compress1repress - Tumblr blog

compress1repress · 2 months ago

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Summary: Art walks in on Tashi watching gay porn, he feels very normal about it. When he confronts her they end up fucking, also in a very normal way. Most importantly, Patrick Zweig does not haunt the Artashi marital bed. Not at all.

Art x Tashi (but patrick is so overwhelmingly present it's basically throuple fic. he's not there, but he is there. sometimes a threesome is two people having really angry haunted sex, okay.)

cw: mdni, 18+, porn, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, vaginal penetration, rough sex, anal sex, violent sex, etc (some of this is in the porn videos, some actually happens, and some is imagined... it's complicated)

[ao3 version] 7.2k words

Through the small opening Art can tell the lights are dimmed in their bedroom, so he opens the door as quietly as he can. He’s not sure if Tashi is sleeping or answering emails before bed but he doesn’t want to disturb her either way. When he enters he can see her form, laying on her side under the covers, her back to him. Asleep then - or no, there’s a light in front of her, she’s on her phone. Weird. Tashi isn’t usually in that position when she’s using her phone, she should be sat upright, maybe her legs curled underneath her, biting her lip in concentration. Actually, thinking about it, she doesn’t sleep like that either, not when she’s alone, only ever on her side when they’re spooning. She sleeps on her back, he sleeps on his front, and… there is no and, he doesn’t know why he thought that.

He takes in the sight in front of him properly, curious. He can tell she’s got earphones in, which is another odd sight, and also explains why she hasn’t noticed him. For a moment he gets scared; what if she’s watching his matches on her phone? His matches, not Art’s. She’d done it once years ago, but she had shown him, said it would be good to study. It had sort of made sense, to analyse the type of player that can beat Art. He tried to be neutral, normal, and probably failed because she never did it again. Now he wonders if she just carried on secretly, hiding it from him.

That’s even worse, knowing that she thinks he can’t handle it. He could now, he thinks. He was only weird because back then it was closer to a time when he was a better player than Art, so the insecurity hung around. It’s gone now. It’s all gone.

Except she’s not watching a match, or anything to do with tennis. There’s skin, a lot of skin moving fast under bright artificial light. Oh. He notices the way the sheets move slightly, the hand not holding the phone underneath them, and her shoulder twitching with short movements. He feels relieved, which he recognises is an odd emotion to feel when you walk in on your wife secretly watching porn.

They’ve never spoken about it before, but it’s certainly not something that would be a problem. He hasn’t really watched any since dating Tashi, but that was more because he’d never really done it. He was bad at it, magazines never worked that well, and then the internet had him spoilt for choice. He could look up anything and had no idea where to start, what if he made the wrong choice? It was overwhelming, so in his limited experience he would just click the first video he saw, whether he was particularly into it or not. It just felt easier to have it selected for him.

Most of the time he preferred jerking off without anything, and ever since he met Tashi, she became the images he filled his mind with. It made it so easy, he wanted her so much all the time. It was simple, to just decide to set his sights on her, he didn’t have to think or make any choices. If his hand was around his dick, it was Tashi he was thinking about.

He didn’t even jerk off that much anymore, didn’t feel the need to. It felt like a waste, like he should save everything he had for Tashi. It felt good a lot of the time, being horny and not doing anything about it; wanting something, and not taking it. He was good at it too, holding out when other people would cave. He knew it was better, being patient, having the restraint to wait until the best possible moment. It was all for her.

He knew that she touched herself sometimes, he didn’t know exactly how much but she wasn’t trying to hide it. Sometimes she’d tell him, in bed together saying, “you know, the other night I got myself off in under three minutes, think you could beat that?” He hasn’t beat it yet, but he’s determined he will one day.

She’s often nonchalant about it; one time he’d woken up to her doing it in the middle of the night, she’d just shushed him, telling him she couldn’t sleep. Her face so unaffected as she got herself off, the only noticeable change was her slight uptake in breath. It was so simple, like taking a sleeping pill. Sometimes clinical, she’d use it as a painkiller when she had cramps.

She never mentioned porn but it doesn’t make that much of a difference, maybe she just needed some extra stimulation. He considers making himself heard, or walking over there, maybe asking if he can help out. Then he thinks for a moment, curiosity taking over, he wants to know exactly what she’s watching. Maybe if he can sneakily get a look without her realising, he can surprise her another day by acting out a fantasy she hadn’t even told him about. He thinks he understands what she likes in bed pretty well, but what is she in the mood for this week?

