American Hustle: Swing It

"Oh-ho-ho, yeah," Irving moaned, either hand cupped in Sydney's curly hair. "That is how you use a fucking your tongue! Yes! Oh, baby, you are the absolute!"

Well, she shouldn't have expected any better from Irving. Leave it to some man not to know a good thing when he had it and want some cheap skank who would allow herself to be degraded, let both of them be degraded, really, doing something as filthy as sucking on a man's penis.

Sydney gagged on another few inches of his member, but took it in her throat. Rosalyn was goggle-eyed. How was she doing that? Could she eat whole carrots in one gulp too? This was the kind of thing Rosalyn had read about—deep-throating. Only it was only supposed to be in the movies, a special effect, and here was Sydney doing it with a real life prick! And enjoying it, too! Having her mouth stretched out like a fucking balloon! Rosalyn could tell she was enjoying it, moaning as loud as she was.

Not that Rosalyn ever would do something as filthy as that, but if she did, she thought she could maybe take half of Irving's cock in her mouth. But Sydney had three-quarters lost between her lips, and there was Irving breathing like a bellows, asking her to take even more!

God, her cunt was hot. Why was it so fucking hot? She knew. With Sydney such a whore and Irving such a pushover, she'd probably caught a disease between the two of them.

Irving took off his near-omnipresent shades and shook his head to clear himself of some of the sweat on his forehead and in his hair. He was staring down at Sydney like it was some kind of miracle, putting a penis into your mouth. "Take the whole thing. Yeah, babe—come on. You can do it," he panted. If Rosalyn were just listening in, she wouldn't know if he was in pain or ecstasy.

Sydney slurped her way off him with a truly disgusting sound, gave Irving a smile that made Rosalyn want to vomit, then rolled onto her back. Irving rolled too, kneeling with his legs on either side of Sydney's throat. Sydney opened her mouth cheekily, daring him with her eyes. Rosalyn watched in total disbelief as Irving put his thing at her lips, tensed his legs, and shoved forward to bury all of his cock in her mouth.

As much a bitch as Sydney was, Rosalyn felt sorry for her as she choked and stiffened. Irving was clutching his heart, making strangled sounds while Sydney's eyes bulged and beads of sweat coursed over her wrinkled brow. Her nostrils flared like a bull's. Rosalyn thought she was choking to death on that cock lodged in her throat, just like had happened to that teenager in Florida she'd read about. But Irving just flexed his ass cheeks, fucking his way down Sydney's throat.

Rosalyn was just about to scream for them to stop—as pissed off as Irving made her, she didn't want him going down for a murder charge—when Irving let out a sigh and pulled out slowly. It seemed to take weeks, but he kept going until he was all out but his cockhead. Rosalyn could see Sydney sucking at it, her tongue lashing just under the knob, blowing it with the gusto of a virtuoso. She liked it. Sydney really did like sucking cock.

Well... how the fuck was Rosalyn supposed to compete with that?

Even Sydney didn't seem to know how good she was. Irving came before she was ready, bursting just as she licked his tip. He shot onto her lips, over her shoulder to the bedspread, even a splash on her collarbone before she got his prick clamped between her lips and drank him down smoothly as soda through a straw. Irving groaned and gave Sydney a few quick thrusts before he was done. After he pulled out, Sydney licked her chin clean. Rosalyn held a hand to her heart. Awful.

Finally giving her jaw a rest, Sydney crawled beside Irving for a laydown. He submitted meekly to her clutching his cock as she lightly kissed at his chest.

Rosalyn went back to her room. She almost wished she hadn't broken things off with Pete. She could've used a man right about then.

***

Irving was feeling pretty good on his way to work. Okay, so Rosalyn was in trouble. He was fine. The kid was fine. Sydney was fine. It wasn't like with DiMaso, when there'd been trouble coming in on all fronts. This was just one problem. He'd handle it before anything else came along and that would be that.

