Club Ravish Ch. 02

"B-but Dean, someone was reh-reh-recording us."

A bead of sweat slipped down his temple.

"So? I thought you--mm--liked being watched?"

It was the question he kept lashing at her, and she felt the sting with its brutal, unshakeable truth. She didn't know what to say -- he was right. She didn't know where her sudden shyness came from.

Her skin burned when she thought of how the cameras caught her, but extra eyes on her body had never bothered her before.

Maybe it's not what they were looking at but what she was afraid they'd see nonetheless. She felt like they were keeping pieces of her, pieces she before had only flashed and dangled in front of them before snatching it away when she'd deemed her night done.

Olivia didn't answer, and Dean seemed satisfied.

"Good girl, you're learning."

His hold on her tightened, and then suddenly, his big hands were lifting her right off of him, the tight, wet friction lifting like a weight off her chest. He lifted her from the bottoms of her thighs, and her weight dropped heavily between them.

This was a deep stretch; her sex spread further for him. It almost made her horny again -- or it would've if she hadn't been so overstimulated already. Her relief was short-lived; Dean still hadn't come, after all.

Her slick dripped down onto him, his cock gleamed wetly.

He paused as if letting the cameras get a good shot of her dripping all over his bare cock.

"Get off," Dean grunted, guiding her firmly, pushing her back as she struggled to find a hold with which she could maneuver herself off her husband and the bench.

She only had a few moments to stand naked, dripping, and barefoot on the sweaty tile floor before Dean was standing and pushing her back down again. This was just a change in position.

Her back hit the sticky, hard surface of the bench, and Dean settled against her immediately, pushing her legs straight up and back without letting them bend. The stretch was deep, and then Dean's hips were settled at the backs of her thighs where he could plunge his cock easily into her sopping cunt.

He'd been out of her for so short a time. Her entire body seemed to repel the friction of him inside of her. She squirmed, even his grip on her calves feeling abrasive. It was like every nerve in her was raw and exposed.

Each time his body canted against her, the impact of him seemed to shake her into a deeper stretch, sending short shocks of sensation from her sex inward. She couldn't be more vulnerable to his vicious fuck if he'd had her tied up and blindfolded. She wondered if that appealed to him at all now, after seeing the way he could take her.

Their coupling was loud and hideously wet from both the drag of him inside her and the slap of their skin. Her breath, once scraping against her throat in furtive pants, now seemed to bring a sliver of sound as a desperate little mewl left her while he slid in and out of her like she was an instrument he was playing.

His grasp slipped from her calves to clamp down hard on her ankles, pushing her into a deeper stretch once more. With this, he seemed to be going for a deeper fuck too. Already so overwhelmed with the burn and friction of his body against hers, another swell of sensation pushed up in her, and Olivia gasped.

"Dean, please--"

Her body shook, and her voice died in her throat. Her thighs quivered; inside of her, she could feel Dean twitch as a burst of warmth pooled in her. He had come too -- her skin washed hot and cold, her cheeks flaring, ashamed and pleased at having her husband's seed join the mix of other lovers in her sloppy, wet cunt.

Her inner walls spasmed around him, and Dean grunted, his body sagging on top of hers. She clung to the weight of him on top of her. Olivia's skin felt muggy with the sweat she'd accumulated. She wished desperately for her husband to be as naked as she was, so she could feel the wiry hairs of his chest against her nipples and his warmth close to hers.

She settled for letting her face drop forward into the damp fabric of her husband's shirt, and when he didn't pull away, she considered it a victory.

Here, she could feel the slow, steady throb of his heartbeat against her cheek. It was here that she was struck by it -- the magnitude of the comfort that set upon her, the vicious welling of sentimentality in response to its familiar rhythm.

She turned away, feeling like she had no right to such comfort after the secrets she'd kept from the man above her.

Dean's softening cock was still inside her when her eyes fell on the doorway to the locker room. Those who'd been filming her had dispersed and moved on -- to do what? She didn't know.

In the doorway loomed a man, also familiar but less so than Dean. It was like squinting through a rain-runny windshield at night and seeing the streetlights in double. One, the real thing, with its bright, unclean, ragged edges, and the other, a blurred phantom following a hair's breadth behind, dimmer, fuzzy, a moment smeared across her vision by the movement of the car.

Tall, blonde, and with a set of glasses before his dark eyes, it was the man who'd fucked her first that night.