Chapter 2: It begins
The silence after Evelyn’s pronouncement was suffocating. Twenty minutes. Thomas remained pinned in the armchair, the damp patch on his thigh chilling rapidly. Evelyn paced. Back and forth across the hardwood floor, bare feet padding softly, a restless predator confined. The dim light traced the taut lines of her naked body – the sway of her breasts, the flex of her thighs, the glistening wetness still evident between her legs. Her fingers occasionally brushed her shaved mound, a distracted, possessive touch that sent fresh jolts of unwanted heat through Thomas’s trapped cock. The conspiracy podcast droned on, a surreal counterpoint to the frantic drumming of his own heart.
"Evie," Thomas rasped, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to sound firm. "The rules. We need to… solidify them. Before he gets here." He forced himself to look at her, not at the slick evidence of her anticipation.
She paused mid-stride, turning towards him. Her eyes, dark pools in the gloom, held a flicker of impatience. "Thomas, we agreed. Condoms. You watch." She resumed pacing, faster now. "What else is there?"
"Everything else," Thomas insisted, leaning forward slightly. "No kissing. On the mouth. That’s… ours." The words felt childish, inadequate. "And… and he doesn’t stay. After. He leaves immediately." He searched her face. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure about this?"
Evelyn stopped again, facing him fully. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of cool determination barely concealing the fever beneath. She opened her mouth, perhaps to reassure him, perhaps to snap—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three sharp, confident knocks rattled the front door, cutting through the tense air like gunshots.
Evelyn’s entire body stiffened, then relaxed into a posture of pure, predatory readiness. A slow, hungry smile spread across her face. "He’s early," she breathed, the words thick with anticipation. She didn’t move towards the door immediately, letting the silence stretch, letting Thomas feel the weight of the moment.
Then, she walked. Not hurriedly, but with deliberate, swaying purpose, her nakedness a flagrant announcement. Thomas watched, frozen, as she unlocked and opened the door.
Marcus filled the doorway. Tall, powerfully built, shoulders straining the fabric of a dark, fitted t-shirt. His skin was a deep, rich brown, catching the low light. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, his presence instantly dominating the minimalist space. His eyes swept past Thomas without acknowledgment, locking onto Evelyn with an intensity that felt physical.
"Evelyn," Marcus rumbled, his voice a deep bass that vibrated in Thomas’s chest. A wide, confident grin split his face, revealing perfect white teeth. "Lookin' good. Real good." As he spoke, his large hand reached out, not for a handshake, but sliding possessively around her bare hip and clamping firmly onto the swell of her ass cheek. He squeezed, hard, fingers digging into the flesh. Evelyn gasped, a sharp intake of breath that sounded more like pleasure than surprise. She arched her back slightly, pressing into his grip.
Thomas flinched, the casual ownership of the gesture like a punch to the gut. He saw Evelyn’s eyes flutter closed for a second, her lips parting.
Marcus finally glanced towards the armchair, his gaze dismissive, lingering for barely a second before snapping back to Evelyn. "Place is… minimalist," he commented, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her ass.
"Marcus," Evelyn said, her voice slightly breathless. She gestured towards Thomas. "This is Thomas. My husband."
Marcus’s eyes flicked back to Thomas. A curt, almost imperceptible nod. "Thomas." The name sounded like an afterthought. His attention was already back on Evelyn, his hand still kneading her ass. "So. We doin' this?"
Thomas stood up abruptly, the movement jerky. He felt awkward, exposed, dwarfed by Marcus’s presence. "Uh, welcome," he managed, the words hollow. "Can I… get you a drink? Evelyn was just about to…" He trailed off, realizing Evelyn hadn’t moved towards the kitchen.
Marcus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Drink sounds good. Strong." He finally released Evelyn’s ass, giving it a final pat. Evelyn swayed slightly, her cheeks flushed.
