Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth

'Thank you, Jordan,' she said his name with emphasis, as if savouring the rich texture of his consonants and vowels. 'Right now, my husband has some explaining to do. But you and I may talk later, okay?'

He rested his hand against her bare shoulder for a moment. 'I'll look forward to it,' he said, his eyes on her, her eyes on me.

'Now talk,' she said to me. 'How many times did you fuck her?'

'What?' I said.

'How many times did you fuck her?'

I sighed. 'Sarah, what good is this going to do?'

She leaned towards me, her gesture soft, lazy, but her smile all menace.

'You'll tell me because I want to know,' she whispered. 'You'll tell me because you promised to do what it takes. Now talk.'

Across the restaurant Jordan watched, Jordan waited, Jordan boded his time.

I took a long sip of the champagne, already feeling the effects, already experiencing the lightness.

'Okay,' I said, with something like resignation.

'So how many times did you fuck her?'

'I don't know,' I said.

She slid her phone across the table opened to a calculator app.

'You're a smart guy. Do the math.'

I took the phone from the table. I'd fucked Kayla for 6 months. We started fucking a couple of times a week, and then added the weekend. In the end, we'd been fucking four, five times a week. And sometimes more.

Like the afternoon she'd found me in my office, lowered the blinds, crawled under the desk and sucked my cock while I took calls and pretended to clear email. At least until it became too much. I lifted her by her hair, bent her across my desk, and fucked her until she violently came over my cock, my trousers, her skirt, the desk, the carpet. I sent her out into the corridor dishevelled and wearing the stink of what we'd done.

Or the time we couldn't wait, we couldn't wait until the Marriott, and so I fucked her over the hood of my car while the city rumbled and churned all around us.

'Daddy,' she'd said, 'This pussy is for you. This pussy is all for you.'

'Well?' asked Sarah.

I simplified the math and averaged it out to 4 times a week.

'I don't know. Probably a hundred times.'

She watched me, sipped from the glass.

'You fucked 100 times, or you met up to fuck 100 times.'

'I don't understand.'

'What I'm asking is how many times did you fuck her. Not how many times did you meet.'

'Sarah, I don't know.'

She held my eyes, her look inscrutable. Not quite angry, not quite sad, something more, something other, something else entirely. Something that caused my dicklet to twitch, something that caused me to yearn.

She turned away and towards the bar, gestured with a tip of her wrist, and Jordan returned with a fresh bottle. He filled her glass and then mine.

'How many times did you fuck the slut?' she asked again. Jordan was there, right there, uncorking the bottle and pouring the champagne with a still and steady hand.

Across, just by the window, a couple - young, money, fresh - paused, broke off, and looked towards us. The woman pulled her hand away, he held tight. The moment stretched like tissue paper, threatening to tear.

'I'm waiting,' Sarah said, and I could feel myself redden. My cock cramped within the cage. I reached down to adjust. Jordan caught the movement and smirked.

'That'll be all, Jordan,' said Sarah. 'Well, for now, at least.'

Said Sarah.

Her hand against his hip. Her fingers a length away from the tautness of his ass. Her hand just a span from the bulge of his crotch. He was eye level with me now and I could tell that Jordan was packing.

'You need anything,' Jordan said to my wife, 'Just ask.'

Sarah drank and half-drained the glass with a single draw. Then back to me.

'No more fucking around. Do the math'.

I tapped at the calculator.

We started off fucking in the office, but, pretty quickly we moved things to the Marriott where we'd fuck through the afternoon into the evening. Oftentimes we'd fuck twice. Sometimes we'd manage three times. And once I even made it to four.

That was the night Kayla asked me to take her in every hole.

'Daddy, I want you to fill me with your cum,' she'd said, her fingers already sunk deep into her cunt. 'Everywhere, Daddy, I want you to fill me everywhere.'

Ever accommodating, I took her mouth first. She had no problems swallowing my four and half inches, but this time I was rough, this time I was unrelenting, this time I made her work for it.

When I finally finished down her throat, her eyes were smeared with shadow, her lips vivid and swollen, and her tits smeared with cum and fuck-drool.

Next I did her in the cunt, her anguished squeals driving me on and over the edge.

Then her in the ass, I took her on the hotel bathroom floor angling my thrusts to compensate for the shortcomings of my modest length. Shallow fuck strokes, but hard. And I'd cum twice and so I was in no hurry. She groaned, and then she whimpered, and in the end she took it with stifled sobs. But I made her beg for it and, in the end she did. Through sobs she begged for it, 'Daddy, thank you for fucking my ass. Daddy, please breed my ass. Daddy, please give me your cum.' And when I was finally done, I came with a roar.

