Page 35 of Infidelity

“You’re afraid?” I ask.

“A little.”

“Well, if it makes any difference, I’m not going to leave you by yourself.”

That’s hardly any comfort, but I hear no further protest.

The theatre’s dark, the men inside just shadowy forms. I remove her coat from behind while Delia gathers a necessary breath of stale, smoky air and then struts down the aisle of twenty rows until she reaches the front of the theatre. She moves to the center of the row, while I watch the eyes of the men behind us move from the movie screen to the sight of a real-life woman looking remarkably like a whore.

“They’re all staring, aren’t they?” she whispers.

“I think so.”

We settle into our seats and gaze aimlessly at the grainy color film of cunts, cocks and asses, which seem to swallow the place whole with their enormous size. I sense several customers moving closer—two to her right who stare directly at my slave. She looks shyly at them, then raises her sweater, her breasts in nothing but a tiny slip of white lace—a bra too small for her large tits. As her nipples poke above the rim, she stares down at them, then at the men. She winks like the flirtatious brat she is and taking the purple buds between her fingers, she pinches them—enough so we all see her shudder.

Delia jerks to feel two hands on her shoulders from behind. They massage her there for a few seconds while she tries to relax. She gazes down to see they are the hands of a black man.

“Do I know him?” she’s immediately thinking it’s Bernard.

“No, but I do.”

She relieved, though I can see her anxiety mount as those hands begin an exploration of her breasts, covering them with their warmth and pinching her nipples just as she did.

The black stranger moves with ease, bringing her to her feet as he climbs over the theatre seat behind her. She’s created a circle of admirers, eyes that fervently gape in amazement—though Delia’s as astounded by what she does as those who watch. I sense her wanting to push the new lover away, but when she looks at me, she sees the command in my eyes, and willingly yields.

She’s in Calvin’s hands, sitting on his lap facing forward, her body being combed by his darkness. He’s Bernard’s brother—but the opposite in style from his elegant sibling. Calvin looks as though he’s come from the jungle, with his many ropes of long hair twisted into a complicated braid. His eyes simmer with a crude dark light. He presses his hands against Delia’s inner thighs and pushes them apart so he can feel her wet warmth with his fingers. Her admirers stroke their dicks—some bold enough to remove them from their pants while they watch the real show.

Delia’s head drops back against this lover’s shoulder. Seconds pass, and she’s deeply inside her body, shivering. While Calvin massages her crotch, her body bucks against him, and Delia’s juice pours over his hands. It’s clear his dick is ready—like all the others inside the theatre. Lifting her off his lap, she’s as limp as a rag doll. Turning her around, Calvin takes his cock from his pants and she climbs on that savage organ. The head is small while the spear widens into an erection as large as any she’s had before. Nestling into him, she writhes erratically, as her mouth moves down to his kiss face, his mouth, his closed eyes, and his smooth black cheek. He forces himself on her and demands she meet his need, though she’s hardly holding back now. Calvin has this effect on women.

I think she’s cumming in multiples, one ends, and another begins. Her cries get stronger, her contortions more unpredictable. He draws his face into her chest, while her hands grab at his thick braids.

“Oh, yes, yes, yessssss,” she hisses, then her head floats back on air and she moans with a gentle, “Ahhhhhhhhhh.”

Calvin rides her hard. She seems to scream, but it’s not from pain. He squeezes her ass roughly as he shoots and as the end comes, Delia’s in a faint, falling into his chest rocking as his dick ejaculates. She undulates as his body jerks upward and then relaxes.

“Ooo, slave flesh like you needs it randy,” he chuckles as he pushes her away. She peers down at him while he smiles—a broad, toothy black grin. “My brother thought you would be good. And you are.” He smacks her ass, and Delia awakens from wherever she’s been.

What a raunchy brat she is! I love her, and so do Calvin and this audience.

She looks around at the gathering crowd as they wait expectantly. Too bad, they’ll be disappointed. There’s not a cock among them I’d trust her with, so she throws her clothes back over her body, tossing a satisfied glance at her black lover and a playful snicker at the rest.

“Ooo, you make me do such naughty things,” she purrs to me when we’re in the car.

“Yes, and now you can go down on me.”

She hardly has the strength but wouldn’t dare not honor my request.

“You think I should punish you for being such a slut?” I ask as she unzips my pants.

“Hummm, perhaps,” she muses as her head disappears into my lap, her hands flying toward my dick.

She is particularly inspired by what’s just happened, and gives me head so greedily, you’d think she had not come at all. She sticks with the blowjob all the way home—as long as we can manage it and drive the car at the same time. I wait to get home for the rest. Taking her soppy cunt from behind, Delia cums again, spasming sharply with her whole vagina as I jerk. It’s especially good to have the timing right. I sometimes think she’ll milk me dry.

After we’re too exhausted for more, she lies inside my arm.

“He was wonderful, Heinrich.”

“Is that so?”

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