DITW 11-4: Two Lips

Once he’d painted her mouth, he admired her, admired his handiwork, his hand on her throat, soft but so big and strong. He tossed the expensive lipstick to the marble behind her. She watched him through narrowed eyes, wishing the way his gaze worked over her didn’t turn her on so much. She closed her eyes, turned her face away from him, leaning back, leaning out of his reach, her butt touching the counter.

With her hands on the counter, she bowed her head, back to Devlin, eyes still closed, thoughts fleeting, mind empty, yet somehow battered with unspoken challenges. So much was wrong. So much was right. And she owned all of them. Wrong and right were her own things. They were things she’d crafted out of nothing with words and actions, and now she pretended to deaden in overwhelm, but the overwhelm was an engine she’d started.

Her eyes opened and she regarded her wedding band. She raised her face to the mirror and looked into her own eyes. Her hair was slicked back and gleaming. Her lips were red and provocative. Devlin had done a good painting, but she would have done better. Her shoulders looked thin but strong. Her neck long and graceful. She stood with her shoulders back and admired her own sexual arousal, her swollen nipples, a shimmer on her skin. Devlin aroused her. A heavy wet sexual feeling sagged between her thighs, hot and aching.

Thumbs slipped under tights and underwear, she smoothed them down and over her hips, baring ass to Devlin, who watched, eyes dark and intent. Down to her knees, then feet stepped out of loafers and now she was naked. Naked in a bathroom in a swank hotel in the city with a masculine man. They would eat fine things, and they would enjoy luxury. At home another man would wait for her return.

Now she faced Devlin. He smiled. When he moved forward she told him no by shaking her head, extending an arm to keep him at bay. “Take off your jacket.”

Devlin remained where he was, like an invisible wall stood between them, two former lovers meeting through prison partition. He removed his suit jacket, slinging it to the tub edge, standing in pale blue shirt and dark tie, silk braces with leather straps buttoned into pants.

“Tie off. Unbutton,” she said. And as he complied, she faced the mirror again, taking up a black hairbrush and running it through her hair in meaningful strokes, tidying looser locks wanting to tumble from her fine hairline and touch her face. In the mirror, over her shoulder, Devlin went topless, round shoulder muscles rippling as he lay the other items over the suit jacket, turning now, broad chest, hairy and masculine, silk bracers hanging down his thighs. Man of dreams and man of nightmares. But both states summoned. States of quantum effect big-banged in a timid mind that sometimes flexed strong and agile.

She sat on the padded gray stool, fingers curled over the edge, legs wide, heels on lower steel ring. “Touch your chest.”

A broad smile spread on his devilish face, a man who adored corruption. She watched large hand she admired stroke through chest fur, grab muscle, sweep down to abdomen. He was strong, arms thick and bulged with muscle. The shape of his huge organ pressed out the fabric of his pants. He unbuttoned and unzipped, and she humped her pussy against the backs of her wrists, feeling the spread of wet. Devlin sat on the tub’s edge with his pants down his thighs, his large penis engorged but not erect, bowed like a boomerang, the head resting on a thigh.

At the sight of his implement her breath deepened and her skin prickled. Devlin’s endowment was an incredible thing. It did things to her she never knew. It touched into deep pockets of forbidden pleasure. It stretched, it pummeled; pain and pleasure as one thing. Payload. A deep payload she craved.

She said, “Get it hard.”

Devlin made a small sound in his throat like sound of protest, but complied. Devlin didn’t like instruction, even when directing what he already desired. He hefted his heavy meat and stroked. It bowed and waggled but not for long. It went straight and thick. She pleasured herself, both of them touching themselves while admiring the other. Devlin’s big balls swayed and jostled with his movements. She loved watching them. Loved watching his penis transform, loved its astounding sexual power.

Then he stopped and let his cock stand upright, the size outrageous, slumping to one side under its own weight. He watched her hump her wrists, rocking on the chair like a long-limbed gargoyle, but flesh and blood.

He wanted to fuck. She wanted to fuck.

But she wouldn’t.