Maybe she’ll want to sit on his face, be rough with him, hold him down. Or maybe she’s having a rare moment where she wants him to take charge. If he finds out, she’ll be proud that he could give her what she wanted without her asking. He briefly wonders if this is manipulative, but he’s doing it for her, to make her feel good. That makes it okay.

He steps forward quietly, bare feet pressing lightly on the soft carpeting. He gets a better angle and he’s closer now, able to make out her screen. It’s not anything like he imagined, it can’t be because it’s two men. He blinks to make sure he’s seeing right. Definitely two men, one’s got his fingers deep inside the other. His mouth goes dry and he freezes. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Something creeps up the back of his skull, trying to worm its way into his brain. Images flashing, and his lips tingling.

No. Fuck off.

This is fine. He’s fine.

It makes sense, really. Tashi is attracted to men so of course she’d want to watch that. It’s actually very normal, it’s good. And Tashi’s a feminist so she probably doesn’t want to watch women being objectified. So her being into this type of porn… gay porn… it makes the most sense.

He looks again. Jesus. One of the guys is blond, with a slender hairless frame. He’s also currently being pressed into the mattress, his arm held behind his back as the other guy lines up his (ridiculously large) dick. The other guy has more body hair, he’s a brunet, it’s curly maybe - not that it matters. Art doesn’t really look. Whatever. The blond guy, if Art squints, definitely looks like himself. His chest tightens. It’s fine, this is also a good thing. It’s sweet that Tashi enjoys watching someone that looks like him. It’s loyal.

This is the most normal thing he could’ve walked in on. Tashi is a feminist, she’s straight, they’re both straight and married to each other so what else is she supposed to watch if not gay porn featuring a guy that looks like her husband?

Fuck. The other guy is really drilling into him. Into the blond on the video. It’s borderline violent. Tashi’s arm speeds up, she’s really enjoying herself. There’s a close up shot of the blond’s face, his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth hanging open. Art can’t hear anything but can imagine the type of noises he’s making. He’s pulling faces like it all just hurts so good. Tashi moves under the sheets, like her hips are now thrusting forward into her hand. Art can tell she’s close. He should go. He needs to go. He walks out as quietly as possible, not that she’ll be able to hear now that she’s so close to finishing.

Once safely in the hallway he presses his back against the wall, just breathing. It all flashes in his mind, this image of the blond actor's face. The way it was drenched in tears, an expression so overwhelmed, right on the edge of pain and pleasure. It was like the harder the guy cried, the more Tashi got off.

He can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong. He wracks his brain for any mistakes he might’ve made recently, but comes up with nothing. Clearly she’s mad at him. He knows that she likes being rough with him, he likes it too. But surely if that was all, she wouldn’t bother masturbating or watching a video, she’d just come find him. Or if she really wanted to do it alone then she’d find a video of someone who looked like her, doing it to someone that looked like him.

This must be something else. Her punishing him. Or wanting to. Just enjoying him being in pain. Because Tashi must know, even if she was horny, she knows him well enough to know that Art wouldn’t…

He doesn’t know how to describe it.

A few days ago he had to end practice early, he’d slept rough and his neck was acting up. He’d done the physio, and it was sorted the next day. The next training session was longer to make up for it. He thought he’d done enough, she hadn’t told him she was disappointed. She didn’t look annoyed. But that must be it. She’s frustrated with him, and she doesn’t want to tell him in case it distracts him, so she’s finding another outlet for that frustration.

He would prefer if she just told him. How many other times has she done this behind his back?

He waits in the hallway until the light goes out fully, then waits a few minutes more before he slips into bed with her silently. He doesn’t look down but he knows he’s hard. He won’t do anything about it.

Tashi is asleep on her back, and Art falls asleep like that too.

The next few days he watches her extra carefully, keeping an eye out for any signs that she’s angry with him. He can’t find anything. It’s eating away at him, the video playing behind his eyes.

In bed that night whilst Tashi’s on top of him, both of them kissing lazily, it slips out, “are you mad at me?”

She furrows her brow, moving to lay next to him instead, “why are you asking me that?”

“I just feel like maybe I’ve done something to make you angry,” he shrugs, fingers fiddling with the fabric of her nightie.

