Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 21 (complete)

His shoes appeared in her field of vision as she raised her head off the floor. Shining black brogues on either side of her spread-out hands. It was a startling sight: Her wedding ring and diamond. The shoes of another man.

Devlin stooped, his hands on her back, feeling warm and strong, palms smoothing upward then unhooking her bra. She felt the straps loosen; the cups fall forward. His hands swept her skin again, now coming up to either side of her neck, guiding her upright, getting her on her knees and looking up at him. For the moment her strength was depleted, she couldn’t even raise up, had to sit back on her heels. Devlin looked down on her with a satisfied expression. But one also showing that this was only beginning. He studied her face, admired it, and she liked the feeling of him appreciating what he saw. He thumbed her cheek, let go of her neck, his hands then coming together above his belt. He undid his fly, reached in the open gap, then hauled out his massive manhood. Testicles and all coming out, thumb tugging down on the fly to give his ample meat some room, letting it go so it hung before her. Huge and almost hard, but hanging heavy before her eyes; two big testicles with the scrotum skin stretched tight, gleaming large and red-brown, pushed out on either side of his wide cock. The whole sight garish—his unnatural cock, swollen, crooked, wrinkled skin and veins, bulging (threatening) cock head, all juxtaposed against the fine black wool of his expensive suit.

With no hesitation, she rose on her knee points, put her hands on his thighs, gripped the fabric pinching thumb and finger to pull herself straighter, kneeling before her boss’s manhood in worship. Then she put both hands on his hot gummy cock and guided the head into her mouth.

Two hands gently stroking his shaft, she sucked the large bulbous end, eyes turned up to Devlin. His hands touched her face again, and he began to untie her bun. She’d worn sticks in it today, and he tossed them somewhere behind her, not hitting the rug, a wooden clicking clatter on the hardwood floor. Her hair hung around her neck and shoulders now, and her spit made her mouth glide on his enormous size.

Now he was undoing his tie, still watching her, only a small glimpse of pleasure in his eyes he would allow her to see. But she knew she was doing a good job for him. Knew how to please him. He grew harder, fatter. She loved the feel of him in her hands.

But what now? Get him to come in your mouth again?

She knew she would do more . . . 

He snapped the tie with one hand, the fabric zipping through the underside of his shirt collar. Then while she still sucked his cock, he wove the silky fabric in figure-eights around her wrists, tying them and then knotting them in place, her grip still on his long, thick cock.

Devlin wasn’t interested finishing in her mouth anyway, dropping down to a knee and cupping her cheeks, her hands lashed together by his expensive tie in the attitude of prayer between his forearms. She looked in his striking eyes, waiting to discover what he would do. He thumbed the corners of her mouth, like he wanted her to smile. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

Eyes closed, she waited. Then his lips pressed hers. Dispassionate and cold, her face was a mask. Devlin took from her the most minimal of kisses, making his point rather than looking for passion. He pulled back, and she opened her eyes again.

“I know how you want it,” he said.

She licked her lips, seeking to clean them but not wanting to taste his mouth on hers.

He said, “I’ll give you what you want.”

“What do I want?”

He smiled then, his hand stroking to the back of her neck, then gripping a handful of her hair at the back of her head. Not forceful, not painful, but firm. He shifted, guiding her to turn around so that they both faced the sofa again.

He eased her downward so that she was on all fours once more, two hands lashed together. The sofa was supported by legs at the four corners, and one more front and center. Devlin lifted the couch, pulled it forward a few inches, then set that middle point down between her forearms, trapping her hands. “I know how you want it. And that’s how I’m going to give it to you. Like an animal,” he said, getting close to her ear, his hand teasing the nape of her neck, his nails running down the center of her back, her small hanging breasts going tight and hard, nipples feeling like they might burst.

He continued: “I like it. That’s the way you want it and I like it. We’ll rut like animals. I’ll get what I want, get my dick inside you, and you’ll get what you want . . .”

She gave no response, staring at the floor, her hands trapped by the couch’s leg, her breaths coming quick and heavy, knowing they would fuck now—knowing Devlin meant to mount her from behind.

“You can bite the sofa,” he said, squeezing the front face cushion, squashing it. “Here,” he said, guiding her face to it. “Bite down on the couch and you can think of Josh while I fuck you from behind.”

