DITW 13-10: Heav'n Of Hell (Patreon)

The angle of Kimmy’s jawline, the way it dipped, long eyelash lowered, sultry lips pouting, told him all he needed to know. She watched for him to join her. Wanted him to follow. Expected him to enter. While this seductive glance over a wet-glistening shoulder was an obvious act, there was still truth to her intention. Kimmy had lured him in here, and so what if she did? Kimmy wanted him. He always hoped to be wanted.

But wasn’t it all artifice?

It couldn’t be. If this was only an act, what would Kimmy gain? Only the same man she’d betrayed. If she’d strayed because he’d failed her or left her unfulfilled, why would she return to him? Perhaps Kimmy loved betrayal more than she loved him. Maybe she loved wickedness more than she loved him. Maybe he proved the perfect partner for a woman who adored cruelty.

He prayed that wasn’t true.

Then there was a sharper blade slashed along his psyche’s ripe flesh: perhaps Kimmy wanted them rejoined so she would be the one who performed the final severing.

It wasn’t far-fetched. It wasn’t impossible. And that crushed his heart.

He stepped into the shower as naked as she was and slid the door closed. Kimmy’s head turned more, tracking him.

He said, “Don’t worry. I didn’t bring a chair.”

“We love each other. I don’t think you’d ever hurt me.”

“What if I hurt you the way you hurt me?” Kimmy closed her eyes, nodded her chin down, acknowledging the harm she’d delivered, and he said, “You’re the one throwing chairs.”

The eye opened again, but she didn’t turn to face him and he hated how it made him think she knew how good she looked right now, that this might be her best angle, and how submissive she appeared; a naked and beautiful woman who could never harm a fly.

He held up a hand to block the fine mist scattering into his eyes, the shower water splashing off his wife’s tangled black hair that hung down her slender back. He dropped the hand to block out the view of her seductive mouth, to free himself from whatever hold she had on him. But that only brought attention lower, to her skinny waist, to her pert cheeks and her long legs, all glistening wet flesh. Between his legs his cock stood upright, eager for satisfaction. He’d suffered a long time today. Endured the gravest sexual macabre. He’d watched his most feared and most depraved fantasy come to life, and he hated it. But he wasn’t sure if it was hate at all. Kimmy was right in so many ways. What had ruined the show for him was Kimmy’s betrayal. Her lies. Witnessing the act, however, riled him in incomprehensible revolutions, twisting his most masculine core until it shed liquid lust. Hate and fury and desire and lust all at once. There were astounding moments.

His slippery front pressed her slippery back. His hands glided down her arms and circled her wrists. He brought her arms overhead and leaned into her until her cheek pressed the tiled wall under the shower-head. The spray cascaded down his back now and soaked his hair.

He said, “You don’t love me, you only love yourself.”

The belly of his throbbing cock found the seam between her cheeks and slipped between. The feeling was wild paradise. His cock swelled harder, flexing against the plush constraint of his wife’s lubricious ass.

“And you hate me,” she said.

“I only wish I did. I don’t even know how to feel anymore. No one’s ever hurt me like you just did.”

Kimmy grunted, and he was sure it wasn’t with a wounding or a sadness; he swore the sound came with an exasperation, like her husband was playing the same tired song again. But not a song, more like an article of faith. Anger rose once more, and he gritted his teeth. His hard cock-belly pressed into her slippery seam with greater force.

Kimmy said, “I’ll tell you a million times if you need it, Josh, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

He lifted her hands higher, pinned them harder to the bathroom tile. “You just didn’t care.”

That was something she didn’t argue. This statement she allowed to pass without a noted assessment. So he continued.

“You just wanted to get what you wanted, and you didn’t care about me at all.”

“I cared about you, Josh. Don’t make up things that aren’t true.”

“That’s your fucking job, right?” He dipped at the knees, his body wanting to brutalize her more than his mind did; wanting to degrade her, wanting to pull down her fancy attire and show her all she was worth underneath wasn’t much at all. His cock slipped along her crack like a card in a credit machine, drawing down until the point of his erection dropped between her legs. Then he rose, his cock head looking for a weakness in her armor, looking to sink inside her softness, to impale her with the sword she’d forged with her lies and manipulation. She’d honed his kink, tempered it on a forge burning with her white-hot wickedness.

Kimmy’s anus was tight, unyielding. But she didn’t struggle. She held still and allowed him to sink inside her, his cock wet with shower water.

“Ah, careful,” she warned him. He didn’t even want to be careful.

His cock squeaked and slipped, getting deeper inside her. “Did he ever fuck your ass?”

“Oh, Josh, don’t—you’re disgusting.”

“Disgusting because I want to know? He did, didn’t he? You’re so fucking rotten.”

Kimmy gasped again, the softest, sexiest sound he could imagine. A provocative mixture of impetus: his own dirty intrusion into her ass, combined with her recollection of when Devlin had done it to her. That’s what he believed. More anger rolled now. Devlin had fucked Kimmy’s ass. Kimmy had allowed it behind her husband’s back. Kimmy lied and lied and lied. And for what? So she could get an illicit fucking with a big tall man packed with muscle? A handsome asshole with a giant dick? . . . He squeezed her skinny wrists like he wanted to break them and pushed himself deeper inside her. “Are you thinking of it now? Are you thinking of him?”

“No,” Kimmy said, pinned to the wall and letting her husband take out the frustration she’d loaded on him in over-laden heavy haulage. Something she and her transport-biz lover had to work out together, determine the logistics of how poor Josh could manage such tonnage without breaking an axle.