“Are you saying I've been mean to you? Because I think I've been pretty nice,” she’s watching him intently, and he feels bad. She has been nice.

“I don’t know, it was stupid, just forget it,” he moves closer against her but she presses a hand to his chest to stop him.

“No, you can’t drop it now, don’t be a pussy,” she’s not going to let this go but her face shifts more towards nervousness, “what have I done to make you think I was mad?”

“The other night I walked in on you watching a video,” she looks at him blankly so he clarifies, “a porn video.”

He mentally slaps himself for saying ‘a porn video’ as if he’s never heard of porn.

“So you took me wanting to have some alone time, as me being annoyed at you?” Tashi glares at him now, “I don't have to spend every second with you.”

“It wasn’t that, it was just the guy in the video, one of the guys in the video,” this seems to make Tashi remember exactly what she had been watching, “he looked like me.”

“And?” Tashi prompts.

“You seemed to really enjoy how rough it was, the way the blond guy was crying over the other guy fucking him,” he’s going into more detail than necessary, “and he looked like me so I just wondered if maybe you were mad at me.”

“So you’re saying I was watching a video of a guy that looked like you getting fucked, as an outlet for my frustration towards you?” She looks more curious than angry.

“Am I right?” he asks tentatively.

She doesn’t answer, just asks him another question, “why didn’t you say anything at the time?”

“I don't know, I froze, I couldn’t look away,” he feels ashamed, “it was only two minutes though, I swear.”

“You should’ve said something,” Art is ready to apologise but Tashi is pressing up against him, “if you did, I could’ve told you that video isn’t my normal style.”

“It’s not?” he watches her shake her head, “what do you normally watch?”

“Want me to show you?” The corner of her mouth twitches up, and he feels something stir in his stomach.

"Yeah," he nods, watching her reach for her phone on the bedside table.

She taps at the screen, types in a few things, scrolls, then presents it to him.

He can’t take it all in at once, it’s a collection of videos, with titles and different thumbnails. None of it looks all that different than what he walked in on. He assumed she meant she didn’t normally watch gay porn, but these videos still seem to be mostly men fucking eachother. Although he doesn’t look too closely, of course.

“I don’t get it,” he treads carefully, watching her face, “how is any of this different from the video I saw?”

“They don’t usually look like you,” Tashi’s emphasis is purposeful but Art doesn’t dwell.

He looks once more, the thumbnails centering again and again on guys with curly brown hair.

“I guess they don’t,” he can’t think what else to say, what she wants him to say, what point she’s making.

Then she makes it all very clear, “do they remind you of anyone?”

He can’t ignore her emphasis now, can’t ignore exactly who springs to mind. He tries to anyway.

“Tashi, why are you doing this?” he tries not to sound whiny, “I don’t understand, is this my punishment?”

“Just watch,” she urges, clicking on one, he can hear sounds but doesn’t watch, she pushes again, “Art.”

He does, and he has to grit his teeth to keep himself from looking away. The brunet actor is on his knees and, there’s no delicate way to put this, he’s got a dick in his mouth. Jesus Christ. The volume is low but the wet sloppy sounds of it pushing in the guy's mouth - the gagging, the groaning - all feel so oppressive against Art’s ears. The sight of it too, the way his mouth stretches around it and his eyes go glassy.

He gets a sudden horrible feeling that maybe this is exactly like when she made him watch that match years ago. That she wants him to study this, to show him where he doesn’t measure up. That this is another area where he’s never been able to beat -

“What do you want me to do?” he’s putting all his effort into not getting weird about this, can’t bear the thought of her keeping whatever this is a secret again, thinking he’s too fragile to handle it.

If it’s about learning then he can do that. He knows that good things take dedication and patience. That’s why he’s a winner.

“You don’t get it,” she sighs.

“Tell me, I want to,” he basically begs.

“You’re the one that said it, that this is about finding an outlet for my anger,” she’s speaking like it’s obvious, “you asked if I was mad at you.”

“I did,” he says slowly, the whirring in his brain feels like he’s almost there, it’s starting to make sense.

“Well, look again and tell me, what’s making me angry?” she tilts the phone, as if he couldn’t already see too clearly. The speed has picked up, it’s rougher than ever, a hand clenched in brown curls gripping the actor in place as his mouth is rammed into over and over.