That was the third and she assumed we were done. We showered, we packed, we were leaving, but there, right there, between the bed and the door, remembering that she'd taken everything and all, her mouth, her cunt, her ass; remembering, I pressed her to her knees and fucked her face again, this time harder than all the times before.

This time I finished nasty, wanting to mark her, wanting to make sure she knew that she was mine. I finished with her hair clumped into my fist, her head twisted back, her eyes wide and wild. And I painted her with it, across her face, her tits, and in her hair.

'Thank you, Daddy.' That's what she said. I shit you not.

And so I sent her out there, just like that, fresh-fucked-meat, slavered with cum, out into the corridor, across the lobby, into the street, staggering, reeking, marked as mine and no one else.

That time I managed four. And that was the last time I saw her. And now this. My dicklet pulsed with need and I could tell, without looking, that I'd leaked through the cage, the panties, and my trousers. If this continued, I knew that I'd end up smearing and staining the seat.

'How many times?' she asked again.

'At a guess, 150 times.'

'What did you do 150 times?' she asked.

'We fucked.'

'You fucked your slut 150 times,' she said, but a little too loud. The couple sat at the table, just by the window, turned again to look. Sarah, hard like flint, held my gaze. The guy by the window leaned into the woman by the window, whispered something, and then laughed.

My heart began to pace.

'And how many times did she suck your tiny dicklet?'

'The same,' I said.

'So you fucked 150 times. And she sucked your tiny cock 150 times.'

'Maybe,' I said, 'Or maybe more.'

And it was true. Kayla loved to suck cock. Kayla loved to take a face fucking. Kayla loved when I fucked her cunt, her arse, and then offered up my spent and wilting cock for her to clean off with her tongue.

And I found myself wondering whether a tongue-bath counted really.

'How much more?' she asked.

'Maybe 200 times. She sucked me off maybe 200 times.'

'She sucked what?' said Sarah.

'Sucked my cock,' I said. Sarah raised her eyebrows and then tapped the champagne glass with her finger nail just once. But it was enough. I understood. 'She sucked my dicklet around 200 times.'

My heart began to canter and blood began to surge and pound in my groin, but with no purpose and no where to go. Just the coldness of steel.

'What else did you do together?' she asked.

'Sarah...' I said.

'Did you fuck her arse?'

'Yes,' I said. 'A few times,' as if the fact it was a few somehow made it better.

'How many times?'

'I don't know. Maybe 40 times, maybe 50?'

'You fucked a 21 year old intern 50 times in the ass? Were it not for that pathetic excuse of a dicklet, the poor girl wouldn't have been able to walk.'

I groaned, pushed at the cage with my palm. Sarah caught it and smiled, but it was a hard smile with meaning that I did not understand.

'And where did you cum?'

'What do you mean?'

'When you fucked her, did you use a condom?'

The moment stretched painfully, like flesh against steel. Sarah signalled again to Jordan. He returned with more champagne and made as if to pop the cork.

'Wait,' Sarah said to him. She turned back to me.

'So, when you were fucking this 21 year old intern, in the mouth and in the cunt and in the arse, did you wear a condom?'

I felt myself flush and shrink, only my cock was solid, throbbing, aching as it swelled against steel.

'No,' I said.

She nodded to Jordan. Jordan popped the cork right on cue.

Jordan, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin, refilled my glass and turned to Sarah, the bottle steady in his hand, the glass steady in her hand.

'And did you ever fuck us both on the same day?' she asked.

And Jordan was still there and at her side, right by her side. Jordan with the ruffle of dirty blonde hair. Jordan of the dimpled cheek. Jordan of the crooked grin. Jordan of swelling cock. I could see it begin to fill and bulge his crotch. And he knew that I could see. And he could feel my wife's eyes on him, watching, savouring, enjoying.

'So, after you fucked your slut, you came home to give me your sloppy seconds?' she asked.

Time stretched long. I knew answer, I knew the answer, and I guessed that she knew the answer to. But I didn't want to say.

'Yes.' I said.

'Fuuuuuck,' said Jordan through a widening grin, 'Nasty.'

And it was. Because I remembered that first time.

I'd fucked Kayla twice that night. Once in the office, and once in toilet of a local bar. She'd followed me into the gents, not giving a shit about the queue of guys waiting for the urinal. She'd pushed me back into the cubicle, the place stinking of piss and stale man-sweat. She shimmied off her knickers, lifted up her skirt, and bent, hands spread against the cubicle door.

