Silence and misery

When the men had left, the bar was drenched in silence. Each member of the Powell family absorbing the aftermath of their involvement in their own way. Jane looked ecstatic, scooping up a finger full of the mess from her face to suck upon. Sam just looked shell-shocked, letting long trails of saliva dribble from his chin. Lucy however, barely seemed affected at all… helping the young'uns tidy up then packing them off to their bedrooms to recuperate. Bill could only watch on as she easily reclaimed the role of mothering, despite having become their fellatio instructor just moments before. He kept counting the small stack of mismatched coins he'd been handed by the old man who'd face-fucked his wife. Not enough to cover all their woes, not by a long shot… but a damn sight more than they’d earned up till now.

Finally, the twins were tucked up in bed, the events of the day presumably replaying themselves over and over in teenage skulls. Mr Powell poured his partner in life a whiskey as she slid around to his side of the bar, catlike eyes watching him intently. She was trying to gauge what he was feeling, after the events of the evening… after seeing a new side of her. He could tell by the tilt of her eyebrows, yet had no real answers to such questions for either of them. Beneath the wooden counter… his pants were still tented; part of the reason he had not moved from this position. The man poured himself another shot too: his sixth… or seventh? Embarrassment and humiliation crawling up the back of his neck like hot needles. Why was his body reacting like this… as the image of three strangers emptying themselves down the gullets of his loved ones span round and round behind his eyelids?

Lucy had noticed, because of course she had. She took hold of the problem without a word, her fingers gripping his shaft through coarse fabric. Almost instantly, Bill felt his body shudder, as if released from some wicked spell. He felt a flooding rush of relief… closely followed by a dismal spread of soggy warmth. His long johns filled with shame, cloying to his inner thigh and slowly beginning to ooze down the leg. Yet still his good lady wife did not rebuke him. Did not call him out as the perverse and premature coward who would let her be taken advantage of and then soil himself at the memory.

Instead she hopped up onto the counter, hitching up her skirt and petticoats. Revealing that underneath she currently wore nothing… though just when the other undergarments had been discarded, Bill had no clue. The point was clear. She reached down and spread the lips of her womanhood for him, revealing the rivers rushing there. Her own senses clearly as heightened as his were, her own juices flowing just as readily. Mr Powell could only step back against the shelving and watch, as his wife let loose upon herself with two fingers: Thrumming away at an avalanche of excitement she must have been holding back by the skin of her teeth and clench of that smile. An outpour of vulgar gasps and unseemly moans like nothing he had heard before poured from her lip, surely loud enough for even the twins to hear in their room. An unrestrained explosion of pent up emotion and feminine pleasure that left Bill in no doubt was not directed at him, but at the world at large and Lucy’s own held back predilections. Two children they’d created, and made love at least once a week… but William Powell had never seen or heard his wife climax like this. It painted stark just what she’d passed over… to stay with someone like him.

Once the arching of her spine and echoes of her orgasm had faded a little, she beckoned him over. Bill crept forward tentatively, unsure what was wanted of him. Long legs reached out behind his ears however, and a hand to tangle in his hair. The trap closed shut behind him and his features made to face what his mind and spirit couldn't. Her gushing juices tasted sweet and sensuous. Her hips ground themselves unapologetically forward. Bill felt himself be used as a conduit for his wife's urges to rise again, near-suffocating him with her own reignited needs. All he could do was hold on and lay out his tongue like a good dog… suitable treatment for one such as he.