"I’ll make them," Evelyn said quickly, turning towards the small kitchen alcove off the living room. She moved with fluid grace, seemingly unconcerned by her nudity. Marcus watched her go, his eyes tracing the lines of her back, her ass, with open appreciation. He then strolled further into the room, his gaze drifting over the conspiracy posters, the shadowy figure in the frame, before finally settling on Thomas. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
"So," Thomas began, desperate to fill the void. "You, uh… know Evelyn from…?"
Marcus pulled a small, tightly rolled joint from his pocket. "Mutual friend," he said vaguely, his eyes already drifting back towards the kitchen where Evelyn was clinking glasses. He didn’t elaborate. He lit the joint with a cheap plastic lighter, took a deep drag, held it, then exhaled a plume of fragrant smoke towards the ceiling. "Want some?" he offered, holding the joint out towards Thomas without much conviction.
Thomas hesitated. He rarely smoked, and the tension coiling inside him screamed against it. But refusing felt weak, like conceding territory. "Sure," he mumbled, taking the joint. The paper was damp from Marcus’s lips. He took a cautious pull. The smoke was harsh, thick, and instantly potent. It burned his throat, flooding his lungs with an earthy, skunky scent far stronger than anything he’d experienced before. He coughed, his eyes watering.
Marcus chuckled again, taking the joint back. "Strong shit," he confirmed, taking another deep drag.
Evelyn returned carrying three tumblers sloshing with amber liquid. She handed one to Marcus, her fingers brushing his. "Scotch. Neat." She handed another to Thomas, her eyes meeting his briefly. They held a strange mixture of apology and excitement. She kept the third glass for herself.
Marcus raised his glass. "To new experiences," he said, his eyes locked on Evelyn. He clinked his glass hard against hers, then took a large swallow. Evelyn mirrored him, draining half her glass in one go. Thomas took a small sip, the smoky burn of the scotch mingling unpleasantly with the lingering weed smoke in his throat. The potent combination was already making his head feel light, detached. The conspiracy podcast host’s voice seemed to warp, becoming distant and distorted.
Marcus took another deep drag from the joint, held it, then passed it to Evelyn. She took it eagerly, inhaling deeply, closing her eyes as the smoke filled her lungs. When she exhaled, it was a slow, deliberate stream aimed towards Marcus’s face. He grinned, leaning closer. Thomas watched, feeling increasingly like a ghost in his own living room. The weed’s effect intensified rapidly for him – paranoia prickled at the edges of his vision. Shadows seemed to deepen; the posters on the wall felt accusatory. Marcus’s sheer physicality became oppressive, threatening. Every glance Marcus gave Evelyn felt like a violation Thomas was powerless to stop.
For Evelyn, however, the effect was the opposite. The scotch and the potent weed melted her earlier tension. Her movements became looser, more languid. A lazy, sensual smile played on her lips. She giggled softly at something Marcus murmured, leaning closer to him. Her nakedness seemed less defiant now, more an invitation. She took another long drag from the joint Marcus offered her, her eyes half-lidded, smoky.
Marcus finished his scotch in one gulp, setting the glass down on the coffee table with a decisive clunk. His gaze, heavy-lidded but intensely focused, never left Evelyn. He took the joint from her fingers and stubbed it out beside his glass. The silence that followed was charged, thick with intent. Evelyn swayed slightly, her breathing audible now, shallow and quick.
Marcus reached out, not roughly, but with undeniable command. His large hand cupped the back of Evelyn’s neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin below her ear. She shivered, a full-body tremor that made her nipples peak visibly. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Been thinkin' 'bout this mouth all day," Marcus rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that vibrated through the room. His other hand slid down her arm, then settled firmly on her hip. "Since you called." He pulled her gently but insistently towards him.
Evelyn offered no resistance. She flowed into his space, her body aligning with his taller frame. Her hands came up, resting lightly on his chest. "Yeah?" she breathed, the word thick with anticipation.
"Yeah," Marcus confirmed. His grip on her neck tightened slightly, guiding her downwards. "Get on your knees, beautiful. Show me what that pretty mouth can do."