'Give it to me good, Daddy. Make sure that they hear, Daddy. Let them know who owns this pussy.'

And so I had, clutching at her hair, arching her back, rough fucking her from a mewling mess into a ruinous thing. After, she mopped at her spoilt cunt with her panties and pushed them into my pocket.

I was done with her and we left the cubicle, four, five guys were gathered around listening, waiting.

'Now you're done with her, can we have a turn?' one of them asked, and Kayla hesitated, as if considering. I'd felt myself grow hard, hard and needy and wondering.

That night I arrived home to find Sarah reading in bed. Sarah of the sensible pajamas. Sarah of the glass of warm milk. Sarah of the early night.

'You're late?' she said, a matter of fact, neither question nor accusation.

I climbed in beside her stinking of Kayla, tasting of Kayla, vibrating with the memory of her. I pulled in close to Sarah.

'It's late,' she said, my hand against her stomach, then reaching for her cunt. 'Really,' she said. She was dry, dry at first. She ran her fingers into my hair, trying to guide me down. But this wasn't about her, this was about me. So instead of tasting, I spat onto her folds and worked it in with my fingers.

'Tom?' she asked, but working her up, working up to something.

And then my cock in my hand, still sticky, still stinking of Kayla and I knowing it. That this was the moment of conjunction where one thing became another and never more to be.

With a groan I eased into Sarah and with a mewl she let me. Thoughts of Kayla, thoughts of Sarah, thoughts of Kayla, thoughts of Sarah. Over and over and round and then around.

I came on the fourth stroke.

After, I half-dozed while Sarah stroked at her pussy with something like embarrassment, with something like shame. Sarah stroked quietly, a whimper, a sigh, then quivering with something like disappointment as she tipped over the edge.

'You smell funny.' She said it later, as I began to slip away.

'Funny how?' I asked.

'I don't know, just funny.'

And now Sarah watching me, reading me, remembering.

'This is some dark shit,' Jordan said with a laugh.

The two of them, Sarah and he together. Her hand behind him stroking at his ass. His arm against the bare of her back and she leaning into it. Jordan against her ear, and then she against his, whispering.

To me.

'Ask for the check, Tom.'

'Can we have the check?' I asked.

'Ab-so-fucking-lute-ly,' he said with a grin.

And then, 'I'll be right back.' But he said that to Sarah, not to me.

Jordan returned with the bill and I settled up.

'Jordan,' Sarah said, 'Walk us out to the car.'

'Of course, Sarah.' And I, wondering where he'd learnt her name and when he'd first thought fit to use it.

We'd parked out back, the carpark was away from the road, ill lit and empty. Out beyond the restaurant, out to the road, traffic rumbled across the asphalt and off onto the ringway.

Out by the car, my wife to me,

'You fucked your slut nearly 400 times.'

'I didn't actually fuck her that...'

'Let's not quibble, Tom. You stuffed your tiny dicklet into one of her dirty fuck holes on nearly 400 occasions.'

I nodded just the once, not daring words. Jordan stood to her side, his face part-shadowed in the street light, but his teeth glistened like a shark.

'So then, you owe me.'

'Owe you what,' I said, stupid, blind, deaf, and dumb.

'You owe me 400 fucks. And I owe you.'

'What?' I asked, the world once again threatening to tip, slow, and then topple.

'I owe you,' she said. 'I owe you sloppy seconds.'

'Sarah, wait,' I said, 'Let's talk... just the two of us.' I said it with something like panic. I said it with something like desperation. I said it with something like exhilaration. And my dicklet began to chub and swell.

'Jordan,' she said, 'Do you think me pretty?'

'Sarah,' I said.

'Shut the fuck up, Tom.' Her voice was hard, her voice was brittle, but her smile was soft. Her smile was for Jordan, not for me.

'You're so fucking hot,' Tom said, his left hand against her cheek and she leaning into it. His right hand pressed against her thigh, his fingers teasing the hem of her dress.

She met him with an open mouth, the wet turn of her tongue against his, and Jordan biting at her lip, distending then releasing. She broke away, sucked at the fat of her lips as if wanted to taste more of him.

'Fuck,' she said, 'I've so missed this.'

Jordan lifted her onto the hood of the car. Out at a distance an engine spluttered, spat, and then roared. Sarah clutched at him from around the neck. She pulled him into her, his neck, his ear, his mouth, the slop of saliva and breathy sighs.

His hands into her dress now, tugging at her knickers, the silk catching at her thighs.

'Fuck it,' Jordan said, and with a single tug ripped them loose.

