DITW 12-15: The Wakeful Bird Sings Darkling

Sex was the penitence and her humiliation under Devlin could be her salvation.

Did Devlin offer humiliation as a kindness?

Her jaw remained slack as Devlin’s overripe cock head ran in and out of her mouth. Devlin pumped an unending stream of his salty seminal fluid. This act excited her ill-advised lover more than anything she’d witnessed before. Devlin loved Josh’s eyes on him in a lurid homoerotic way. And it was reciprocated. Josh loved watching it. Hated Devlin, but loved the size of his enemy’s cock. Coveted it. So much so, he wanted to endure this spectacle of his beloved wife sucking it, riding it, worshiping it. And that’s all it was when you got down to it; both of them suppressed some sort of deep-seated size kink. The unreal size of Devlin’s manhood—his one redeeming feature—got them both hot and bothered and sent them out of their goddamned minds. Devlin was a tool, and both Josh and she had utilized him in selfish regard; her with wanton betrayal and Josh with passive allowance. Inch by inch, day by day, pacifying and ameliorating and mitigating, swallowing (and suffering) her easy lies until this moment right now of Josh’s offered grace, where he bore sweaty, eager witness to the very thing he’d always wanted but hadn’t the courage to request, watching with exquisite, excruciating torment as his darkest dread fantasies came to life, his inert wife’s mouth getting fucked by the well-hung man who’d probably framed his peripubescent masculinity and set it in an unintended trajectory.

It was Amy who’d done it; set this terrible thing in motion. Whispered in her ear, made fun of Josh’s smaller penis when he’d been piss-drunk, literally urinating with his wife’s manual aid while Amy persevered, determined to take a peek at Josh’s endowment even though she’d struggled to conceal it. Saying, oh, poor Kimmy, you missed your chance. Meaning the night she’d fled from a prospective threesome with Amy and Devlin. She wasn’t that girl. Not then. She’d fled that night like a timid mouse, and cursed herself over it, over the shame, over the humiliation. Not the missing out. She didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to find the courage. Her mother was dying of cancer, and the girl she’d thought a friend used her to make herself appear superior in Devlin’s eyes. Who would have invited skinny Kim Chang—she of the good grades and multiple extracurriculars—for a threesome? Only a cruel human. Cruel in the way only women can assemble.

And Josh had his own version of Amy. Perhaps a malevolent greater by a magnitude. What did Devlin whisper in her husband’s ear when her back was turned?

The room—her reality—was dark to her, the tie she’d bought for Josh blocking her vision. It occurred to her Josh may have left. Devlin wouldn’t stop. Devlin would keep fucking her mouth while Josh drove home to Ajax in tears, later Devlin convincing her it was still part of his plan, that Josh fleeing only sunk Josh deeper into their game.

When Devlin guided her shoulder to roll her over, his wet cock fell from her mouth. Now on her back, she licked her lips, sensing Devlin straddling her chest, not yet done putting his cock in her mouth.

She gasped for breath, then panting, asked Devlin, “Is he still here?” Using the purposeful distancing of the third person to appeal to her husband’s dark kink.

Devlin growled an affirmative uh-huh in his throat, then dropped the heavy weight of his engorged organ on her mouth, running it north over her nose, brow, and forehead. His balls rested against the space between the point of her chin and the angle where her throat began.

Devlin’s cock ran back and forth over her face a few times, his scrotum batting her chin, then he brought the point to her mouth and pressed its plumpness against her lips. She opened her mouth and ran out her tongue. Devlin slithered the cloven underside of his cock head over it in delightful slick swirls, saying, “Let her know you’re here, Josh.”

Near her side, Josh repeated the monotone mantra: “I’m here.”

“Don’t worry, Kimmy,” Devlin said. “He likes it. Your hubby is riveted. Are you hard as a rock, Josh? . . . I bet you’re fucking rock hard. Your wife is so fucking sexy.”

She played along, craning her neck to angle his cock right inside her mouth, holding the head against her palate and sucking hard enough to produce a loud, wet flatulence.

Devlin said, “Kimmy sucks cock so good, Josh. So fucking good.”

She popped his cock head out of her mouth and ran her tongue under his shaft. Devlin humped it over her bathing tongue, the strokes becoming protracted until he’d dragged his scrotum over her chin and the significant weight of his balls crossed her lips. She mouthed them, tongued them, moaning, pulling one past her lips.

“Kimmy loves my balls. Suck my balls, Kimmy. Fuck, that feels so good.”

And it felt good to suck them. Felt good to perform. There was enormous liberation in her penitence. She would suck Devlin’s balls. Suck his cock. Do it all the way Josh wanted her to do it. Do it as confession. A wordless avowal of her sins, a supplication before her husband, an amende honorable, a begging of pardon. In the future, their whims would always intertwine; no more betrayal, even when betrayal promised to amplify the arousal.

Devlin’s balls felt so good in her mouth. The man might be shallow and detestable, but in bed there could be no other passion of such measure. His balls were large and sexualized, ovate factories of glorious semen that propelled massive ropes of his male power. He’d come on her stomach, her chest, her face, her legs; he’d come into the crotch of her panties. He’d come in her grip, he’d shot his loads all over the Toronto apartment. . . . He’d come inside her so many times. And she would make him come today, and Josh would watch her do it.

