DITW 14-2: Inferior Angel

Her pussy was too wet. Why would Kimmy be this wet? 

Were these the kinds of thoughts he would always endure with her from now on? Ones of worry and suspicion? Her pussy teemed with juices; their union was slick and messy and made sounds of liquid flesh sliding and smacking and slurping. 

But fuck it made him hard.

It made him so hard to be inside her right now when she wanted him so badly. When she needed him. Her nails raked his back, and she moaned and writhed as he pumped into her, her knees up at his hips. His cock was like iron thinking of her the way he’d seen her at The Hazelton. Just like she was now, but her guts being reamed by Devlin’s huge cock, her slick little pussy lips clinging to life on Devlin’s massive girth. And that knot in her belly; the head of Devlin’s cock so deep inside of her and making her squirt.

“Oh, Josh,” she moaned. “You’re so hard. You feel so good.”

And that ruined it. That reminded him of the lies that spilled from those other wet lips. Those words of encouragement were lies. Weren’t they? Did he feel good? Could he feel good in comparison? It didn’t seem likely, and that brought the dread again—all the bad that came intertwined with the dark joy in watching her with Devlin. Lies and betrayal; whispered compliments meant to manipulate.

His thrusts slowed, and in response, Kimmy squeezed him tighter, her arms around his neck, her thighs on his hips. Like she was afraid he would flee again and go into hiding. Like a witness protection program for men who’d seen the worst and couldn’t face the consequences of bearing it.

“Josh, don’t stop,” she whispered, her hips humping against his. “I want you to come inside me. Please? I want to feel that.”

He grunted, putting his forehead into the pillows at her collar, feeling his hardness retreating, his cock going flimsy inside her.

She rubbed his back. “Tell me what to do, Josh. I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want anything,” he said, frustrated. Hating now that they were in bed together, that he was that easy a lay, that one look in his wife’s seductive eyes and he was in their bed and giving her what she wanted.

“Dirty stuff, Josh. I’ll say anything. Do you want that? I’ll do that.”

He shook his head, but her urging brought potential whispers in his ears, things he could imagine she would say. Things like how big Devlin’s cock was and how he felt so good how he filled her up like Josh could never do, give her pleasure only a bad man like Devlin Stone could, and how she loved being so bad she would do anything for that pleasure, even betray the man she loved. That’s how much she liked Devlin’s huge cock and balls and the way his come shot a yard into the air in thick ropes of unbelievable volume.

“Oh, that’s it, baby,” she cooed, writhing against him as his cock thundered to full, blood-rushing steel again. He squinted against the embarrassment of it all, the sheer humiliation of the things that turned him on.

“Come inside me, okay?” She said, “Come on, I want you to come.”

And now he was galloping after it, chasing down his eruption, wanting to fill her up with his seed, wanting to get it over with in a sense, wanting the clear-headedness that followed an orgasm. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Can you feel him? Feel him when he comes in you?”

Kimmy grunted, and the sound reminded him of a transmission changing gears, Kimmy knowing they were going for it now and they would be dirty instead of kind and loving. “Oh yeah,” she gasped. “Oh yes, Josh.”

“You fucking feel him? Feel the way he comes? Feel it . . . Squirting in you?”

Kimmy grabbed his ass cheeks, forcing him to fuck her harder, and he knew this was real. This was turning her on. Kimmy loved the debauchery, the wickedness, the sin. That’s what turned her on. They got the bed squeaking, Kimmy panting and gasping, saying, “He fills me up, Josh, I feel it going off inside me, and, oh, ah, he pumps me full of come until it’s, mm, it’s spilling out of my pussy and all over the sheets, and, oh, mm . . .”

Kimmy orgasmed with him, both of their bodies tightening and twisting, both of them uttering gibberish and hissing air, Kimmy’s nails digging into his ass until he thought he was scarred. He pumped her full of come. Whatever he could produce. Little bursts of his mediocre seed, jetting half the depth inside her that her horse-cock lover did. But the pleasure rolled and rumbled and bloomed in his mind and in his heart until he collapsed on her, heaving to catch his breath. Kimmy hugged him.

But the shame filled the vacuum of lust’s absence. He’d pumped all of it into her wet pussy and now he was left with the cold reality of why they were in bed like this and how it all came to be. Tears filled his eyes, and he broke from her clutch, rolling to her side, facing away from her and trying not to sob. Kimmy clung to his back, putting a long thigh over his hip, running her nails on his arm.

“I’m so sorry, Josh. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you so much. You know that.”

He nodded, lips slim, brows bowed in glumness, eyes looking beyond their window and out into the starry night. It was terrible to be in this bed, but it was better than being alone.