Art feels his skin prick up. Fuck. He thinks he’s getting it but he can’t say, not without being certain.

Tashi watches him out of the corner of her eyes, as if she is the nervous one, “I think you know, Art, so c’mon - who am I really mad at?”

“Oh,” slips out of him, not even out of surprise because he was already most of the way to the answer. It’s just this noise, drenched in something else, dragged out of him because he doesn’t know what else to do.

She smiles seeing the way it clicks into place for him, “Art, what are you thinking?”

“That it makes sense,” is this the safest reply he can think of, it’s also true.

Tashi was right, if this was a way to vent frustrations then who else would these actors resemble? If you asked who Tashi is the most angry at, there’s only one person that fits.

“I’ll rephrase that - what are you feeling?” she asks, and it’s definitely a better question, but a harder one too.

“It makes me feel good I think,” once he says that, he realises how true it is, “I like that you’re still this angry at him.”

“Yeah?” Tashi grins at him, her eyes shining. He hasn’t just pleased her, he’s thrilled her.

He’s hit the winner. It’s that rare sweet spot where the answer he gives her does three things at once; it exceeds her expectations, it’s his honest truth, and it’s also exactly what she wanted to hear.

“Does it help? Watching the videos?” he asks.

“It does,” she’s still smiling at him, “want to see more?”

He nods, and she exits the current video, selecting another. A different but similar looking brunet actor is on screen, this time without a scene partner. It feels more explicit, he’s laid out on his back on a leather bench and his arms are tied up above his head, his legs strapped and spread apart. Art feels himself blush when he realises what’s going on.

“Too much?” Tashi teases, whilst also genuinely asking him.

“No,” he answers quickly. He’s an adult. He’s seen porn. He’s seen this equipment in videos before. It just feels more intense in the moment, more scandalous with Tashi next to him. Maybe there’s a more specific name for it, but for the purposes of being expressive, it’s a fuck-machine. That pretty much encapsulates it. A plastic dick on a metal pole mechanically pumps in and out of the actor at a steady but increasing pace.

“Good, because I like the way he cries in this one,” Tashi presses up somehow closer to him, her skin feels warm.

He gets what she means, the tears are already forming in the actor’s eyes. His chest flushed red. The machine thrusts at an almost impossibly fast and unrelenting pace. Shit. Even the actor is looking down at himself in almost disbelief at how hard he’s getting fucked. The volume is still low but Art’s ears are tuned in on the noises, the gasps, the moans, and the repeated breathless muttering of oh my God.

Art feels warm too, wanting to press against Tashi even more. His eyes drift from the video to her face, she watches it intently, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes going dark. He’ll give her what she wants before she even has to ask.

“Are you angry right now?” her eyes flit over to him before she answers his question with a nod, so he asks another, “if I wasn’t here would you be touching yourself to this?”

“I would,” her voice is slower, the way it gets when she’s horny.

“I want to help you, want to see how angry you are,” he’s fully hard now thinking about it, doesn’t know exactly when he’d started to get so turned on, “can I touch you while you watch it?”

“Do it,” she orders, that same thrill still in her eyes from before. He feels alive with it, an electric feeling that drowns out anything else. The thoughts nagging at his brain, the pit deep in his stomach, the dryness at his throat, the heaviness in his chest, the strange restless itch in his legs. None of that even registers anymore because he’s got Tashi all lit up beside him. It’s been a while since either of them have been this turned on.

They maneuver so they’re both on their sides. Tashi holds the phone, video still playing as Art presses up behind her, chin resting on her shoulder. He reaches his hand around her, pushing her nightie up and slipping his hand down the front of her underwear. Fuck, she’s so wet already. The sensation makes his hips push forward, pressing his boner against her ass. She pushes back against him, probably thinking about how hard he is already.

He starts out slow, running a finger through her folds, then gently circling her clit. She breathes heavier, from his touch and also the video. There’s that crying she had mentioned, finally in full force. Tears down his face as he writhes against the restraints, the pumping of the machine too much for him. He can see why she likes the video. Not that he would go out of his way to watch it by himself or anything. Although out of all of them this would be the most likely. This isn’t even gay porn, how can it be? There’s only one guy. It’s basically masturbation. Or maybe machine porn, robot porn. He doesn’t really know the categories. But it’s not gay porn.