Thomas’s breath hitched. The paranoia spiked, warring with a horrifying, voyeuristic fascination. He saw Evelyn hesitate for a fraction of a second – a flicker of something in her eyes – before it vanished, replaced by pure, wanton submission. She sank gracefully to her knees on the hardwood floor in front of Marcus, her head tilted back to look up at him. The dim light caught the sheen of arousal still glistening between her thighs.
Marcus undid his jeans with practiced ease. The button popped, the zipper rasped down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His cock sprang free, already thick and engorged, jutting out aggressively. It wasn't monstrous like the pornographic images, but it was undeniably impressive – thick, dark, veined, the head swollen and flushed a deep purple. The musky scent of male arousal bloomed instantly in the air, mingling with the weed and scotch.
Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting in a soft ‘O’ of awe. A low moan escaped her throat. "Fuck, Marcus," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You’re huge."
Marcus grinned, a predator satisfied. He wrapped his fist around the base of his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke. A bead of clear pre-cum welled at the tip. "All yours tonight, baby," he murmured, guiding the thick head towards her waiting lips. "Open wide."
Evelyn obeyed instantly. She opened her mouth, stretching her lips wide. Thomas watched, paralyzed, as Marcus guided the broad, purple head past her lips. Evelyn’s eyes closed again, a shudder running through her. Marcus pushed forward slowly, relentlessly. Evelyn gagged reflexively as the thick shaft filled her mouth, stretching her jaw uncomfortably wide. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"Easy," Marcus murmured, though his voice held no gentleness, only command. "Relax that throat." He pushed deeper. Evelyn gagged again, louder this time, her hands fluttering nervously before settling on his thighs for purchase. Saliva pooled at the corners of her stretched lips. Marcus didn’t stop. He fed her more of his length, inch by thick inch, until her nose was pressed against the coarse hair at his base. Her throat worked convulsively around the intrusion.
Marcus groaned, a deep, resonant sound of pleasure. "That’s it… take it all, you hungry bitch." He held himself deep for a moment, letting her adjust, feeling the tight constriction of her throat. Then, he pulled back slowly, the thick shaft glistening with her saliva. Before Evelyn could gasp for breath, he thrust forward again, harder this time, burying himself to the hilt. Evelyn choked, her body jerking.
Thomas watched, nausea warring with a sickening, undeniable erection straining against his own pants. He saw Evelyn’s tears tracking down her cheeks, saw the strain in her neck, heard the wet, gagging sounds as Marcus began to fuck her face in earnest. Short, brutal thrusts, pulling out just enough to let her gasp before plunging back down her throat. Her hands clutched desperately at Marcus’s thighs, her knuckles white. Drool dripped freely from her chin onto her breasts.
"Yeah… suck that dick," Marcus growled, his hips pistoning. His hand tangled in her hair, controlling her head, forcing her to take his rhythm. "Suck it like you mean it, Evelyn. Like the dirty slut you are." His thrusts became faster, harder. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the room – the obscene slurping, the choked gags, the rhythmic grunts from Marcus. Evelyn’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears and saliva mingling on her face. Her body rocked with each thrust, her breasts swaying.
Marcus looked down at her, his expression one of pure, primal dominance. "Look at me," he commanded.
Evelyn’s eyes flew open, wide and watery, meeting his gaze. He held her look as he slammed deep again, making her gag violently. "See who owns this mouth tonight," he rasped. He pulled her head forward onto his cock, holding her there, buried deep, until she trembled, her breath coming in desperate, whistling gasps through her nose. Then he released her, letting her pull back, coughing and gasping, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening shaft.
"Good girl," Marcus purred, stroking her cheek with a thumb smeared with her spit. "Now get back to work. Daddy wants to feel that throat." He gripped her hair again, guiding her mouth back onto his waiting cock. Evelyn whimpered, a desperate, broken sound, but opened wide, bobbing her head with renewed, frantic energy, taking him deep again and again, the wet, rhythmic sounds of her submission drowning out the world. Thomas stared, trapped in the armchair, the rules echoing uselessly in his stoned, horrified mind.