Page 54 of Devious Delusions

My resolve hardens and I’m content with never opening my mouth again. Disappointment sinks into me as he stops trying to pry my lips open. I should be ecstatic at the prospect of him giving up, but I’ve accepted that I’m fucked up.

He doesn’t remove himself from straddling my chest and lets go of his dick. The gloved hand wraps around my nose and fully cuts off my air, so I’m lightheaded, and the chair wobbles as my body attempts to fight him. Dark spots dance in the edge of my vision and my mouth automatically opens.

I’m not able to choke down air because he pushes into my mouth and groans, “Missed this filthy fucking mouth.”

My knees dig into the edge of the seat as I try to clench my thighs together, making the plastic wrap squeak horribly. His hold on my hair tightens and I rock as he fucks my face by pulling me up with his hold on my hair. He’s huge, and with the combination of having my air temporarily cut off and now the invasion of his dick in my throat, I choke.

“Shut the fuck up. Did you complain to that ungrateful cunt?”

His fingers slap my cheek and he slowly thrusts forward. The clown mask is all I can see while his dick cuts off my air. He’s big and thick, and it doesn’t allow much room for air to pass through the sides. The corners of my lips burn from being stretched.

I swallow around him and breathe through my nose, which is rewarded with the softness returning as he strokes the side of my neck with the back of his knuckles. He doesn’t look away from me and I don’t blink as my eyes water. The creepy clown mask blurs and he coos, “Cry for me, koukla mou. Let me see your pretty tears.”

He buries himself in my throat, and I blink, pushing the tears collecting against my lashes over the edge. His dick pulses in my throat and he groans, “More. Rivers. That’s what I need.”

My mind doesn’t translate it as sinister. I find the creepy request endearing after years of memories of crying alone and hiding any pain. My entire life has been filled with those moments I would erupt, each time I was alone, but he’s finding something beautiful in it. I don’t need to hide the ugly parts because he’s drawn to them. It’s a strange form of acceptance that this person who has no code is allowing me to be my true self and makes me feel more like me than anyone else has in my entire life. I don’t have to be nice, kind, or whatever society or my parents instilled in me. I get to make bad decisions—fuck up—without fear of judgement. I’m not bound by the constraints of being “ladylike” or a Leroux. For the first time, I’m just Delilah.

More tears slip from the corners of my eyes, and he speeds up, turning feral. The wooden legs of the chair creak as I gag and choke. The motion doesn’t help my gagging as it rocks my stomach, and his voice is deeper.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw up on my dick like a filthy whore.”

My nose touches the front of his hoodie, and he pulls it up so I’m touching his skin. As soon as the tip of my nose brushes between his hips, he shudders and cups the back of my head, keeping me in place. My air is fully cut off as he sits on my chest and squashes my nose with his full weight on me. My throat works on instinct, trying to gulp down air as he demands, “Little longer.”

I nod and try to relax my throat, but his hoodie slips as he leans forward, obstructing my vision. Rubber squeaks and excitement makes it easier to remain unmoving at the thought of what he looks like. I moan around him and my muscles tense as he strokes two fingers through my slit. There’s no other touch and he hums, the vibration working through his body and into my chest. I copy it without meaning to and his voice sounds different, clearer, but my senses are all hazy from the lack of air.

“I’ve missed you, Delilah. So fucking much.”

His thrusts are shallow and the rubber squeaks again. Whatever he’s doing is making his movements clumsy and I turn lightheaded.

25

GHOST

The back legs of the chair creak as I fall forward and spill straight down her pretty throat. My knees are weak, and I catch myself with one hand against the floor. The other keeps a tight hold on the back of her neck as I wait for my breathing to return to normal. She doesn’t fight me and there’s no tension in her body as I slowly straighten, bringing Delilah with me.

Her lashes don’t flutter and her head rolls as I remove my hand. For fuck’s sake, she’s passed out again. I’m beginning to lose my patience with her sudden onset narcolepsy. It’s because of the risperidone and diazepam she’s forcing herself to take, like that will do anything to get rid of me. That’s why she keeps having random bursts of insomnia and then just passing out like we’re not on borrowed time.

Rather than slap her awake again, I right the chair and tuck her hair behind her ear. She must have been awake to swallow my cum because there’s nothing in her mouth when I press my thumb against her chin. Her spit is thick and sticks to the glove, but I make no attempt to clean it away.

I used to love watching her sleep and I’d force myself to stay awake so I could do it every chance I could get. This is better, and I have the urge to remove the mask so I can taste the tears dampening her skin.

“You’re such a beautiful lie,” I whisper. “If only you were real then I wouldn’t have to do this.”

She doesn’t stir and I allow the honest moment to continue as I lower to my haunches.

“All I ever wanted was you, for you to be mine, but you chose him. You will always choose him when I loved you more.”

The organ that she took control of beats in an unfamiliar rhythm as my whisper turns weighted.

“I loved you so much, and all you ever did was kill that love. It was innocent—Iwas innocent before you. Why the fuck did you come into my life only to take it from me?”

Despite her head limply falling against my palm, I wait for an answer. Anything really. Just something to right her wrongs and to tell me that it was true. It’s ironic that she keeps saying I’m not real whenweweren’t. I was a game to her, something to play with when her relationship became boring, but she was everything to me. The sun rose and set with Delilah.

Now the rules of the game have changed and she’s not the one in control anymore—I am.

I straighten and carelessly move my hand away. Her chin slaps against her chest and she doesn’t make a noise. The kitchen is a mess. I’ve already cleaned it once during her last forced nap. That was on my terms and now I resent her for passing out. For leaving me, again.

The mask is annoying as fuck, and the eyeholes are too small for me to see clearly, so I end up stepping on the shitty pastries she loves. It turns the floor into a mess of crumbs, and I slowly pick my foot up to check the bottom of my shoes.

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