“He fucked your ass?”

She nodded, her lips parted, eyes closed. He was sure she was thinking how much better Devlin Stone had fucked her ass. How much better Devlin could do it, with his big hands and his black eyes and his horse cock. Hate and pure bile-inducing disgust swelled his cock even harder. Brought a muscular surge beginning somewhere near his asshole. He thrusted deep into her. Drew back and did it again, this time holding it, impaling her with every inch, lifting her onto her toes. Her hands went to fists and her wrists twisted in his grip. He held them firm.

“God, I fucking hate you so much,” he growled.

She whimpered, but stayed resilient, answering, “No, you don’t.”

And he didn’t. He should. And holy shit did he want to. He wanted to take all of her stupid expensive clothes, throw them out the window, take her shit, any single fucking thing that reminded him of her, and break it over his knee. He wanted to shout and scream and he wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt him. But he couldn’t do that. He’d never harm her. And she didn’t love him from the same angle he loved her. So how the hell could he give the same hurt back to her? Fuck her bully? Fuck Amy behind her back? That sounded like more harm to him than to Kimmy. He had nothing. Nothing but suffering. It would be so easy to let go, let his grip on this cliff-side precipice release, find freedom splattered on the ground below...

He let his tight grip loosen but still held her wrists, his thumb caressing her skin, wanting to kiss her neck, to nuzzle his mouth and nose under her ear, feel her wet hair on his cheek. He wanted to make love to her. To win her back. Like a chump. Like a goddamn fucking chump. She was a bitch who spread her legs for his sworn enemy. Lied to his face. Made him believe they were in this together, made him believe it was all for him. Acted like the novice, an uninitiated saint trying to comprehend her husband’s ill-shaped kink as he struggled to explain whatever it was he wanted. Putting it in his head so she could get fucked better. Luring, leading, coaxing, nourishing and nurturing the sin that beat in her heart, getting her dumb husband to ask her to do the very thing she was already doing behind his back. A fucking cunt. An evil, despicable whore.

He withdrew and then pushed himself in deeper, making Kimmy wince and whimper, then closing his eyes tight, growling, hating himself more than he hated her right now. Or at least should. Wishing none of this had happened, that they could be transported back in time. That this was all a dream, that he was still inside the tent outside of Tiffany’s cottage, and he was still drunk, and soon he’d wake, taught the lessons of some ghost of summer future.

He let her wrists go, rested his forehead on the crown of her skull, lovely warm water running his back. “I hate you so much, Kimmy. I hate you so fucking much,” he said, now grabbing her little breasts and squeezing them. Her nipples were swollen against his palm.

Her slick hands went over the backs of his and she angled her ass so he could fuck it. The act was lurid and he couldn’t stop the cannon-blast thought that she’d shared herself like this with Devlin. Done it behind his back.

His mouth supped the water draining from her black hair. His teeth raked her back; he bit at her collar and her neck. “Did he do it?” he bit and grunted, eyes squeezed shut again. “Did he fuck your ass?”

She gasped, “Yeah,” and he hated the instant click of hydraulic turnout switches in his ears, two enormous railway tracks heading different directions lining up again, ready to send their loaded freight train to the registered destination.

His hips propelled against her rump in an exquisite dance of rolling and dropping and swiveling, his wife’s cheeks patting against his drive, her ass gripping his cock tight.

He asked her where, and Kimmy hesitated, but she panted with his thrusts, her head rolling on her long neck, her nails scratching his hands. “Cayman,” she admitted at last, uttering the lone word in a single breathy syllable.

“He fucked your ass in his hotel room while I waited?” His voice was tinged with rage and yet there was something electrical humming along the surface of his brain, a storm surging over thirsty sunbaked farmland.

“The lawyer’s,” she gasped now, and his mind reeled. There was so much he didn’t know that was his to hear. He demanded it. She was his wife, and this information was his. He deserved the truth. But the revelations aroused him through the celestial light bathing his wife’s wickedness. The impossible duality of Kimmy’s claim: she betrayed him because she loved him.

It was too much to assimilate, the particles too large for the finer mesh today’s escapade had inserted into his basket. His thrusts stopped, his interstate clogged with traffic, ears ringing, shower water splashing off his forehead. Kimmy wouldn’t let him retreat, keeping his cock imbedded in her ass by holding onto his wrists now, keeping him locked in place like they were rutting dogs. Her hips shunted back and forth, her ass sucking on his cock. He leaned over her back, resting his forehead between her shoulder blades.

Her rear-thrusting slowed to a more seductive rhythm, and she interlinked their fingers, holding his hands over her chest. She quarter-turned, making sure he would hear her, saying now, “I showed you his true form. Aren’t you going to thank me?”

He scoffed and lifted off her back, his hips taking up her rhythm and meeting her thrusts. He pushed her forward and pinned her front to the tiled wall. “Thank you for that? I watched him fucking shoot his disgusting load all over himself. You’re the fucking devil.”

“I showed you Devlin Stone on his hands and knees, crawling on the floor like a dog. I put that chair in your hands.”

And he pictured it: Devlin in a robe, down on his hands and knees. Man, his heart had hammered in the moment. Lightning had shot through every synapse in his body. He’d never been more sure of his own righteousness in any moment he could remember. He said, “I’m the one who threw it.”

“You threw it, Josh. And then you saw him. That’s who he is. He’s a fucking nobody. It’s you and me. We’re the real people. He’s a nothing. I freed you. I gave you manhood.”