Bent Backwards Ch. 02

Ch 2 Purgatory

I'm living in hell now, and not only that, this hell, is one of my own volition.

My careful, deliberate actions have landed me here. I wake up each night, sweating and shaking, dazed from the strength of the feverish dreams that disturb me. Dreams of his face, his eyes wide in surprise. Dreams of his body, the way his chest looked, as I lifted his shirt. Dreams of his back, arching and clenching. Dreams of his dick, his balls and his ass, waking me rudely. Snatching me from sleep. Rousing my body in a series of merciless, myoclonic jerks.

I'm astounded by what happened. At what I did. I'm appalled that I've cheated on Liza. I've never cheated on anyone before, much less on someone like her. I'm filled with crushing shame. I have no idea what to do.

Where do you start when you've done something like this?

Do I tell her?

Hmm, says Common Sense, I'd think that one through. This is not just cheating, it's cheating with Oliver. A man. Do you really want this to define you? And what about him? Do you think he wants people to know?

It only happened once, I rationalise. It's never, ever going to happen again, so what's the point in hurting the woman I love? Throwing my future away? For what?

No, I think. Time to batten down the hatches. Get myself together.

Admittedly, I need to work on building a new, stronger little box to put Oliver in. I need to close the lid, lock it tightly and never, ever see him again. So that's the plan. Easy to follow. Foolproof, really.

Except for one thing: My Dick.

My Dick, which has never been the sharpest tool in the tool-shed, has rather a lot to say about Oliver.

Call him, it says in the night, call him and fuck him.

Call him, it says in the day, every minute I find myself alone, call him and fuck him and fuck him.

My Dick's voice is loud, easily drowning Common Sense out. I find myself with my hand in my pants far more often than usual, desperately trying to shut My Dick up.

It will pass, I think anxiously, just keep your head down.

Far from helping, the passage of time is making things worse. In a moment of weakness, I asked Liza for his number. Now that it's on my phone, I can't stop thinking about it. Looking at it. Checking it, over and over.

Contact: Oliver Kelly.

I must type a dozen messages to him, narrowly coming to my senses before sending, each time. I know I'm losing my grip, I can feel it slipping away, and when Liza arranges a week-end away with Jess, I'm as good as done for. I've lost.

My place tomorrow, 17h30

I stare down at the screen. I've already deleted the text twice, only to type it again.

Once was madness, councils Common Sense, twice is a pattern.

Hit 'Send', says My Dick.

And I do.

*

The waiting was torture. A day has never passed so slowly. My heart is pounding, and I'm finding it hard to breathe, when I finally hear his feet on the stairs. So much so that the first thing I feel when I see him, is relief. Relief that the waiting is over, relief that my chance to make a better decision is behind me, relief that My Dick will soon be content.

Mostly though, it's relief at seeing the sight of his face. He looks ashen and tense, but he's here. Aside from the vast myriad of issues I've had to concern me, this was the worst: did he like what I did to him? Did he want it? I know I pushed him, held him down and coerced him, but did I push him too far?

Despite my behaviour, despite what you might think, I'm not a bad man. Not really, and never like that.

But, he's here and this time will be different. This time I reach for him gently, placing my hand on his chest. I feel his heart pounding.

He wants it too.

I unbutton his shirt slowly, peeling it back, exposing his chest. I run my hands through his flaxen chest hair, feeling my jaw slacken with longing.

Why am I so attracted to him?

His scent floods my senses. Sandalwood and musk, with a strong base note of what I can only assume is pure, unbridled testosterone. That's why, I think. I peel off his shorts, kneeling down to take off his shoes. I run my hands up his legs, warmed by the heat of his skin. That's why, too. I trace my hand over his dick, feeling its rugged, male, hardness through the soft fabric of his boxers.

How many reasons does anyone need?

Since I'm already on my knees, it seems a shame to get up, so I pull down his boxers and stifle a gasp, as his dick bounces up, so hard it slaps his belly lightly, when I set it free. He's looking down at me in mix of apprehension and wonder, as I wrap my hand around him, and bring him carefully down to my mouth. Before the last time, I'd never even seen a boner that didn't belong to me, in real life. Now, here I am, taking one in my mouth. Not only that, but I want it.