Art never really thought of himself as someone with any kinks or fetishes - he left that sort of thing to other people. He knows what he likes with Tashi, and that most of all he likes pleasing her. He’s always enjoyed eating girls out, which is probably the closest thing he has to a specific personal fetish. It’s always been something he felt like he could do well, that he was better at. He didn’t know for certain but it was the type of thing that required patience and dedication. There wasn’t always instant gratification. Sometimes he’d eat Tashi out without even getting off himself, getting her to finish a couple times before just going to bed after, no matter how hard he was. Only he would do that. Another place he would win.

He doesn’t have kinks, not really, but this video is doing something to him. Does he want to put Tashi in that situation? Definitely not. Does he want to be like that? It’s closer but still isn’t right. Not in this moment anyway. Probably it’s the fact that Tashi is so clearly into it, rubbing herself against his hand. He watches the actor’s face again, head now thrown back, sobbing silently at the overwhelming pleasure.

Or maybe Art is angry too.

“You really do like the way he cries, huh?” he kisses Tashi’s neck, speaking in her ear, “what else do you like about this one?”

“I like that he’s tied up, held down so he has to do what he’s supposed to,” she responds thoughtfully.

He thrusts against her ass, so turned on he can’t stop himself rambling.

“He was always just doing what he wanted, without a fucking care in the world,” they both know which he Art is talking about, “thought he could get away with anything, like consequences were for everyone else except him.”

He feels angry, like he does most of the time. He shoves it down but it never really left. Now every drop of it is being brought to the surface, and for once he actually lets it. He wants to feel it, Tashi wants him to feel it with her.

“Yeah, fuck, it used to piss me off so much, gallavanting about, following each and every urge at his leisure,” she gasps as Art slips in two fingers at once, “wanted to finally see him at the mercy of someone else.”

Art is at Tashi’s mercy. That’s another thing he wins at.

“You ever make him cry? He deserved it,” this is the most direct mention Art has made in years. He almost takes it back but it’s fine, it doesn’t feel bad. This is about being angry, allowing themselves to be angry together.

“Almost, I always wanted to, I think I could’ve done it,” if I had more time goes unsaid, “but he never did what he was told, not all the time.”

Art has three fingers inside now, his thumb just about able to graze her clit even at this angle. She’s making these low hums in her throat.

“He would if you had him like that,” the guy on the video is pleading now, he’s already finished once and the machine is trying to draw another out of him, “he’d be forced to listen to you.”

“He’d finally be good like you are,” Tashi’s words make him groan suddenly, grinding hard against her.

He needs more, “Tashi, please, can I fuck you like this?”

“Yeah,” she nods, making quick work of taking her panties off while still holding the phone with her other hand.

He pulls off his pyjama pants and underwear too, frantic and desperate to get inside her. She’s on her side, and he’s still pressed against her back as he lines himself up. He whines as he pushes into her wet heat, “fuck.”

He doesn’t thrust too hard or fast, just rocking in and out slowly, which is more than enough. He can’t go too rough or they wouldn’t be able to keep watching.

“Does it feel good?” he asks like he always does.

“Yeah, keep going like that, I don’t want you to come yet,” she warns him, “want you to see another video.”

“Show me,” he whispers into her neck, he feels so close to her, his body molded against hers, pressed deep inside, and sharing her private world with him, “I like knowing this, seeing how angry you are.”

The next video is the most similar to that one he’d walked in on. Two guys fucking, but this time in doggy style, and the one on all fours has brown hair. The guy fucking into him though is blond. His dick twitches. That pit in his stomach calls out to him.

Maybe Tashi can read his mind, or she felt his dick twitch, because she’s asking him, “do you feel angry too?”

Thank God. That’s it.

“Yeah, really fucking angry,” his voice is rough.

“You’ll like this one then,” he can hear the grin in her words.

The blond’s hands dig into the brunet’s waist, pressing deep into the flesh. He uses the grip to thrust in violently, making the guy underneath gasp out while the blond remains stoic. It’s like he doesn’t even care who he’s fucking, just getting his aggression out.

Art moans again, pumping deeper inside Tashi as they both watch the video. It’s not about sex. Well, it’s about sex between him and Tashi. Anything outside of that is just anger.

The brunet has his eyes squeezed shut, the only thing keeping him quiet seems to be the way he’s biting his lips to keep his mouth shut. Art can see his teeth drawing blood.

