by KT Morrison
“Holy shit,” Geoff gulped, looking at his screen.
Winslow leaned back from where he was working on his computer, said, “What?”
“Work coming in. A lot. Wow.”
Winslow smiled, warily, said, “That’s good, Geoff. I’m here if you need me.”
“Yeah. Thanks. I will, I will,” he said, eyes fixed to his monitor.
He had three e-mails from Karla. More info for the proposal from Sparrow House, and more work for two of their books that they wanted to do, one with a major celebrity penning it. Celebrity as in Laetitia Lily, teen pop star (for ten years), turned heartfelt musician and now new mom at the age of twenty-seven.
“Holy shit,” he said again, then absently, “Poop, I mean,” aware that Odie was watching him.
His phone buzzed on the table.
“Wow,” he gasped, still not getting a grip on how huge this was. An unstoppable smile crawled across his face. Recognition. Real goddamn recognition.
He checked his phone. A message from Nia.
Nia: Told him this was for me...but it’s all for you!
Then a link for a video uploaded to his dropbox. His heart raced at the prospect of what she might have just sent him. Ventricles hammered dangerously in his chest. He checked over his shoulders to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then opened the dropbox folder on his iMac and looked at the thumbnail. Blurry, side shot of a girl, probably Nia, had to be Nia, sitting in the cabin of a vehicle, an empty driver’s seat beyond, pale-eggshell brume dead centre outside the driver’s side window.
He bit his upper lip. What was this? Was it possibly, could it be, what he thought it was? He wanted to press play right fucking now, but if it was what he thought, then no one but him should ever see it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His mouth went dry, his brow and upper lip went warm and wet. He rubbed his cheeks. Oh no! and Oh yes! all at the same time. He felt a tingling in his bowels.
“Hey, I’m just...I’m going to...I gotta go to the bathroom, I’ll...I’ll be back in a minute,” he said quietly, aware of how sick his voice sounded, like he was recovering from the flu. He got up out of his chair, felt how heavy his body was, or how weak his legs were, leaned on the edge of his worktable and reached across for his iPad, touched it with his damp fingers, working them like spiders to crawl it closer to him so his enervated hands could get a grip on it.
He forced his wooden legs to take him to the side door, to the path to the kitchen. Odie laughed, said, “Dad’s bringing his iPad into the house...he’s the poopy pants.”
Geoff struggled to keep himself together, he chuckled for his daughter, said, “Ha ha, Odie, enough with the poopy talk, okay sweetheart. You’re seven now, my big girl.”
She made a fart sound at him with her lips and laughed.
GEOFF
He seized with tension. His body distant and mechanical; loose wires connecting his brain to his body, their charges zapping in and out, corrosion on the contacts.
He wanted so badly for the video to be what he thought. Worried, though, whether he could handle it. The prospect so exciting, but the reality so painful and overwhelming. The closer he got to watching the harder it was to make any sense of this.
He stumbled through the kitchen, his ears felt stuffed with cotton. His neck was swollen. He made his way to the stairs, headed to the privacy of the master bathroom. There was ringing and he tensed, hunched his shoulders. Not his ears ringing. His phone. Antique phone sound, reminder of his childhood home in Agincourt, the pea-soup green phone that stuck to the wall, twirled, spiralling plastic cord. Buzzing in his pocket. He stopped, two steps up, fumbled his phone out of his pocket. Call from Nia.
He answered.
Nia, frantic.
“Geoff? Geoff? Geoff, please, please don’t watch it.”
“Nia—”
“Baby, don’t...you got my message?”
“Yeah—”
“Please, please, baby, I made a big mistake...”
“What is it?”
“Don’t Geoff...” she cried.
“Nia, I have to...”
“I’m so ashamed, Geoff.”
“Nia, I have to watch it.”
“Okay, okay...turn it off if...if it’s too much, okay? Just don’t watch it if you start..if it hurts...” her soft voice sounding so distant on his iPhone, her words chugging with stifled sobs.
“Yeah, I will...”
His heart was absolutely hammering now and as much as he liked talking to her on the phone he needed to hang up on her and watch this fucking video.
“Geoff, I love you,” she said and she hung up.
