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Part 17
The strained smile felt permanently etched onto Ben’s face. By Tuesday, he’d lost count of the “concerned” friends and near-strangers who had approached him. A guy from his Econ study group, a woman from the campus coffee shop, even a teaching assistant – each one had a version of the same story, each one watching him with that mix of pity and morbid curiosity.
He finally unloaded it all on Dawn that evening, pacing the length of their living room. “It’s humiliating,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like I’m a walking cuckoldry PSA. Everyone’s checking in on the pathetic husband.”
Dawn was curled on one of the large sofas, looking distracted, her mind seemingly elsewhere. She blinked, focusing on him. “Mmm. Too many witnesses at The Rusty Nail. Leo’s friends, his cousin… it was a crowd. Next time, I’ll go alone. Fewer gossips.”
“That’s your solution? Go be more secretive?” Ben’s laugh was hollow.
“No,” she said, her voice softening as a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. She uncurled herself, standing. “My solution is to make it up to you right now. Look at me.“
He stopped pacing. Her tone commanded it.
“Take off your pants,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that vibrated through him. “And your underwear. Sit.” She pointed to the sofa opposite hers.
A jolt of aching need shot through him, instantly erasing his frustration. He fumbled with his belt, his jeans, his boxers, pushing them down to his ankles. His cock, already responding to her command, thickened against his stomach. He sat on the edge of the cushion, his heart hammering.
Dawn watched him, amused. Slowly, she pulled her soft cotton t-shirt over her head, then reached behind her back. The clasp of her plain white bra gave way with a quiet snap. She let it fall forward off her shoulders, and she shrugged it off, tossing it onto the sofa beside her.
His breath caught in his throat. Her breasts were perfect, high and firm with pale, rosy nipples that were already hardening in the cool air of the apartment. She cupped them gently, her thumbs brushing over her perfect skin. God, just to touch them…
“You can look,” she murmured, “but you can’t touch.” Her hand drifted down her own stomach, slipping under the waistband of her leggings, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. She was touching herself there, he realized, and the thought made him dizzy.
He wrapped his hand around his aching cock, a groan escaping his throat as he began to stroke himself. Precome already beading at his tip before he even started.
“That’s it,” Dawn cooed, watching his fist move on his cock. “Look at my tits. Remember the first time you ever saw them? In your old car, parked by the lake? You were so nervous you almost hyperventilated.” She pinched her own nipple, rolling it between her fingers, and a sharp gasp escaped her. “Sam wasn’t nervous. The night I gave him my virginity. He just… took them. His hands were all over me, greedy. He couldn’t believe his luck, getting to be the first. He still texts me sometimes, you know. Trying to get another taste.”
Ben’s strokes became frantic, his hips bucking into his own hand. The image of Sam, of his hands on Dawn’s perfect body, was a sharp pain of jealousy and arousal.
“And Leo,” she continued, her voice taking on a dreamy quality as her fingers worked rhythmically under her leggings. “God, Leo. He fucks me so well. His cock is… perfect. Thick. He knows exactly how to use it. We text all the time. He sent me a picture of it this morning, hard and waiting for me. I told him how much I wanted to ride it.”
Each word was a punishment and a reward. Ben was spiraling, his vision tunneling until all he could see was her, and the frantic motion of his own hand. The pressure built, a coil tightening unbearably low in his gut.
“And Tom,” she whispered, her eyes glazing over with the memory. “Big, strong Tom with his rough hands. He was so gentle at first, so careful when he took my ass. He warmed me up for so long with his tongue, his fingers… but then… when he finally pushed inside…” She moaned, her head falling back as her own ministrations grew more intense. “It hurt so good. I came screaming his name. He owns a part of me you’ll never know, Ben. A part you’ll never touch.”
That was it. The coil snapped. A cry was ripped from Ben’s throat as his orgasm exploded out of him. Thick streaks of cum painted his stomach and chest, pulsing again and again with the force of his release. He collapsed back against the sofa, spent and trembling, the world slowly swimming back into focus.
Dawn was watching him, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She pulled her hand from her leggings and stood. She walked over to him, her bare breasts swaying gently with each step. She leaned down, and before he could react, she pressed her lips to the sensitive head of his softening cock in a soft kiss.
The touch was electric, a shocking contrast to the filth that had just escaped her lips.
She straightened up, her smile turning sweet, almost innocent. “Come on, my little virgin cuckold,” she said, her voice warm. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, not harshly, but with possessiveness, and gave a gentle tug. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She led him by his cock, naked and compliant, through the living room and into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, adjusting the water until steam began to fog the mirror. Still holding him, she guided him under the warm spray, following him in.
The water cascaded over them, washing the evidence of his pleasure from his skin. She took the soap and began to lather his chest, her hands moving in slow, circular motions, cleaning him with a tenderness that felt worlds away from her previous cruelty. She soaped his arms, his back, and then finally, gently, she took his soft cock in her hands again, washing him there with a care that felt like reverence.
He stood there, passive, letting her tend to him, his mind a whirl with the dichotomy of it all – the humiliation and the devotion, the pain and the unshakable love. She rose on her toes and kissed him, her mouth soft and clean under the water.
“You’re so good for me,” she whispered against his lips, her hand still cradling him. “My perfect, virgin husband.” She kissed him again, deeper this time, and he could feel the faint remnants of her own arousal from when she licked her fingers. The water beat down on them, and for a moment, there was no one else in the world. There was only her cleansing touch, and the devastating love that held him captive.