair to her scalp and neck. She looked younger, vulnerable, her eyes wide with surprise.Derek stepped into the tub, fully clothed. His jeans darkened instantly, soaked through from the knees down.His grey t-shirt clung to the swell of his belly. The water beat down on his head, flattening his hair.
“Derek—” she started, her voice lost in the shower’s din.He didn’t speak. He moved into her space, crowding her back against the cold, slick tiles.His hands went to his belt buckle. The metallic clink was sharp even over the water. He popped the button of his jeans, dragged the zipper down.He shoved the wet denim and his boxers past his hips. His cock, small and thick, sprang free, already hard from the sight of her, from the power of the moment.The hot water sluiced over it.
“Open your mouth,” he said.His voice was flat, a command.India’s lips parted.A gasp or obedience. He didn’t wait to differentiate. He gripped the base of his cock and guided the swollen head past her lips, pushing until it met the back of her throat.Her eyes watered instantly. He held it there, feeling her gag reflex flutter around him, then pulled back and shoved forward again.
This wasn’t a fuck.It was a claiming. He set a brutal, measured rhythm, using her mouth like a flesh socket, his hips pistoning. Water poured from his clothes, from his body, into her open throat.She choked, sputtered, tried to breathe through her nose. Her hands, which had been covering herself, now clawed weakly at his wet t-shirt, leaving trails on the fabric.
Matt appeared in the doorway, a ghost in the steam, his green eyes fixed on the scene. He didn’t enter. He just watched, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other pressed against the front of his own jeans.Derek saw him. He held Matt’s gaze as he fucked India’s face, as saliva and water dribbled from the corners of her stretched lips.After a dozen deep thrusts, he pulled his cock out with a wet pop. A string of viscous saliva stretched and snapped, landing on her chin.
“Get on your knees,” Derek ordered, his breath coming faster now.India slid down the tile wall, her body limp. She knelt in the tub, the water drumming on her back, her ass in the air. Her face was a mask of surrender and desperate need.Derek turned her, not gently. He pushed her head down so her cheek was pressed against the wet porcelain, her ass tilted up toward him.He positioned himself behind her, his knees in the pooling water. He guided his cock, slick with her spit, through her wet pubic hair and into her cunt from behind.
She was tight, clutching at him, already swollen from earlier. He sank in deep, a single, penetrating stroke that forced a ragged moan from her lungs. The water made every movement louder, a slick, slapping cacophony that echoed off the tiny walls.
He started to fuck her in earnest, each thrust a deliberate, full-bodied conquest.His wet jeans slapped against the backs of her thighs. His balls tightened, slapping against her clit with every drive.
“You like watching your wife get fucked like a whore?” Derek called out to Matt, his voice raised over the shower’s roar. He didn’t look away from where he was joined to India, from the mesmerizing sight of his small cock plunging in and out of her.
“Yes,” Matt croaked from the doorway.His hand was inside his jeans now, moving frantically.
“Say it louder.”
“I love it!” Matt shouted, his voice breaking. “I love watching you use her!”
Derek grunted, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. He pounded into India, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, sure to leave bruises. India’s moans turned into shrieks, sharp and piercing against the tile. Her body seized, clamping down on him like a vice as her orgasm tore through her, violent and unstoppable. She screamed into the tub, a raw, guttural sound of absolute surrender.
The feel of her pulsing around him sent Derek over the edge. With a final, deep snarl, he buried himself as far as he could and came, his release hot and sudden inside her, a fierce counterpart to the cool water raining down on them.He stayed there, pulsing, until he was spent.
Then, with a shuddering sigh, he pulled out. He stepped back, out of the spray, his soaked clothes heavy on his body. He looked at India, collapsed forward in the tub, trembling, and then at Matt, who was pale and panting in the doorway.
“Your turn,” Derek said, his voice hoarse. He gestured at India’s prone, used form as he climbed out of the tub, water cascading from him onto the bathmat.Matt didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled with his belt, his hands shaking. He stepped into the tub, his shoes on, not even bothering to undress. He pushed his jeans down just enough to free his own hard, leaking cock. He knelt in the water behind India, who didn’t move, didn’t protest. He guided himself into her, into the wet, open warmth still flooded with Derek’s come.
He fucked her fast, with none of Derek’s controlled dominance, just frantic, hungry need.His movements were jerky, inelegant. He came within a minute, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he emptied into the same channel. He slumped over her back, panting.
The shower rained down on both of them, diluting the mess, washing it all toward the drain.
Derek watched from the doorway, wringing water from the hem of his t-shirt. He looked at the two of them, connected in the tub—the husband and the wife—and his disarming smile returned, quiet and complete. He turned and left them there, the sound of his squelching footsteps fading down the hall.