He pulled himself up off the stair, pulled with one arm on the banister. He’d never felt so heavy. He dragged himself up the stairs and closed himself into the bedroom. His hands were sweating, his neck like a hot towel was draped over it. He closed himself into the bathroom, more barriers to separate himself from the outside world. He sat down on the toilet lid and looked at the screen of his iPad.
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” he said, wondering if he ever could find the resolve to open this fucker and press play.
He gulped. He found it.
Powered it up, swept through screens to the page with the dropbox icon and he tapped it. It swooshed to full screen. Right there, organized by recent changes, a file at the top, a video, brand new—a name comprising auto-generated numbers combined with the date. Side view. Nia. Truck. Something was going to happen.
He pressed play and watched a fucking ghostly timing wheel for almost ten seconds. Then it was live. Moving video. Definitely Nia. Wearing all black, the things she had picked out and worn today, sat across from him in the kitchen booth and had her breakfast in. Black scoop neck top, black high-waisted skirt, thin belt, pewter buckle. The bottom curls of her crazy mane of black visible at her breasts.
Nia’s phone, recording this, must have rested on her armrest in the truck. He couldn’t see her face, only her hips and her breasts, hands and arms. Then the truck door opposite was opening, the white haze window gone, a black shape of an enormous man getting into the truck. Rocco. Black T-shirt, jeans, his big arms with the tattoos.
“That guy talks out of his ass,” Rocco grumbled, his voice was thin and mechanical from the iPad but it still carried menace.
“I know,” Nia said. Her voice louder, closer, but still brittle.
“What’s next?”
“Go. Out to the 400, head north, we have that removal in Alliston.”
“Fuck. Right,” he said.
Then Geoff watched as Rocco started the truck, put it in gear and drove. He could see the tops of light posts, a McDonald’s sign, tree tops; all sliding past the open window next to Rocco. He looked at Rocco’s profile—that blocky head and that thick neck, those massive shoulders. The man who’d fucked his wife. Put bruises on her with his arrogance. How could he not be in love with her? How could he fuck her and now sit in the truck next to her, not giving her flowers, not rubbing her feet, not professing his undying love. Fucking amateur.
He watched for minutes. Nia opened her laptop, typed away. The two of them sat in silence, driving on the highway on a bright, sunny, summer day. This was what his wife’s normal routine was like. This was what she did when she was out of the house. Sitting with that ogre, working on a laptop, driving around. Boring. What about when she used to sit down in the studio? Wasn’t that more fun? Wasn’t he interesting enough?
Nia closed the laptop and the hair on the back of his neck rose. Was this it?
He watched her hands, so pale in the video against her black outfit. They came together at her waist, tentatively undid the seatbelt and let the two metal ends come apart, let it recoil, guided still in her hand. He knew her, knew her body language...she was gathering herself, she was nervous about whatever she was going to do. Her far elbow leaned casually on the console between her and Rocco. He focussed on her hand, Rocco oblivious, watching the road. Her fingers curled under its rounded nose and she slippe
d the console upright. Geoff heard the rattle of the contents as they slid down to one end. Now Rocco was aware, his head turning to regard her more carefully in his periphery, watching her movement but still paying attention to the road.
Nia slid herself to Rocco, moving away from the camera, her profile visible now under her long thick hair. Her hand clutched Rocco’s big thigh, so small on him. Rocco looked her in the eyes, Geoff couldn’t see his wife’s face, she was turned to Rocco, but he could tell by the angle of her head they were looking into each other’s eyes. Nia was saying something, he could tell Rocco was listening.
The ambient hiss was too strong for Geoff to hear her words but he could tell she was speaking. Rocco lifted his arm and Nia bent to him, her head in his lap.
“Oh my God,” Geoff whispered, watching Nia’s elbows come up as her hands worked at Rocco’s crotch, undoing his fly and unbuckling his belt while he drove. This was it now. This was his wife with another man. This was what it fucking looked like. His cock stiffened in his pants and his hand fell to it and squeezed it, his eyes still fixed to his iPad. He watched her back, watched the soft movement of her hair; this woman he loved so much. Doing this for him now. His bad girl putting on a secret show for him, just for him. With her lover, but doing it for her husband. God, this was enormous. This woman was so fucking amazing.