“That’s it, nose to tail,” Devlin said, drawing his hips back and sliding his cock along her tongue. She sucked on his cock head.

Devlin said, “Hey, Josh. Your turn now,” and decamped, abandoning her on the bed, his moving weight jostling her, still blindfolded, arms in awkward restraint underneath her. The vulnerability was perfection.

Josh’s timid voice: “What do you mean?”

Devlin gripped her ankle and tugged her body so it went widdershins, lying across the bed rather than up and down. Her crotch faced where Josh sat, and her legs were open. She didn’t close them.

“Don’t you want to eat that pussy? . . . Look at it. Just like the picture. Look at her dripping.”

Her pussy throbbed under their inspection and she felt that thunderstorm of sexual need pounding her shore. She wanted Devlin’s cock so bad. Needed it.

“I want to watch you lick that up. I want to watch you devour that pussy. Get it soaking wet so I can glide right in.”

The vile language, the disrespect, the locker room subjugation, got her writhing, got her squirming. The tie binding her wrists dug in; her breaths came hot and heavy, and she whispered, “Please, Josh, do what he says.”

“You hear that?” Josh said yeah, and Devlin said, “Get on your knees and prep your wife for me.”

Then came the sound of swishing fabric, her lovely gentle man slipping off the chair, doing what his bully commanded, getting on his knees. Josh’s familiar hands swept her thighs and she flinched as his hands slid northward toward her center of throbbing, aching desire. The thought he would prep her for another man consumed her—and opened another doorway of perversion: what about after? What about when she’d been stretched and filled and her pussy pounded and filled? Would Devlin command Josh to eat her out again? She moaned, and swayed her hips, knowing and hating the truth that it wouldn’t be the first time Josh had Devlin’s semen on his tongue. But would Josh do it when he knew it was there?

Josh’s breath trembled between her thighs. He was shaky and unsure and she loved it. Her hips humped upward, trying to find her husband’s mouth, wanting it right now, worried he would take too long. At last, Josh’s mouth closed on her sex and he worked her in the ways she knew he would. It was Josh. It was her husband. He was now an official participant. He’d been enfolded; his kiss between her thighs was like his signature on a contract. She cried out with a sound of pleasure and joy and release, but it really felt like triumph. This was what she’d craved. Her own fantasies of absolution, ones she’d dreamed but didn’t know how to craft, unfolded now, opened up, like the petal of her flower under her husband’s tongue. Devlin had done the impossible. It was Devlin who’d brought Josh’s proverbial pen to the dotted line.

“Bet you’ve never had her this wet before, Joshy.”

Josh’s tongue worked, but he managed a feeble exhaling negative that vibrated on her labia. She thrust her hips into Josh’s mouth, her core hot as a reactor.

“Kimmy loves cock.”

Now Josh moaned an affirmative, kissing and sucking her sex flesh. And she was wet like never before. It crackled under her husband’s oral ministration. It seeped down below, running through her creases, and she was sure it would stain the bedding.

“Ask her if she loves cock, Josh.”

Josh didn’t do it, murmuring and suckling still.

“Ask her Josh.”

Josh’s tongue slowed and soon pulled away. From between her legs, he asked her, “Do you love cock?”

She moaned and gyrated her hips, wanting his mouth’s return.

“Answer him, Kimmy.”

“Yes-s,” she hissed.

Devlin: “You love big cock, don’t you, Kimmy?”

She still squirmed, humping her pussy up to her husband. “Josh, don’t stop, keep going.”

Josh said, “Do you like it? Kimmy? Do you like . . . big cock?”

She nodded, saying, “Yeah, I do, I do, keep going, please, Josh.”

But Josh didn’t continue and she frowned and whimpered, hating that she couldn’t see him, see his reaction, know what he was thinking. While it gave her license, gave her freedom, it removed so much of her ability to assess.

Devlin said, “You like big cock too, Josh. You know you do.”

Silence. Josh had moved from between her open thighs but he was still close.

“You can suck it if you want.”

“I don’t want to.”

“No judgment, Josh. You got Kimmy ready. You could get me ready, too. Get me nice and wet before I fuck her.”

She panted and fought her restraints. If Josh wanted to suck Devlin’s cock she would deal with it. But if he did, she wanted to see.

Devlin chuckled. “Look at her. She wants to watch you suck my cock. Should we untie her? Take the blindfold away?”

More silence, and she let her head fall back to the mattress, listening.

Devlin said, “It would be sexy if you did. Don’t you think?”

“No.”

“You don’t? . . . Kimmy, do you want to watch?”

She didn;t answer yet, wondering if she should roll over to her front. If she did, she could get the tie off then uncover her eyes. She closed her thighs together, shaking her head, wondering why everything with Devlin had to be like this. Why when everything went so well, Devlin insisted in throwing a stick in the spokes.

Devlin said, “Uh-oh, she’s getting mad. She’s a nasty one when she’s mad.”

She gritted her teeth, flexed her jaw, staring with open eyes into the tie that wrapped them. Was Josh going to do it or not?

But then she frowned, eyelashes fluttering against the tie’s silk.

Look at it. Just like the picture. Look at her dripping.

She said, “What picture?”