My God. No way to describe how much I want it.

It's long and thick and hard and feels dangerously hot to the touch. I suppress a soft moan as I lick him, parting my lips and letting him in. He feels smooth and warm in my mouth, and for some unknown reason, it ignites a terrible passion in me.

I want it.

I want it.

I take as much as I can. He stands still, leaning back against the sofa to steady himself, but I can tell that he's trembling, his taut belly quivering every time he exhales. I sink down on him over and over, relishing the way it feels on my lips. All too soon, he pulls away.

"I'm going to cum." He says, his voice sounding strained.

Don't pull away, I think desperately, you have what I want.

I glance up at him quickly, letting him know it's okay, before sinking down on him and swallowing slowly, not wasting a drop, as he cries out, hips jerking forward.

He's breathing hard and looks a little shaken, as he pulls me to my feet. I graze my cock against his hip. I'm wanting badly.

Badly.

"Bedroom." I growl.

I watch as he walks down the hall. His body is outrageous. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, that languid, effortless way that he moves. Everything about him, a fete of virility.

When we get to the bedroom, he looks a little nervous, uncertain. I pull my t-shirt up and over my head. I see him take me in, his pale eyes darkening slightly. I like the way he's looking at me.

I put my hand on his shoulder and push him down to his knees. He looks up at me as I unbuckle and unzip. I can't read his eyes, but he opens his mouth and starts to work on me. There's something about the heat of his mouth, or maybe it's just the fact that it's his.

His.

I feel my resolve to be a good man, or at the very least, not to be a bad man, start to crumble.

I wind my fingers in his hair, feeling the solidness of his skull in my hands, as I hold him in place. I start thrusting into his mouth. Hard. Deep. I've never fucked anyone like this. He flicks his tongue over my head, trying to buy time.

"That's right, get it wet. Just like that." I say, sounding dirty.

He's doing his best, but I'm pushing hard. He gags slightly, and instead of having mercy. I lock my hands behind his neck and push my dick in his mouth. Deeper.

'Uh huh." I say unsympathetically, as he chokes and comes up for air, "That's right...Get back down on there..."

His eye's flash in anger. I should stop. A good man would stop. But I don't. It feels way too good and besides, I can see him responding. Hardening. Growing. I keep pushing until he pulls away, coughing.

I catch my breath, looking down at him with a cruel little smile, as I say, "Let's give your mouth a little break."

I see a quick flash of fear, as he clambers to his feet. He looks at me expectantly, but I stare him down. I wait for him to make a move. I want him complicit this time. After a tense pause, he crawls on the bed, taking position on all fours.

Seeing him like that makes me light-headed, weak with desire. I want to make it good. I want to drive him wild.

"Did you clean out your ass for me." I ask, teasing a little. He tenses, and clenches his jaw in annoyance, and with more than a little chagrin, he gives me a nod. Oh God. That turns me on hard. The knowledge that he wants this. That he planned and prepared for it.

My mind's moving slowly, My Dick's at the helm now. I lean forward, rubbing my cheek against his. Scraping my teeth across his heavenly ass. I'm hungry. Wanting. Desperate. I start licking. Gently, delicately at first, but it doesn't take long before I'm nose deep.

My fuck, his ass tastes sweet.

He's squirming and moaning, as I lick him and suck him, alternating, until his moans grow desperate and I can see he's struggling to take it. I spread him with slick fingers, shaking in anticipation, as I quickly roll the condom on.

"Is this what you want?" I ask, offering my dick.

He looks away quickly, freezing. Not moving for several long seconds. The tension is unbearable. I bite my lip hard to stop myself from begging. The relief that washes over me is palpable, when he finally gives the smallest hint of a nod.

Oh God.

That nearly undoes me. He wants it too.

I can barely see straight. No way I can wait any longer. I line myself up, stroking him once or twice, before I start thrusting. He gives way easier this time, but his ass still struggles and clenches. I ease into him, drawing a long, anguished cry.

"Oh fuck!" He exclaims, his voice raw and desperate. I moan softly in gratification, everything about him, driving me wild.

I start my work. Back and forth. In and out. Each stroke longer and harder than the one before. He's still struggling to take it, but not as much as the first time.