She didn’t comply. Didn’t put her teeth on the sofa seat. Laid her cheek on it instead, her neck cranked awkwardly, face upright, the weight of her torso on her elbows, her hands tied around the front post of the sofa support. Devlin got behind her, but before putting his dick in her, out of nowhere a sudden crazy snap of flesh against her ass. He had spanked her once. Hard. Completely unexpected. And she’d never been struck on her bottom, ever in her life. That clap of his hand against her bare right ass cheek jolted her, set through her body a dynamic tension that caught her off guard. Her core tightened, her pelvic floor tightened, her stomach went to a steel cable. And then she came. And while she moaned a sound of shocked glory, she felt the head of his cock pushing into her body. She hissed, drew in air, tightened her knees together, feet folding out sideways and curling inward, the expensive shoes she bought this afternoon slipping off her heels. And the feel of that plump cock head shape pushing into the forward pouch of her opening, filling it, set off another orgasm that had her crying and flopping a line of saliva onto the sofa seat. Now she did clamp her teeth on its fabric, holding it between the line of her pressed-down teeth to anchor her head so she wouldn’t slip away as he pushed inside her body.
 

He’d been in her before. She knew what to expect. And he knew how big he was and how tight she was. Didn’t ram it home like some perverted asshole. Sunk himself slowly like a torpedoed submarine landing nose first into a silty ocean floor. Centimeter by slow centimeter, he invaded her body, took control of her. Every sense she had shut off, leaving her focus on an electric webwork of sparkling light in the top of her skull being tuned by the feel of Devlin’s huge cock sliding into her vagina without a condom.

***

It was degrading. On all fours, and Devlin, still wearing his suit with his cock and balls pulled out, squatted over top of her, feet on either side of her waist, her ass turned up. His hips pile-driving that huge cock into her, almost north to south. He was so deep—and he wasn’t even giving her all he had. Only about half. It was outrageous that she already knew what half his dick felt like. And as the pain rose, starting at the points of her elbows and knees and working through her bones and joints like a toothache, the sizzle where his hand had struck her ass joining in, plus her pure unadulterated badness—her in lingerie with no panties, husband at home playing video games with his friends—she came again. Had already lost count. Was it three, four? They were rolling through her. Her teeth slipped off the couch, and she cried out.

“Like this? This is how you want it? Bite that couch, Kimmy, clamp it tight while I fuck you like this . . .”

And he continued driving that thing in and out like a piston. Spreading her so wide, but not deep yet. She wanted him deep. And she fucking hated it, but she wanted to be face-to-face, too.

Her stomach muscles heaved in and out, so close to the edge of yet another orgasm, another one circling the rim ready to roll down in her hole. Her hands strained, her elbows came to her ribs, the tightness of his tie yanking on her wrists. And she didn’t protest, instead letting out a creaky groan with each of his thrusts. Spurring him on, her sounds letting him know that no matter how much she said she didn’t want this, her body was loving every inch of it.

He fucked her like that for minutes, each second she thought she would stop him finally. Tell him to pull out. But it didn’t happen. Instead, she came again. Kicking her feet on the floor, one of her high-heeled shoes flicking free somewhere behind her.

After that orgasm, he palmed her back, ran circles along the base of her spine up between her shoulder blades. She purred for him, helpless to the sound. He withdrew his cock, beat it on her ass cheeks, grabbed her by the back of the neck with one hand, lifted the couch with his other. Helped her to stand, and she fell against the front face of the sofa. Her elbows scratched on the fabric, and Devlin took her by her waist, one hand slipped around her front, and he lifted her right off the sofa, carried her in his arms around behind it and lay her on the bed. Her wrists were still tied, she writhed higher toward the pillows, both her high heels gone now, just stockings and garter, no bra. Looking down her body, she liked what she saw.

At the foot of the bed, she liked what she saw even better: Devlin with that massive cock hanging out of his fly. The first half of it shone with her insides. He was unbuttoning his shirt. She wanted him on top of her. Her heels stroked up the bedding, her knees raising. He chucked off his jacket and shirt together, pinky orange sunlight painting beautiful edges on all his gorgeous muscle. He had a narrow waist, abs, a broad chest that looked hard as steel. Shoulder muscles, flexing biceps with veins. And hair that ran from his chest down his stomach muscles behind his belt. He said, “Look how wet that pussy is.”