“Does it help your anger?” Tashi is asking more questions than usual.

“Yeah,” he admits, because this is the angriest he’s felt at him where it also felt good.

“Watch this next bit, it’s the best part,” she reaches a free hand to the back of his head, directing him to look at the screen. He was already looking, hasn’t been able to look away.

The brunet does something to piss off the other guy, Art isn’t sure what but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the blond is grabbing him up by his hair so he’s on his knees instead of all fours. He keeps thrusting into him powerfully while he does this, Art throbs inside Tashi. Then, oh God, the blond wraps his arm around the brunet’s throat, putting him in a chokehold while continuing to fuck him harder than ever. The brunet arches his back, and helplessly grabs at the blond, whatever sounds he’s making are cut off by that strong arm.

Art feels dizzy. In a good way. Tashi likes it too, she makes a small noise in her throat and Art reaches a hand down to circle her clit, bringing the noise out fully.

“He looks like you, the aggressive one,” Art can only hum in agreement, Tashi is breathless, almost can’t make it through what she says next, “you’re so mad at him aren’t you? So fucking angry. You should- would you do that to him?”

Art can’t answer. Can’t make himself do the thinking required to answer that question. Not yet. So instead he asks his own question, “do you hate him?”

“I do,” she pulls at his hair with the hand she still has on his head, he thrusts faster, then suddenly she’s ordering him, “get on your back, I want to ride you.”

He moves quickly, following her instructions on automatic. He’s flat on his back in an instant, and she mounts him just as fast. Her hands are against his chest for balance, and he realises he still has his t-shirt on. He can’t think too much because she’s sinking down, her tight cunt enveloping his dick.

Her hair sticks to her forehead in places, and her entire body glistens with sweat. She’s so beautiful. He can see that her nipples are hard from the way they poke through her nightie. He’d sit up, pull down the fabric and get one of those deep brown nubs in his mouth if he could, but she’s holding him down.

The phone sits face up on the bed, near enough that he can hear everything still. Tashi glances at it, and Art can tell from the noises that the guy still has his arm around the other actor’s throat, but he’s let up enough that these choked out grunts and moans are now audible.

“You hate him?” Art asks again.

“Yeah,” Tashi grinds her hips in circles before beginning to bounce, “do you?”

Art just nods, focusing on her dark eyes watching the video still, “what would you do if he was underneath you now?”

Tashi seems to think for a moment before settling on an answer, “I’d slap him.”

“Show me how,” Art finds himself saying.

It’s not what he’s into, he likes when Tashi hurts him but he prefers her nails digging into him, or a hand pulling his hair. He likes when she’s mean, when she tells him not to come, or keeps touching him when he does. He likes withstanding pain for her, and he likes when she gives him a dull lasting ache. He doesn’t usually like sharp and sudden pain. She’d asked once, and he’d said yes but they could both tell it wasn’t working. Right now though he feels desperate for it, to know how hard she would do it. Exactly how much she hates him.

She makes eye contact, double checking with him before pulling a hand back and bringing it down across his face. It’s hard enough that his head jolts sideways. He hears the sound of it first, the harsh sharp smacking noise seeming to echo in the room. Then he feels the searing pain across his cheek, a white hot heat radiating.

“You really hate him,” he says through a smile, his voice a little croaky.

She just grins back at him. She doesn’t hit him again, she can tell that he got what he wanted from it.

“The guy in the video looks like he could pass out, he’s shaking, but he’s not trying to stop it, he’s just taking it,” Tashi describes for him, like she knows he’s curious now he can’t see, “can you hear the way he’s moaning, he likes it.”

Art can hear it, the pathetic whining.

“Maybe he knows he deserves it,” he moans himself, gripping Tashi's hips and pushing up into her, “what else would you do if he was here, what would he deserve?”

“I’d want him on his knees on the floor,” she looks down at Art, calculating something, “I’d ask you to stand in front of him, would you?”

He can do that, if Tashi’s asking. He can stand wherever she wants, “yeah I would.”

“Good. He’d be kneeling there for us, mouth open, and we’d make him wait,” she puts her thumb in Art’s mouth, pressing it gently against his bottom row of teeth, “you’d be standing above him, looking down at him.”