"Oh fuck," he says again, "ah, please, God."

It's the pleading that does it, I cave, pulling him back, so his back is pressed up against me. We're kneeling together, I wrap my arms around him and hold him as tight as I can. I want every single part of our bodies connected somehow.

We are both moaning. Him and then me. His body is limp, arms flailing at his sides as I slam into him. This time, he's yielded completely. He shudders helplessly, as I flick my thumb gently across his nipples. I reach for his dick with my other hand. It's eye wateringly hard. He moans, as if he's in pain, as I stroke him, bucking and bellowing, as he finally finds his release.

I'm not far behind and my body is so primed, so loaded, I'm almost afraid to let go. I press my face into his meaty, muscled shoulder, licking and biting as I stifle my cry. Even before pleasure hits, I know, if I'm not careful, this time, I'll be the one screaming.

He falls forward onto the bed when I release him and I follow suit. Rolling onto my back, staring up in amazement, as I mumble nonsensically.

"Fuck."

"Shit."

"Holy fuck."

*

Liza gets back late on Sunday afternoon. I'm chilling on the sofa, lost in thought. She's in the kitchen, chopping onions, singing van Morrison slightly off-key. I can't help being amused.

Her long blonde hair is up in a messy bun, strands of hair escaping around her face, softening her strong features. She leans forward, nudging her glasses up against her wrist.

I wince slightly, as she misses a note by a mile, though my lips crack open in a slow, broad grin. I glance up, she's swaying her hips, holding the wooden spoon up like a mic, eye's closed, as she unselfconsciously butchers the song. A low cackle rumbles up from deep in my belly.

I hum the next note, setting the key helpfully. She gives me a look, that quick little side-eye, as I join her in song.

She looks down, blinking slowly, before looking up with a smile.

"No-one likes a show-off." she says.

I shrug a little, though, in truth, I love it when she flatters me like this.

"Don't you get tired of being so good at everything you do?" She asks.

"I'm not good at everything..."

She hoots. "Right." She says, rolling her eyes, "Give me one example of something you aren't good at?"

I pretend to think hard. "Hmm...."

"Asshole." She laughs, shaking her head and swatting me playfully.

"Play something." She says.

"What do you want?"

She thinks for a moment. "Play me."

I strum my guitar, tuning it slightly, before playing G major. She looks up. She might be damned nearly tone deaf, but she knows this chord. It's the first note of the first song I ever wrote for her. She smiles in recognition, brown eyes, going light. Her body moves as I play.

She really is a very attractive woman.

When her eyes meet mine, I can see her intention has shifted. She brings the wooden spoon to her mouth, tasting our dinner, before turning the heat off.

She walks past me, turning back as she gets to the hall, looking over her shoulder, "Are you coming?" She says with a raised brow. I know that look well.

I follow suit quickly. We undress and caress, before lying together. Her body knows mine all too well, the same way I know hers. We buck and we grind. She's riding, hips and breasts thrusting forward. She's one of those girls, who comes hardest when she's on top.

I washed the bedlinen after he left. I left the windows open for ages. But now, more than a day later, in bed with her, all I can smell is the strong scent of him.

I close my eyes and let her rock.

I can't stop myself. I imagine his body, and the way that he moved. The helpless way he leant back, his head arching back against me. The sounds that he made. I reach for the pillow, pulling it to my face. That's where it is - the smell of him. That's where it is. I turn my head towards it, inhaling deeply, over and over, until I spill inside her.

Not cool, says Common Sense.

*

As it turns out, Common Sense was right. Twice is a pattern. Twice quickly gives way to thrice. Before I know it, I've had him more times than I can count. At first, afterwards, I swear to myself that that time, will be the last time.

I swear it, and truly, I mean it.

I mean it.

I mean it, but only for a few days. Then, the call of My Dick becomes too loud, altogether too strong. I'm no match for it.

I hate to say it, but I've started accepting my fate. I don't think I can stop this thing. I feel like a leaf floating in a river, no arms and no legs, spinning, reeling, no way of avoiding the rapids, or even the fall, which I know full well is coming. I know it.

This is going to end badly.

*