Page 35 of Deliria

I could be a shit. I could keep this torment up a while longer, but I’ve had my fun and now, so can she.

I tweak her clit one last time with my other hand before slapping it hard enough that she shrieks.

And then I’m circling her, teasing her, giving her my softer side as she sinks back into the mattress, gasping for breath.

I lower my mouth and trace my tongue right between her labia, savouring the taste. There was always something about her, something about her taste that sent me wild. For all herfaults, and my wife has a fair few, she tastes like pure fucking perfection.

She moans out, arching her hips to demand more. Greedy slut.

I suck her clit into my mouth, while I begin working away with my fingers. She’s so damned wet it practically drips down into my palm.

Come wife, do as you’re told. Be a good girl and fucking come.

She moans, she writhes, she acts like she’s never had better oral in her life. My eyes trace the way her breasts heave, the way her face grows more and more flushed.

“Alex…” She cries out, her fists grasping at the sheets like she needs to anchor herself down.

And then I can taste it, I can feel it, the way her walls are clamping around me.

“That’s it,” I say, lifting my head to watch her perform. “Come like the slut you are.”

She kicks out, she jerks, and then she finally slumps into the sheets as her breathing turns ragged.

She reaches out, her hand searching for me and I know what she wants, what she’s after. She wants me to hold her, to wrap my body around hers. To play the doting husband.

Only, I’m not in the mood for that sort of sentimentality. Besides, she got off, didn’t she? She had her fun. What more do I have to do?

I get to my feet and without another word, I grab my clothes and leave her to it.

Scarlett

The chandelier casts a kaleidoscope of light across the room, each shard of brilliance dancing on the walls like spectres of joy. I can’t help but be mesmerized, my gaze fixed on the twinkling display as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

My glass fills my palm with rainbows, while the liquid inside swirls with the promise of oblivion. They’re pretty, so pretty, just like the diamond on my hand—a stone that seems to weigh more with each passing moment.

Alex’s hand finds the small of my back, his touch more like a brand through the thin fabric of my dress. He guides me away from the grandeur of the party, from the chandelier’s hypnotic glow, and into the quieter corridors. The music fades to a distant murmur, replaced by the echo of our footsteps on the marble floor.

The room we enter is dimly lit, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the revelry we’ve left behind. It’s just us, or so I think, until my eyes adjust and I realize we’re not alone.

The board of directors, a conclave of men in tailored suits stand in a semicircle, their expressions unreadable. Then Vincent appears, and they raise their glasses in a toast, but the smiles don’t reach their eyes.

I try to focus on their faces, on the words being said, but it’s as if a fog has descended upon my mind.

Vincent’s voice is muffled, his words indecipherable, lost in the whooshing of blood in my ears. Can anyone else hear this? Is it just me?

I look to Alex for guidance, but his face is a mask of stoicism, betraying nothing.

The room starts to spin, the light above me becoming a blur of colour and shadow. I’m vaguely aware of my straps being gently pushed down my shoulders, the cool air kissing my skin.

A shiver runs down my spine, and panic begins to claw its way up my throat as I lose all sense of control.

Alex’s hands, once a source of comfort, now feel like manacles, trapping me in a reality that’s warping before my eyes.

I want to run, to scream, to fight off the hands that are now wandering over my body.

But my limbs are like lead. And my voice, my voice is a mere whisper in the void.

The room is closing in on me, the faces of the men a grotesque gallery of leering grins and hungry eyes that I can’t escape.

---