Her head worked, twisting lightly, bobbing up and down very gently, her hands were up at her mouth. He imagined Rocco’s big soft cock being pushed past her lips, him stiffening inside his wife’s mouth. That pretty mouth of hers that had eaten the bacon he cooked this morning with lips scrolled back from white teeth so she wouldn’t muss her lipstick. Fuck. His beautiful, beautiful wife sucking another man’s cock. It was brilliant agony.
Rocco’s head eased back onto the headrest, overwhelmed by the pleasure Geoff knew his wife could give.
A sudden dread. They were on the highway, weren’t they? He felt a hot flash cross him, fever him. Wait, this wasn’t live, this was recorded, uploaded—Jesus, idiot, you just spoke to her...
Still, Nia, risky, risky behaviour, baby. You bad fucking girl. The camera jostled, the image blurring with vibration, a rattle from the speakers. They were pulling over somewhere. Off the highway probably, somewhere safe. Somewhere Nia could make him come.
The camera bounced, the frame flipping, bright flash of dome light, twisting square of sunlit windscreen, bouncing, banging then black. Carpet. Geoff swayed on the toilet seat feeling suddenly dizzy. He’d been focussing so hard on the image. The camera had knocked free off the armrest and fallen to the floor. Shit. He felt sullen, disappointed. His Nia. He could hear them still. Soft sounds, tinny and distant, the sound of passing high-speed traffic louder than their sounds. But under it all he could hear a slick, wet, smacking noise. Nia’s mouth sucking on Rocco’s cock.
He listened intently, his ears working overtime, straining so hard his neck cramped. He stroked his cock though his pants, hoping this wasn’t going to be all there was.
Voices. Nia and Rocco talking. He couldn’t make out the words, just his wife’s gentle, feminine whisper then Rocco’s low grumble. They were discussing something. What was she doing now?
The camera was spinning and swinging again and he narrowed his eyes and watched from his periphery. The mic was hissing and banging from being touched but Nia was saying something...
Then Nia’s profile. Shocking, gut-punching. Rocco was holding the camera now, holding Nia’s phone and recording her action on him. His wife between another man’s legs. Her long hair pulled up and pushed over an ear, thrown over a shoulder and over her back. Her pretty, long, lean neck exposed, her tiny ear, her gold earring dangling, swinging with her movements. Her full, perfect profile visible. Her lips were around the end of Rocco’s cock. It was massive. As big as she’d described. A veritable fucking tree trunk in both her hands. It was thick. Wider than her grip, as wide as her ring finger which curled over it, wedding band winking. It looked like a club. Its girth was threatening, from base to where it disappeared beneath his wife’s stretched lips. The end of his cock was a mouthful for her. Her lips spread wide, her jaw forced down to her neck, skin wrinkling from her chin to her ear. She gently bobbed on him, her hands twisted and smoothed his shaft.
Rocco’s breaths, close to the microphone, like he was right in Geoff’s ear, grew deep and sexual. Nia was going to make this big man come.
Rocco’s deep guttural voice then, “You’re so fucking dirty, you little slut...you gonna watch this later?”
“Mm-hmm,” Nia moaned around his cock.
“You bad girl, fuck, you can suck a cock, shit...”
Geoff watched her suck and stroke, her head bobbing and working in gentle circles, the first third of Rocco’s cock forcing her jaws wide. She made soft Nia sounds in her throat, sexy little noises that told Rocco she loved having his cock in her mouth. His skin bunched up on his shaft, leathery and dark, Nia’s mouth not big enough for his girth to pass easily and his skin was stretched and pulled with her action.
Rocco groaned, “You want to watch yourself suck that cock, don’t you, Nia?”
She nodded, her mouth still wrapped around his huge cock head.
“You are the hottest fuckin thing...you know that? Look at that fuckin face...”
She was the hottest thing. Her face exquisite, her profile perfect, her skin was flawless. She was the love of his life.