She removes her thumb, rubbing it against his still red cheek, letting him speak, “you’d be watching, directing,” Art adds, tentatively, not mentioning what he’d be doing.

“Hmm, he’d let us do anything,” she bites her lip, rising up on her knees, then sinking down again slowly, feeling every inch of his cock.

“Yeah, because he knows he deserves it,” Art’s words make her breathe in sharp, encouraging him to keep painting the picture, “that he belongs on the floor.”

“Fuck, and he’d take what we gave him,” she shuts her eyes but he doesn’t dare to do the same, “I’d tell you what to do, and then he’d be choking on it, gagging.”

Tashi spares him. She doesn’t describe anything pushing in anywhere, she skips it over, doesn’t explicitly say exactly what he’d be gagging on. Art is safe to keep thrusting up into her, nothing more than vague, abstract sensations - the feeling of being violent.

“You’d have a good view, I’d make sure,” he promises, “so you could tell him exactly how pathetic he looks.”

“He would look pathetic, I think we could make him cry,” her eyes are still closed, and her eyebrows furrow together in pleasure.

“Shit, yeah, I’d show him that he’s beneath me, beneath both of us,” Art feels them both getting closer, “can’t do whatever he wants anymore, just what we want.”

Tashi opens her eyes, her pupils blown wider than ever, “yeah, he’d have to shut the fuck up for once, no more arguing, because words matter, and he doesn’t deserve to talk back to us.”

Art can tell what they both need, so he pushes himself up and flips them over. Tashi now on her back so she doesn’t have to do the work, and so that he can feel the burn in his thighs instead. He thrusts into her harder, she grabs at his back digging her nails in, his head is pressed into her neck.

“If he did talk back we could punish him,” Art continues their story, it was working so well.

“Would you hit him if I asked?” Tashi whispers into his ear.

“Yes,” Art replies, short because he’s holding back a groan. He doesn’t know if she means a slap like before, or a punch. Red handprints and bloody noses fill his mind. Jesus Christ. Again the nausea threatens so rise, he feels like a fucking pervert, a freak. Or worse.

But it’s okay because this isn’t about sex. It’s about anger.

“You’d do such a good job for me, wouldn’t you?” he nods even though she can’t see, yeah, he’d do whatever she asked. The nausea drowns out as Tashi speaks again, sweetly through gasps, “bet you could get him to apologise.”

“I would, I’d make him say sorry to you,” he pulls back to look at her face, determined, “I could wrap my arm around his throat for you, make him look you in the eyes, only let him breathe when he’s telling you sorry. Would you like that?”

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that,” her eyes close again, he keeps watching her.

“Tell me again that you hate him,” he thrusts faster, needs to hear it.

“I hate him, really fucking hate him,” she confirms, her voice strained, “do you?”

“I hate him,” Art verbalises and it feels like it’s being ripped out from somewhere between his ribcage and his heart, it hurts “I’ve always hated him.”

“No, just stick to the truth,” Tashi reaches for his hair, pulling again, “you’ve got enough truth in you, so just don’t, Art, don’t fucking lie to me.”

She’s right.

“Okay, I hate him right now, I’m angry and I hate him,” he punctuates his words by pumping into her, she gives him an approving look, “we hate him.”

“We do, and he deserves it,” she loosens the grip in his hair, assessing his face again, before suggesting, “we could have him like the guy in the video, on all fours.”

It’s basically what she asked earlier, would you do that to him? Except it feels easier now, he’s more equipped, he’s angrier.

“We could, and you’d tell me what to do,” he still needs her guiding hand, to make sure he puts his anger to good use.

“I’d tell you to ruin him, to pin him down,” she wraps her legs tighter around him, pressing him forward with a heel to his ass. He obliges, fucking her harder, feeling grateful that she doesn’t overdescribe. Ruin him. That’s all he thinks about.

“He wouldn’t be able to get up because I’m stronger than him now,” he licks his lips, thinking about all the work he’s put into his forehand.

“Yeah, and he’d be all red, shoved into the mattress, humiliated because he can’t move. He’d cry again, because he loves it, because it hurts so good,” again she closes her eyes while Art can’t, “he’d want you to touch him, he’d beg, but you wouldn’t do it.”

“Hmm, I’d force him to have some fucking patience for once,” as he fucks into Tashi he doesn’t bring his thumb to her clit like usual but she would never beg. He doesn’t want her to. If she asked, he would touch her within a second. So she doesn’t ask.