She moaned at his lewd words—but loved them—raising her bound hands up above her head and into the pillows. Practically gyrating her hips, her body betraying her again and letting Devlin know how bad she wanted that cock back inside her. He undid the belt buckle, snapped open the button of his pants but didn’t remove them, instead climbing up the bed on his hands and knees, coming at her like a predator. He bit the inside of her thigh, and she closed her legs around his head. And then he was up, getting over top of her, her legs loosely circling his rump. His cock lay heavy on her belly, and now he hooked his thumb into the hoop of his tie that held her hands together, hoisting her arms up to hook them on a curled edge of the elaborate iron bed frame. She could smell his musk, smelled his soap, his sex. He was hot for her. He was in control, but she had worked him into a sexual fever. His cock burned on her sensitive stomach skin. She hooked legs tighter around him, his neck by her cheek. He fastened her bound hands to the headboard; she felt the weight of her arms sag against the restraint. He looked in her eyes, and she couldn’t help it: she darted her chin up, took his mouth with a kiss. It surprised her more than it surprised him. He gripped her neck, thumbed her earlobe, kissed her, sucked on her mouth—but she still would not give him her tongue. She pulled her kiss away, turned and showed him her cheek. But knew he was smiling.

Then his hips were drawn back, the heat of that cock on her belly moving low, rustling through her pubic hair, that massive flanged helmet nestling in her core then pushing up inside her.

Soft groans of complaint escaped as his huge size pushed further into her body. The angle was different from when she was on her elbows and knees, not intensely uncomfortable, but he was so big the new angle felt like a whole different intrusion. “Slow,” she warned him. “God, slow—you are so big . . .”

His hands went up her ribs, and over her armpits, squeezed her elbows. He pushed deeper. She tightened her legs on him, then gasped, “My stockings . . .”

He withdrew, pushed in again.

“I want my stockings off,” she said.

He went up on his arms, knees out wide like an outrigger, cock inside her, pants unbuttoned, balls hanging over the edge of his undone fly. And now she wished she wasn’t bound to the headboard. Thought how amazing it would be to put her hands all over his incredible body. Let him take her missionary, her legs around him, her hands stroking his back, her tongue in his mouth . . . 

Devlin gripped both her ankles, raised her legs so that they lay on his chest and shoulders. His eyes were on hers as he slowly unfastened the four points of her stocking’s garters. The straps fell around her waist, and then taking his time, he began to unroll her stockings then slipped them off her pointed feet. Then he was over her again, his arms large and powerful, and she ached to put her hands on them, to run her nails down their hard rounded shapes. She writhed, her motion pushing his cock inside her, making it slip sideways and up and down. He pushed a little deeper, and she let him know she liked it. “So big . . .”

He did it again, thrumming his hips forward, feeding her a little more.

“Oh God, oh it feels . . .”

The stretch was incredible. The fullness magnificent.

This was more than what she’d taken before. In the front seat of his Mercedes, she’d sat on him and took him under her control. Not sex. Just a test. Because she’d told him that he was too large to accommodate. They couldn’t get it in her at Tiffany’s. But here he was proving she could definitely take him. She was lubricated and engorged, her canal loosened and lengthened, warmed up and ready to take him deep. “Deeper,” she whispered.

Their eyes connected while he pushed deeper inside her body—more inches of cock than she’d ever had in her life. Her eyes widened as she was touched in the newest places—erogenous zones deep in her core that had never felt a man. The swollen shape of his cock head spread her out somewhere behind her navel and she drew in a deep breath.

He said, “You like it deep?”

She nodded, bit her lip, avoided his eyes a moment, hating how bad she was, but loving the feel of his size inside her body. She tightened her legs around his ass and loved the scratch of his tailored pants against her bare calves. “I like it deep,” she told him.

“You’ve got the tightest little snatch—you’ve never had a man inside you . . .”

“I ha-have . . .”

“Double-A.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“You only ever been fucked with his little battery, huh?” For emphasis, he flexed his cock, and the swelling fullness rolled her eyes up with pleasure.

She moaned and complained at his taunting, turning her face away and closing her eyes.

“You love a big dick.”

“No . . .”

“You do—I can feel how you love it, see it on your face . . .”

She gasped, hid her face—and a weird thing happened: she smiled. Then hid her smile. Devlin caught it, saying, “Look how much you love it—look at me and tell me you’ve had it deep before.”

“Don’t do that to me.”

“Look at me.”

She bit her lip, and slowly her head moved, coming face to face with his sneering devil mask. But he was so incredibly handsome, even like this, bent over her, face looming close . . . The angles of his face were masculine, his eyes piercing but bright and lit like jewels in the setting sunlight. Caught in his gaze now, she studied and appreciated the physical beauty of the terrible man who had her pinned, his cock inside her body, her hands tied.

She confessed: “I’ve never had it deep.”