“I betrayed you. I know I did. I’m lucky to have you here with me now. I know that. I know it. Are you listening?”

“I don’t want to talk right now,” he said, wanting her silenced. He was pure woman at the moment. Not a man. He was tender and overflowing with emotion, sensitive to touch and to words. He said, “Just stay with me.” Kimmy could say the right thing or the wrong thing in this moment and they would be received the same way. Silence was king. Silence would be king until he’d healed his heart.

Kimmy kissed the back of his neck and held him, saying nothing.

*

Later, maybe after an hour or so, Kimmy shifted behind him and brought him out of a fleeting and fitful slumber. He asked her where she was going.

“Do you want something to eat? Did you have dinner?”

“You made dumplings?”

She caressed his hip.

“You made them for me?” There was the tone of an inquisitor in his voice, and Kimmy heard it.

“You like my dumplings,” she said.

“That’s why you made them.” It was like an accusation; a revelation of how his mind fabricated her methodology, the way he calculated his own wife’s manipulations. But at the end of the sad day, Kimmy had just made him dumplings, and had made them because she knew he liked them. It was him attaching great nefarious weight to the act. Instead of explaining himself or apologizing for his harshness, he turned away again as if he would sleep, eyes open and looking out the window at the almost-black night.

She snuggled against his back, then traced the backs of her nails down his naked hip and thigh, doing it over and over again in a playful way that he still interpreted as manipulative. But what did he have that she wanted? What was it that he had that would make her lie and betray and manipulate her way back into his good grace? Was it his seven-figure bank account? Was it his rock hard body that she loved to caress? Was it his foot long horse cock that touched a trigger point in her pussy so deep it made the clit and the g-spot underwhelming gimcrack-things of commonplace? Devlin had those things, yet it was in Josh Waters’s bed Kimmy mewled and wriggled, looking for comfort. But accepting his own wife’s love had become an albatross, an anchor that weighed him down to the depths with the enormity of self-realization: You’re a simpleton, a rube. A victim. A perpetual victim. The nice guy that let people get their jollies off him as long as they paid him a cheap nicety.

“I would do anything,” she whispered, “to be with you like we were before, be with you just to hear your excitement when I made you something good to eat.”

He closed his eyes, longing for that time to return as well.

She snuggled against his back. She whispered something, and he was sure it was, “We’re a team.”

If only it could be so. If only he could trust her that way.

Then, more clearly, she whispered near his ear, “Do you think we can be like that again?”

His eyes squeezed tight; his jaw clenched. That’s all he wanted. But there was no way to get there.

He said, “You’re pregnant.”

“I am,” she sighed, fingertips still grazing his skin.

Then, so out of the blue he had to repeat it over twice in his own mind before it registered, she said, “I told Devlin it was his.”

His vision pinched into darkness, and he covered his eyes, hunching forward. Kimmy sighed, sensing his reaction, knowing she’d hurt him again. She hugged him tighter, afraid he would pop out of bed. He said, “What? You said what? Why?”

She said, “To hurt him.”

It made no sense, and he scoffed, shaking his head, saying, “What if it’s his?”

“It’s not, Josh. I swear it.”

“You don’t know it.”

“Do you want a DNA test?”

He grunted and pulled free from her arms, sitting up, but not leaving. Kimmy stayed with her head on the pillow next to him, watching him. Their eyes met, and he studied her, trying to comprehend how she had changed, how she had transformed into someone who scared him so much. Where had his other Kimmy gone? 

“I will get you one,” she said. “I will get you one right away if it makes you feel better. I swear it’s ours, Josh.”

He stared and blinked, struggling to remain level at this unbalanced time. “I appreciate how earnest you are. But those are words of, I don’t know, hope or something. Wishes.” He looked away, out at the night. “He came inside you without a condom, didn’t he? Before you were on the pill?”

He heard the sound of her silky hair on the pillow, Kimmy shaking her head no. He looked back at her. “He didn’t?”

She said, “He didn’t come inside me.”

“But did he wear a condom?”

Her mouth opened and closed. Then she said, “No. But we didn’t have real sex.”

His stomach twisted thinking about it. “But he put it inside you?”

She nodded. He groaned and looked away.

Kimmy sat up and touched his arm. “It’s not his, Josh. I know it. I feel it.”

He hung his head, growling into his hands, heart crushed, ears ringing, wondering how he had the resolve to remain in this bed with her. The hotel room had been comfortable. He said, “You can’t feel it. Can’t feel whose it is. What do you think, you’re going to feel devil horns scraping your insides?”

“Don’t be flippant, Josh,” she said. “I know you’re mad. But I know you want this. We can make it all work. I’ll do anything.”

“Except quit your job,” he said into his hands.

She said, “That’s how I’m going to make it work.”