Sarah shuddered and I stood, silent and stupid, the cage pressing and tugging and forcing my throbbing flesh to conform to the shape and dimensions of confined steel. She shuddered again, the softest of whimpers, and I wondered if, from these preliminary moments, from this alone, whether maybe she had cum.

'Fuck,' said Jordan, not to Sarah, but to me, 'You're wife is so fucking wet. Taste,' he held his fingers out, slicked with her juice, and I took him into my mouth without considering otherwise. And he was right. She was sopping. I pulled at my balls trying to relieve the pressure, trying to find the edge, desperation and need driving all of this to this very moment and no other.

'Oh fuck,' Sarah said, Jordan's hand gathering pace, slapping against her thighs, slapping against her cunt, the sound of it sloppy and nasty.

And Sarah, Sarah fumbling at his belt.

His pants slumped to his boots with a clatter of buckle and keys.

'Oh god,' Sarah said. 'Tom, look at him.'

And I didn't want this, I didn't want to see, but the deeper part, the real part, the very heart of this new me drew closer. She held his cock and he was immense. Fat and thickening, solid and hardening, the length of him long and improbably so.

'Tom, show him.'

'Sarah...'

'You fucking promised, Tom. Whatever it takes, Tom. Now this is what it takes. Show him.'

And she spoke true. I had promised. I had said that I would do whatever it might take. And now I understood that I had intended every word.

I trembled, I flushed, I quivered. My belt loose with an easy tug and I dropped my trousers.

'You're fucking kidding me,' Jordan said, breaking away, his fingers gleaming in the fractured light. 'What a fucking sissy'.

I stood, hands to my side, pink panties darkened with precum. The nubbin of my cock cage twitched and pointed to Sarah.

'Lose the panties,' Sarah said, jacking Jordan's cock with a ferocious eagerness. Jordan rocked into her fist, her wedding ring sparkling against his thick white rigid flesh.

I eased my panties down my legs and stood straight.

Jordan laughed, full and unrestrained. 'What the fuck,' he said, stooping down to see more clearly. 'What is that thing?'

'It's a cage for his tiny dicklet.'

'No,' Jordan said, 'Not the cage, this.' He flicked the slick red tip of my cock that had squeezed through the steel of the cage. I gasped. Jordan snickered again, 'It looks like he's got a fucking clit.'

He turned back to Sarah, his mouth against her mouth, his hands working at her tits, pulling them loose. He bent forward and lapped at her nipple, teased at her nipple, then chewed at her nipple. He sucked at the fleshy flab or her tit and pulled away leaving his mark.

'Fuck,' Sarah said, 'I need that cock right now.'

Jordan stood, shifted his weight, then pushed her dress up and over her hips. And that's when I realised, that's when I truly understood. She'd shaved herself bare. She'd considered this. She'd planned for this.

'Bet she never gets this wet for you,' Jordan said, easing two fingers into her cunt, before adding a third and then frigging her like a mad thing.

'Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh,' she said, squeezed his hand between her thighs and shook for a moment as she came.

Jordan pulled his fingers free and flicked a splatter of slop down onto the tarmac.

'You and your wife are totally fucked up,' he said.

Sarah laughed. 'So, you going fuck me or what?'

'Am I ever,' Jordan said, as he slicked his cock up and down her fuck-slit, teasing, making her wait. Sarah rocked with her hips, Sarah begged, Sarah pleaded.

Jordan grinned and leaned into it, his cock head parting her slick lips.

'Sarah,' I said. 'Condom,' I said.

Jordan hesitated. Sarah bit at her lip.

'Actually, he's right,' she said, reaching for her clasp and rummaging through the contents.

She paused. Her eyes cold against mine.

And then she laughed and Jordan laughed along with her.

'Tiny clit-cock, but check out the balls on this guy,' Jordan said.

Sarah laughed. 'Fuck him,' she said. Then, to Jordan, 'Actually, second thoughts, fuck me.'

Jordan grinned, his hands cupping and then spreading her thighs. Without intervention his cock settled against her cleft. He pushed, Sarah grunted, her labia parted and, hands free, he sank into her wetness.

'Wait, wait,' Sarah said, her hand against his pelvis holding him just so. 'Tom, come and look.'

I hesitated and she took me by the hair and pulled my face down to where his body and her body now joined.

'See,' she said, 'Four and a half inches deep and still so much more to go. Now watch.'

She leaned back and Jordan eased forward, his cock sinking deeper and deeper into her cunt. Sarah groaned, Sarah sighed, Sarah whimpered, and then he was balls deep and tight against her.

'Oh look, Tom. You've never been this deep. It's like he's taken my cherry all over again.'