“Only Josh’s little plug?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Tell me this beautiful body’s been with more men than with just Josh.”

“I don’t want to talk like this.”

“Defend him.”

“Josh?”

“Tell me you like his little dick.”

She chuckled and the act of her stomach bouncing got his cock sliding in her guts, sending a wild tickle through her belly and spine. She gasped, then tried to hide it, saying, “Why do you want to be mean to him?”

“I don’t. I don’t care about him—it drives me wild to think I might be your first real man.”

“He’s a real man.”

“You’ve only ever been with him?”

“Kind of . . .”

Now he made a low sound in his chest, lifted off her body and looked down on her. Raised up higher, cock still deep, his stomach stretched and showing off his muscle, he studied her, still humming low, appreciative, eyes roaming, then his hands caressing her inner thighs, knees, hips, her ribs. “Josh can’t even know how fucking lucky he is.”

“Why?”

“Because you are perfection. Fucking perfection, Kimmy. Beautiful, smart, sexy.” He thrust his hands out, flat on the mattress on either side of her armpits, rolled his spine, his hips pressing hers, that huge cock claiming virgin territory, making her whine a high thin sound.

Devlin said, “He must wake up every day shocked to find you still in bed with him . . .”

Now his hips rolled against her in steady waves, his cock claiming every inch of her interior, the flanged head of his cock pulling and tugging on her tightest depths, plunging her juices into whorls of pleasure around the eye of her cervix. Her whining continued, and she was helpless to the sounds coming from her throat and lips while the deepest, wildest sexual pleasure was conjured from her core. Her head went back on the pillow and her natural instinct was to arch her back and thrust out her tummy—stretching her canal, letting him fuck her deep without hurting her, the head of his cock probably rolling over or under her cervix, poking that plump cock head into the folds of her fornix. The pleasure was insane. Josh always claimed knowledge of her G-spot, but this was double the pleasure of when he actually stroked it. This was deeper than Josh could ever go; the pleasure bigger. And Devlin teased at the spot with the head of his cock like he knew the spot was there and knew what it would do to her.

“What are you doing to me?” Her voice was a desperate, breathy cry. He was doing something to her on purpose. She knew it now. Like, not only did he have a huge cock, he also knew how to use it.

“You ever come from a deep fucking?”

“No . . . oh my God, what are you . . .?”

“Oh fuck you’re tight, Kimmy, thank god you’re with Double-A—I’ve never had it tighter, you’re like a virgin . . .”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop . . .” she demanded, eyes shut tight now, her hips swiveling against the steady pulses of Devlin’s hips, his cock buried to the hilt in her body, his balls mashed in her ass cheeks. 

The restraints bit at her wrists. Her arms tightened, body pulled taut like an overloaded clothesline; her fingers clawed at the silk of Devlin’s binding, looking to get a grip on something. She gripped the fabric, locked her ankles behind his thighs and squeezed her body against him. It drove him even deeper. Just millimeters, but sparkling orbs of pleasure danced behind her eyes. She let out a warbled cry, and Devlin never stopped pulsing his hips. The tip of his cock relentlessly strobed over a tiny pocket deep in her interior that felt as wild and tingling as her clitoris. Her heels dug into the back muscles of his thighs. His legs were like iron. And now she wished she wasn’t restrained again, wanted her hands to pound on his muscle, to feel the strength in his arms under her palms and fingers. To caress him, too, to touch his neck and his face while he did this to her. But instead she gripped tight the fabric in her sweaty palms, using it to pull her body in a long line, her stomach sucked in, ribs pressed out, her back arched. And still, that fat cock head touching, touching, and touching this deep button of sexual insanity . . . 

And finally it was too much. Her hands squeezed on the tie so tight her arms shook, then the shaking traveling into her shoulders, trembling through her torso, tensing the muscles of her ribs and stomach; her nipples ached and tightened further. She twisted—the act of twisting making the pleasure trigger off into an electric stratosphere. She cried out. Cried out profanity, holys and oh gods and even Devlin’s name. He pulsed and pulsed, still touching that spot, and just as the skies had opened up and the release of rain fell to the earth, his deep steady fucking right through her orgasm conjured thunderhead after thunderhead, three orgasms in a row—each one breathtaking. Each one falling like a tsunami wave on top of its predecessor. She flooded between her legs. Could feel that squirting release again. That wet and slippery tickle that zipped down from below her belly button to the split in her folds just above her clitoris. Despite his size, his intrusion went to liquid. She bit her own bicep to stop from shrieking.