Then he turned the corner to his Laundromat, meaning to buy the boys lunch, and saw Pete Muscane and six goombas standing in front of the shop. He turned around to run, but got more turned around than he intended, and they jumped him before he could take off. "Oh no," he said. He was too scared to find a profanity to spew. "Oh no, oh no, oh no..."

A white van pulled up and they ganged him through the side-door, sealing it shut behind them like a tomb. The van took off. Its lurching acceleration was in concert with the drop in Irving's stomach. "I'm being kidnapped!" he shouted.

"Shut up," Pete growled, fingers twitching like he could feel himself slapping the other man.

"I'm being kidnapped," Irving said quieter, almost to himself. "I'm being kidnapped, I'm being kidnapped-" He kept up the litany as Pete cracked his knuckles.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Me and Rosalyn, we had a good thing goin'. All of us had a good thing. You had your girl, I had mine, we split the kid. Good thing. Why'd you have to come waltzing back into our lives—"

"I'm being kidnapped!" Irving repeated shrilly.

"You should've stayed away, Irving. You really should have just stayed away."

Irving held up his hands in repeated, frantic 'just let me explain' gestures, his eyes begging for time. Pete kneaded his right fist in his open palm, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm being kidnapped," Irving said. Then, clutching his chest, quieter: "I'm being kidnapped..."

He slumped over, head twice hitting the floor like a basketball being dribbled.

"I think he's having a heart attack, boss," someone said.

"I thought we were only gonna rough him up."

"A heart attack's pretty rough."

Pete coughed a little. He'd never seen anyone dying before. "Maybe we oughta—let's go to the hospital? Hey, let's go to the hospital!"

***

When Irving woke up, Rosalyn was already talking. "It was the chamomile tea. Thank God for me, Irv; that chamomile tea I told you to drink, it must've saved your life. All those antioxidants. You ask the doctor when he comes in. If you'd had any more oxidants in you, you wouldn't be standing here today."

Irving shuffled in his hospital bed. "I'm lying down."

"Don't correct me, Irving. I came here to comfort you, but I will not put up with male correctionalism. Drink this." She handed him a cup of water.

He drank it greedily, looked around for a doctor. "I'm... I'm okay?"

Her smile—when she smiled—could be dazzling. "Yeah, baby. You're going to be just fine. The doctors say it was only a small heart attack. You were only out for so long because you're—so—lazy." She punctuated the comment poking playfully at his arm.

He smiled in a bit of relief, but he still felt like he had in the van. Like he was stammering, trying to get something out while it clung tight to his vocal cords. "I almost died."

"I know, baby."

They were alone in the tiny room. Him, her, and all their history, all the fuck-ups. The door was shut. He started to cry.

"I almost died..."

She moved to the bed beside him, took his head in his arm, and gently petted his hair. Her fingers slipped under his toupee so he could feel them on the bare skin of his scalp. That made him cry harder for some reason.

"I could've died... I almost died..."

Sydney came in a few minutes later. It'd taken some time for the hospital to reach her and for her to get through crosstown traffic. When she came in to see Irving and Rosalyn together, she did not feel pain or jealousy. She was simply happy that Irving hadn't been alone.

Kneeling by the other side of the bed, she took Irving's hand.

***

So now I had a bum ticker. Ever seen one of those edited-for-TV movies where they cut out all the good stuff? Imagine someone doing that for my life. No tobacco. No red meat. No salt. Vegetables. Exercise. JOGGING. And I still had Roselyn to deal with. I was fighting a war on two fronts, and the center could not hold.

Oh, and no sex. Which might've been for the best. If I did cheat with Rosalyn, I might as well drop dead on the spot, because it would be better than whatever Sydney had in store for me.

When they got back from the hospital, Rosalyn and Sydney had to steer Irving, like a zombie, from the car to his bedroom. He was so zonked out on meds that he laid down already asleep. Rosalyn had to lift his legs while Sydney pulled the sheets out from under him. They both pulled the bedsheet up to his chin.