She was up off it, her lips pulling up, his foreskin being pulled by the gentle clasp of her lips, it pulled up and he saw the shape of Rocco’s big, flared glans under his thick extra skin. A long shining string of saliva bowed from his tip to Nia’s pouting lips. She held his massive dong in both hands, pressed together, going up and down his shaft in unison.
It was as she explained. Garish. Gnarly. Ugly. Cumbersome. His foreskin ample, dark brown, rugged. It fully covered his glans even when he was rock hard. She used it to jerk him off. His sleeve peeling then repulsively gulping over his shining bulb. The black eye of his glans winking in and out as Nia stroked him. Nia’s eyes were on the camera while she brought Rocco closer to his orgasm. On the camera, looking into it for her husband. Like she was looking right into his eyes now. He smiled to her like she could see him, blew her a secret kiss.
She slowed her hands, Rocco groaned, his excitement had peaked, he was close and now she was bringing him to a new plateau. Her fingers worked his tip, peeled that furrowed skin away and rolled it til it bunched up around the swollen flared rim of the head of his cock. Her wet fingertip travelled along all the raised edges of his glans. Around his flange, then up his frenulum, dancing on the two swollen bulges of his very end, the swells of sensitive flesh that sunk then into his urethra.
“Fuck, Nia,” Rocco growled.
She giggled, watching her fingers on his taut, corpulent glans, so big, so swollen, it didn’t look real compared to Nia’s dainty fingers. But it was real.
She knew her effect, she had a secret knowledge too, secret from Rocco, knowing she was teasing her husband just as badly as she was teasing Rocco. This pro-level fuck-beast was driving two men out of their minds right now. One, his cock in her hand, the other, surreptitiously in a bathroom an hour later.
“You gonna come for me?” she said to the camera. She was talking to Geoff. He knew she was.
“Yeah. You’re gonna make me explode,” Rocco said.
Geoff said, “You bet, Nia.” He unbuttoned his own pants now, unzipped them and pushed his pants and undies down, sat bare-assed back down on his closed toilet seat. His cock ached to be touched. He touched it. “Oh, Nia,” he moaned, watching on the screen as his wife made eyes to the camera, her fingers still exploring the shape of this other man’s cock.
“You wanna fuck?” Rocco said.
“Soon,” she cooed.
“You feel better?”
“A little.”
“You fuck Geoff yet?”
She nodded, her eyes on the camera. “I fucked him.”
“Make me come,” Rocco said.
Yes, Rocco, she fucked her husband. His penis is human-sized. He doesn’t tear women’s delicate parts. He loves women. Well, one woman.
Nia gripped his shaft below his glans, her thumb now stroking the channel, the sensitive chin of his cock, the tip of her thumb settling into the concave swell of his urethra, going in easy circles, her hand rocking, barely moving but easing up and down his shaft. Rocco’s breaths grew stronger and stronger. She kissed his head, pressed her pouting lips to it, mashing her supple flesh to his supple flesh. She ran her slippery lips over his shape. Her tongue darted out, the curled pink tip of it tasting and touching his bare glans. She smiled around her protruding tongue, eyes locked on the camera, locked on her husband.
“Oh fuck, Nia,” Geoff whispered. He stroked himself quickly. Aware of his own size in his hand. Nia’s hands not much smaller than his, just thinner, more elegant, but hers were so small wrapped around that grotesque donkey cock. So wrinkled and gnarly, pressed against her perfect skin, her beautiful face. He wished he had that thing between his legs, and he and Nia could share it and he’d give her everything...he’d be everything for her. He would be complete. They would be complete.
Nia’s hand quickened on Rocco, her tongue licking and dancing across his hole. Her head rested now at an angle against the steering wheel. She had one hand on his cock, the other hidden, holding herself up. Rocco’s monstrous organ thrust up out of the v of his opened jeans, the white waistband of his drawers drawn across his wide underside. His balls hanging down between his legs, hiding, cupped in his underwear. Nia wanted him to come.
Geoff stroked himself faster, mimicking his wife’s movements. He got himself moaning.
Nia gasped, “You gonna come for me...this big cock gonna come...”
“Oh fuck, you fuckin whore...” Rocco growled.
“You gonna fuck me harder next time?”
“Harder...”
“Fuck me like a man next time...”
“You crazy fuck, ha ah...”