Chapter 2: The Gag and The Stretch
Kevin’s kiss was beginning to excite Christelle, especially since he had placed his hand on her thigh and was slowly moving it up, lifting the hem of her little black dress until it reached the tops of her thighs. Almost instinctively, Christelle parted her legs slightly. Philippe watched the scene, both jealous and excited to see his wife respond so readily to Kevin’s caress. Kevin’s hand was enormous.
Kevin stopped kissing Christelle and spoke to Philippe, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Your turn.”
Philippe didn’t need to be told twice. He moved in, kissing his wife with a familiar, searching pressure as Kevin leaned back and peeled his tight t-shirt over his head. The fabric caught for a second on his broad shoulders before falling away, revealing an impressive physique of carved muscle and shifting sinew. The dim light traced the deep lines of his abdomen.
With Kevin’s hand still a heavy weight on Christelle’s thigh, he instructed her, his tone not harsh but carrying a natural authority that brooked no hesitation. “Open a little wider for me.”
Christelle, still kissing Philippe, obeyed. She let her thighs fall apart, giving Kevin’s hand free rein. Her husband’s tongue was in her mouth, but her focus was spiraling downward, to where Kevin’s index finger now brushed the lace of her panties, pressing a firm circle against her clitoris.
“Mmh.” The sound escaped into Philippe’s mouth.
Kevin slid his fingers along the damp fabric, tracing the entire length of Christelle’s vulva. She broke the kiss with her husband, her head falling back against the couch with a soft thud. “Ah…”
“She’s already getting wet,” Kevin commented, his voice conversational, as if noting the weather.
Eyes closed, Christelle opened her thighs a little wider, an unspoken invitation. Philippe watched, mesmerized and unnerved, as his wife moaned softly, her face a mask of pleasure he hadn’t seen in years. He never would have believed she’d let this happen so easily.
“Let’s see how wet,” Kevin said. He hooked a finger under the elastic of her panties, sliding between the fabric and her skin until he reached her heated flesh. He swore, low and approving. “Fuck. She’s dripping.”
He looked at Philippe. “She like being fingered?”
Philippe just stared, his mouth dry. He gave a faint, helpless shrug.
In answer, Kevin inserted a finger into Christelle. She let out a sharp cry, her hips lifting off the leather.
“Seems like it,” Kevin answered for him, watching Christelle’s face as he began a slow, deep rhythm. His other hand kept her thigh splayed open. “Yeah, you like that. Taking it nice.”
“Ah—god,” Christelle gasped.
A second finger joined the first, stretching her. She cried out again, a higher, broken sound. Right beside her, Philippe couldn’t look away. His wife was beside him, in her little black dress, her thighs wide apart, Kevin’s enormous hand between her legs. He could see the shape of those two fingers moving inside her, distorting the thin lace. She moaned and whimpered in a ragged, hungry response to every twist and thrust.
Suddenly, Kevin stopped. He withdrew his hand, glistening. Christelle whimpered in frustration, her body aching, more aroused than she could ever remember being.
“She’s hot enough,” Kevin announced, wiping his fingers on his thigh. “Your turn. Let her suck you off.”
Philippe, unaccustomed to orders, fumbled. He hesitated, then stood on shaky legs, quickly pushing his pants and boxers down. His erection, now that it was the center of attention, seemed pathetic to him.
“Christelle,” Kevin said, that same easy authority tilting the room. “Suck your husband’s cock.”
She leaned forward, her movements fluid with need. She grasped Philippe, her hand familiar, and took him into her mouth with a passion that made him groan. It was different. She was different. She wasn’t just going through the motions; she was devouring him.
“Shit, Christelle,” Philippe swore, his hands tangling in her ponytail.
“Good girl,” Kevin murmured from his throne on the couch. He watched, a slight smile on his face as he unbuckled his own belt. “Get him nice and ready for me. I’m next.”
Engrossed in the novel sensation of her own hunger, Christelle didn’t notice Kevin undressing. She lost herself in the salt-and-skin taste of her husband, in the power of making him gasp. It was Kevin’s presence, Kevin’s commands, Kevin’s fingers still burning inside her memory that fueled her.
Less than five minutes after he started, Philippe’s groans grew frantic, ragged. “I’m—I’m gonna—”
Christelle, conditioned by years of routine, pulled her head back just in time. The spurt landed on the leather between them, just missing her dress. He sagged, spent, his penis already softening in the cool air.
Kevin stood up. “My turn.”
Christelle, still seated and breathless, turned her head. Her eyes traveled up the imposing form now towering beside the couch—past the defined hips, the trail of dark hair—and locked onto his penis.
“Holy fucking hell.”
The words fell from her lips, crude and awed, in a tone Philippe had never heard. It wasn’t Kevin’s imposing stature that caused it. It was that. Even at rest, it was enormous, thick and heavy, a size that had nothing to do with her husband’s. It was proportional to the rest of him, a fact that seemed both obscene and inevitable.
Philippe, having recovered slightly from his pleasure, followed her gaze. A soft, deflated “Merde,” escaped him.
Kevin wasn’t distracted. He looked down at Christelle, his expression calm. “Your turn.”
She shook her head, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “No. No way. It’s too big. I’ll never get that in my mouth.”
“That’s what they all say,” Kevin reassured her, his voice matter-of-fact. He took a step closer. “Every single one. And every single one managed. I’ll help you. Guide you. Don’t start with your hands. Don’t try to shape it. Just open up.”
Christelle looked at Philippe, who remained speechless, a spectator in his own living room. She looked back at the massive cock, her heart hammering with fear and a dark, pooling want. Swallowing hard, she reached out.
Her fingers trembled as they made contact.
The skin was surprisingly soft, hot, and the sheer, dense weight of him nearly buckled her wrist. A current, electric and terrifying, shot up her arm.
The chapter ends right at that moment.