So she slipped off the stool, standing over him, very close. She looked at his cock. It had looked good in his hand, but it looked better in hers. The juxtaposition of slender feminine and burly masculine satisfying, galvanizing. It also disgusted her. Devlin was a pig.

She said, “Finish.”

He looked at her, mind forming a response, some thing that would put her in the place he wanted her, but knew he’d accomplished a lot today and didn’t want to be pushed further back. Devlin had many wants. He took his cock in hand again and stroked. Did it like a show for her, trying to turn her on. And it did. A man in expensive suit, tall, foreboding, wealthy, muscles and horse cock, equaled perfection. The hardness she provoked was perfection.

But she left him to it, wandered out of the bathroom naked, gel-wet hair on her collar. Devlin jerked off while she examined the clothes he’d provided. Black Dolce & Gabbana suit. Size zero. Instead of separate undergarments, a sheer stretch-lace bodysuit with a thong back. Black poplin shirt with point collar. Made in Italy.

Devlin ejaculated. Chuffing breath and male grunts. She turned to the bathroom, see-through bodysuit in hands, and regarded him, bowed over, legs wide, braces hanging down the marble tub. His come spattered the marble floor, pearls and ivory and jade on black. He was catching breath, his hair out of its comb-back, one lock dangling on tanned brow. She wanted to fuck.

She stepped into the sheer bodysuit, loving expensive fabric on her skin. Pulled embroidered shoulder straps onto shoulders, tugged thong string in place, adjusted hips. Devlin stood, brown elephant trunk hanging out of dark suit fly. He stepped around male evidence on marble and came to pocket door threshold. “You’re dressing?”

“There’s no meeting with Benny.”

“Next Tuesday.”

She stood straight and looked around the room, out into the suite’s entrance and sitting room. Let Devlin see her body under the lace, nipples showing, still hard. “Same place?”

“Same place,” he said, looking down behind her. “Same bed.”

She ignored him and faced the bed, looking at the clothing again, and wanting her feet in those shoes.

“I want to touch you.”

She said, “No.”

“I’m going to touch your back.”

“No.”

“I already came. What’s the harm?”

She told him to go ahead if he had to, unbuttoning the Italian shirt.

Devlin close behind her, body warm. His hand on her back, huge, above top trim of bodysuit, big enough to touch both shoulders. Strong. So strong. She held her breath. Shivered. Got the shirt open and shook it out.

His voice low and stone: “I want you back.”

She put on the shirt, soft cotton sliding on skin, buttoned it right to throat. Devlin’s hand off her skin. His naked cock touched her naked thigh, below scoop of tailored shirt. Skin hot and gummy. She looked down, saw its color against her color; tawny versus red-brown.

She said, “I’m going home.”

“You don’t have to. You can stay.”

She said, “Rub it on my leg.”

Short pause while Devlin determined her meaning. Then he held his half-hard cock and rubbed it up and down her leg in slow swipes, leaving her skin hot and tingling where his cock flesh touched. He rubbed his spongy flesh on her thigh, then up the back. Too high. Too close. Her stomach lit up like fireflies in the night and she swayed. Intense desire sought to burn a hole in her new lace undergarment. She almost fell to bed, but cleared her thoughts.

“Squeeze it,” she said. “Squeeze it on me.”

Another pause. Then Devlin squeezed just below his massive cock head, thumb pad indenting his shaft topside. A spool of silvery come-thread dangled from his urethra and she moved her thigh outward, wanting his semen on her skin. Wanting his wet, his hot seed. Devlin’s breath trembled. She was bad. Evil. Dirty. He stroked his big member—growing hard and larger again—through his wet, spreading his seed across the flawless plain of her skin.

She leaned forward while he stroked his cock on her and removed the suit pants from the hanger. “That’s enough,” she said. “Step back.”

Devlin complied, cock swinging before he stuffed it back in his pants and slung the braces over his bare chest and shoulders, fly open. She stepped into the pants and brought them up to her waist, clipped and zipped, shirt tucked in. Devlin watched her work, admiring her. He flashed a smile and raised one mean eyebrow. “The viper sheds its skin.” He looked back to the bathroom where the clothes she’d worn in to the suite lay in unkempt heaps on the marble floor. “I think I came on your old suit.”