“I’d make fun of him, we could laugh at him together,” she keeps pressing at him with her heel.

“You’d know all the right things to say, to keep him crying,” he can hear it, her words, her laugh, “fuck, and you’d be watching me overpower him so easily. I’d show him how much of a loser he is, that he can't fucking beat me now.”

“He is a loser,” Tashi opens her eyes, grabs Art’s face with both her hands, holding eye contact, “he’s a fucking loser, and we beat him because that’s what we do. We win.”

He nods enthusiastically, yeah, fuck it feels good; the way Tashi is speaking, the way she’s looking at him. She gives him a determined stare, “I know you can get me there, c’mon.”

He reaches an arm underneath her, at her lower back, lifting her up just a little so the angle shifts. His hips pistoning in and out of her, “I’m close.”

“So am I,” she digs her nails into him harder, “tell me again what you’d do.”

“I’d have him like the guy in the video, on his hands and knees, I’d do that,” it’s as detailed as he can get but it works, she gasps, her head tilting back, “because we hate him, and he deserves it.”

“Yeah, we’d get all our anger out, because he’s a loser,” she’s clenching around him, right on the precipice.

“He’s a loser, and you’re a winner Tashi,” she actually whines at that, and Art feels like he’s on fire, right on the edge too, “I’m a winner,” he thrusts deep, imagining saying those words to him, then has to drag himself back before his eyes close. He locks eyes with Tashi instead, his wife, “we’re winners, that’s who we are, we’re fucking winners.”

Tashi suddenly cries out in a way he’s rarely heard from her, she gasps and her cunt clenches tight as her back arches. Her full body orgasm brings him down too, he groans, his words and hips stuttering, “fuck, oh- I can’t- Tashi.”

He spills inside her, collapsing on top of her, not sure which of them is trembling more. He’s pretty sure that was the first time she’s finished without either of their hands needing to be on her clit at the same time.

His head is in the crook of her neck, each breathing heavily in each other's ear.

He stays there, and Tashi lets him. Neither of them are capable of moving yet, still enjoying the warmth.

“You’re crushing me,” she says eventually. Reluctantly even, which makes Art feel good.

He slides out of her, wincing at the cool air, collapsing next to her, “sorry.”

She looks over at him, and he smiles. She looks oddly relieved, leaning over to kiss his forehead but before she can get there he redirects her, pulling her in for a proper kiss. It makes him realise they hadn’t kissed that whole time, too many words spilling out of them both. Maybe they’d both been scared that if they interrupted the flow they were in for too long, they’d lose it, this special story they’d been weaving.

“That was good,” Tashi says matter-of-factly, with a definite nod.

“It was,” he agrees.

“So if I’m ever feeling angry again, I can come to you?” he nods in response, “good, and you should do the same, have an outlet for that anger.”

“Yeah it would probably be good for my focus,” he suggests knowing it will make her smile. It does.

On her way to their ensuite, she looks back at him, “you know, you’ve still got your shirt on.”

He snorts, feeling ridiculous, and warm at the same time under Tashi’s eyes.

Once she slips into the bathroom, out of sight, he feels it all coming back. The sickness, the heaviness, the itching. He looks to the side, seeing Tashi’s phone now abandoned, the video must've ended a while ago because the screen is black.

He shuts his eyes for a moment but his throat feels like it’s closing up, he can’t get a breath in. He stares up at the ceiling instead, his eyes burning.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

None of it was about sex. It was about feeling angry. Sharing that emotion with Tashi. It was about being close with her, finding a place to put all that rage together. It’s normal. It was good sex, great sex. Everyone says hate-fucking is the best but he and Tashi are in love, they don’t, can’t, hate eachother so of course they have to look elsewhere to find that emotion.

It’s all healthy marital sex. And it’s all okay. He’s okay.

It’s definitely not about him. He’s nothing. Art and Tashi are married. She’s coached him into winning grand slams. They’re at the top of their game. He’s not even a blip on their radar. Unknown, nameless, and alone. Not like Art. So far below them both. Such a loser that he’d let them take all this anger out on him, he’d know it was all he’s good for. What he deserves. He’s nothing.

Art wins. He fucking wins.

#self reblogging again hiii . artashi weird sex ft gay porn

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