Sydney hurried out of the room. Rosalyn stayed by his side, wanting to prove something, but she got bored pretty quickly. She went out into the kitchen, where Sydney was cleaning out the fridge of all the food the doctors had told Irving to avoid.

She was housewife enough to put some in a bag for charity, but con artist enough to fix the rest in the crockpot for some kind of stew. Or maybe it was the other way around. Rosalyn always thought of charity as a con. You gave stuff away and it was supposed to make you feel better about yourself, but did it ever really? If it did, why did people have to keep giving stuff away?

"So..." Rosalyn said, thinking Sydney would pick up the slack of the conversation. But Sydney just filled a bowl with the soup and passed it to her. Rosalyn took it, didn't eat. "I think it's really great what you're trying to do for Irv. Waiting on him and stuff. That's good."

"Thanks." Sydney shrugged. "It's what any wife would do."

Rosalyn bit her lip, thought for a moment, then piped up like they hadn't exchanged words at all. "I'll explain it to Danny."

"He already knows."

"No, the other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You leaving." Rosalyn ran a hand through her hair. "I mean, you'll probably want to be leaving now. You've been great and all, but—"

"Why would I leave?" Sydney asked.

"I don't know—I'm his wife. I should take care of him. It's my responsibility."

Sydney emitted sounds of higher and higher incredulity with each sentence Rosalyn spoke, like a piano being tuned. For the first time, she realized Rosalyn was wearing one of her Gunne Sax dresses.

"I'm just saying," Rosalyn continued, "that I don't think you should be trying this little domestic experiment when Irving's life is on the line! I know how to take care of him, I know this house, I know this family—" She put her hand to her heart. "If you want what's best for Irving, you should just walk away and let me handle this."

"You? You couldn't take care of a seven-year-old boy, how are you gonna take care of Irv?"

Then Rosalyn realized that Sydney was wearing a pair of her hot pants and her two-way blouse. "I've been his wife for years. You've only been moved in for maybe a month!"

"I've been more of a wife to him in a month than you have in years! We both know he wouldn't have even had a heart attack if it weren't for you and your baggage and your mobster ex-boyfriend!"

"Me?" Rosalyn was so offended, she squeaked. "It's all my fault? If there was anyone who was putting stress on his heart, it was you! With all your—deviant sex kinks!"

Sydney's eyes opened further than a set of umbrellas. "What?"

"I saw you and Irving the other night, I know what you two get up to! You're just a hot-bottomed little whore and you use him for some sick sexual glee and I bet it's having to fuck you every night that put him in the hospital! I bet cash money!"

Sydney crossed her arms. "You're a psychopath."

"Yeah, I don't know what'd be worse, if you do all your whoring with him or if you spread it around the neighborhood. I bet it's the second one, but you'll still such a slut you gave him a cardiac trying to keep up! I know girls like you!" Rosalyn counted off on her fingers. "I bet you fuck the neighborhood boys and the married men, maybe even the women, you seemed to really like it when I kissed you that time!"

"You kissed me."

Her plump arms crossed, Rosalyn stared at Sydney the way a mother would stare at an untrustworthy teenager. "I bet you fuck anything with a cock hung in front. Thank Christ we don't have a dog, Sydney. God knows what kind of VDs a dog could get from a person."

"I don't have to listen to this—"

"You're a whore! You're such a whore you had to get cock from other women's husbands! You had to get it from me! You're so goddamned whore-happy that you can't even live without fucking around!"

"Well he ended up with me, so he must prefer a whore to you!" Sydney replied in a huff, her breasts shaking with the heated gobs of breath she took.

Head down, Rosalyn sulked. She was tired of looking Sydney in the eye. "You think you're special? You really think you're special. I was special too. It's always great when it starts, but you're just this year's model of me. Sooner or later he's gonna get bored of you and he's gonna lose you just like he lost me!"