She faced him, working her hands behind and above her head, arranging a tight bun. Face showed no expression.

He said, “You’re going home?”

“Home. Home to my husband.”

“Do you think I’m jealous of him?”

“No.”

“I’m happy you’re going home to him.”

“Good.”

“This is what I want.” His eyes went up and down her, liking what he saw. Kimmy Chang. His white-man’s exotic dragon lady. A possession.

“Trapping,” she said. “You want display.”

“You know you’re more than that. I say it every day. If you looked like this and had trouble with long division, you wouldn’t be in this room right now.”

“Lucky me,” she said, and slipped on the black jacket. She turned and sat on the be, passed both shoes to Devlin. “Help me.”

He took them, happy to have a task, getting close, taking her ankle and lifting her bare foot. He slipped the shoe on. Razor thin straps, barely a platform, just a wafer of leather, no toe cap. Her bare toes showing. She should get another pedicure. She resisted strong urges to put her other bare foot against the column of hanging meat in his pant leg.

Both shoes on she crossed one leg over the other. She eyed Devlin, devoid of emotion. “You’re struggling to establish an acknowledgment of my great value, as you’re framing it. What hurt the most when you fucked me over was crashing everything I thought I meant to you. You pulled the rug out from under me. I’ll never trust you again.”

“You will,” he said, not begging, not pleading, just a simple statement of fact. “It will take some time, but when you see I’m right, you’ll change your opinion.”

“I told you not to do it.”

“I was tired of waiting for you to do it.”

“I don’t want to talk in circles like this anymore, Devlin. I just want to work. I just want to make money. Are you happy I played dress-up?”

He raised his chin, standing over her while she sat. “That’s not a costume, Kimmy. And I didn’t ask you to wear them.”

She nodded, stayed silent a moment. “I love Josh. You’re not going to change how I feel. And before you say anything else, say how he wants this: Stop. Don’t say it. I’m tired of the reactionary diatribe, tired of the patriarchal bull shit.”

His mouth slimmed, eyes narrow. “Women created the Patriarchy to protect themselves, to give men the tasks that serve women better, and to puff men up, leave them to the pomp and vainglory they revel in. They just forgot to tell their daughters. Then the commies got a hold of them in the colleges and burned their faith in all the best books.”

She raised her chin, narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?”

“Men do things for women,” he said, emphasizing each word. “Do you know how much I risked on you? Everything. That’s how much I wanted you. Don’t shrink from me. Don’t show up for work like that bureaucrat. I don’t have you here to fuck you. I have you here because I want you here. I need you here. Commit yourself to me.”

She sighed before she stood, and in the heels she stood almost level with Devlin. She felt renewed. Felt vibrant. Devlin demanded she return to her former statuesque command, but it had been toppled. She’d been on the floor like Venus de Milo unable to stand with no arms attached to lift her body from the floor.

She disregarded his male beauty, his strong chest, his large shoulders. Kept her eyes on his. “I’m committed to Stone,” she said. “The brokerage.”

“And you’re returned to me? Returned in spirit?”

“You have a dress code?”

“I do.”

“And our fling?”

He sneered. “That was for you.”

She chuckled. “And here I thought you missed me.”

They both smiled and stared at each other, enjoying the moment, knowing there was much between them they pretended meant nothing. She hated smiling at him but couldn’t help it. And hated the effect of his smile. It would take one second to fall into bed with him, suck that huge cock, open her legs and let Devlin drive her into an orgasm at breakneck speed. But she would lose it all if she did, and she would be careful from now on.

Their eyes disconnected and right away it was like the buzz of some electric appliance stilling after pulling the plug. The room was tomb quiet. She left and Devlin followed her to the suite door.

She looked beyond him, back to the sitting room. “We’ll be here next week?”

“We will. And you’ll be Kimmy Chang?”

She shook her head, admonishing him for his childish mind games. “I’ll see you, Devlin,” she said, and opened the door, headed to the elevator.

Behind her, Devlin said, “Say hi to Josh for me, Kimmy.”