Sydney bore down on her, coming so close Rosalyn had to face her. "So I'm you, huh?"

"You wish you could be," Rosalyn spat in her face. "I held onto him for so damn long. He's only with you because I let him go."

"If I'm you, then you should recognize this."

Sydney grabbed Rosalyn in a kiss that, with her already overheated, could've set her on fire. And as much rage and pain were behind the kiss, Rosalyn could only think of how much softer Sydney's mouth was than Pete's, than Irving's. She didn't want to be kissed—why would she?—but that whore mouth of Sydney's was really soft, really warm, really new. Rosalyn froze, just taking in the novelty. And she stayed frozen.

But as soft as her mouth was, the woman was strong. She took Rosalyn by the shoulders and backed her into the refrigerator, still kissing her. "If you saw me sucking his prick," Sydney said between tastes of Rosalyn's tongue, "then this cunt of yours must've been wet ever since."

Rosalyn felt nothing but Sydney's tongue, electric and stimulating, until a warm hand slid up her dress. More electricity; inside her panties now. Rosalyn felt wired up like Christmas lights. Those fingers knew exactly where to touch and how. Rosalyn gasped away Sydney's tongue in recognition of their expertise.

"Yeah, that's right," Sydney said against her mouth. "I went to a British boarding school. I know how to fuck women."

Her fingers twisted, and that was more than enough to overcome the shock of tasting her own medicine for Rosalyn. She could even put up with those big heifer tits pressed up against her own if it meant keeping those beautiful fingers in her cunt. Sydney kissed her again, and for the first time in her life, Rosalyn submitted meekly.

Or she would've, if Sydney had just kept kissing her and touching her, not taken Rosalyn's hand and led it down her shorts, where Sydney was even softer and wetter and more thrilling than her mouth. Realizing what she was touching—seeing Sydney quake and tremble in the beginnings of release—Rosalyn pulled her hand back, her mouth away.

"Get the fuck off me! Fucking queer! Fucking dyke bitch!" Rosalyn wiped her own lipstick off her mouth. "I'm telling Irving."

"Tell him!" Sydney shot back.

"I will!" Rosalyn stomped for the bedroom, nearly going down as she tried to balance on her suddenly towering heels. "I'll tell him what a fucking rugmuncher you are! No one wants a wife who's a rugmuncher!"

"Then why'd he marry you?" Sydney demanded, following so closely that her words hit the back of Rosalyn's neck, dripping hot oil on her already overwarm body. "You loved every finger I put in there! You couldn't get enough of it! You must be a real lezbo to get off so hard on another woman! I bet that's why you can't keep a man. Bet that's why you're such a frigid bitch. You don't want cock, you want a nice wet cooch!"

Rosalyn barged into Irving's room, finding him snoring like a broken vacuum cleaner. She pounded on the mattress with both fists, waking him up. His head jerked up to see the two women standing over him, both fuming with rage, Sydney's hands pressed into fists, Rosalyn's nails ready to claw her rival's eyes out.

"What the—what's goin'—who's dead?" he asked woozily.

Rosalyn pointed desperately at Sydney. "You wanna know who you're raising our kid with? You wanna know who you're married to? She's a lesbian, Irv! You married a big, cuntlapping lesbian slut and she just assaulted me! She tried to make me a lezbo!"

Sydney gave Rosalyn a hard shove. "She kissed me first, I was just kissing her back! She was the one who enjoyed it! She let me finger her, Irving, me."

"She seduced me!" Rosalyn protested, raising her leg to give Sydney a kick but then wobbling unsteadily on her one remaining heel. "Everyone knows that women know how to please women better than men—"

"Ha!" Sydney cried. "Is that not something a lesbian would say? Is that not something a lesbian would say?"

"Clearly not, because I said it! I'm not gay, I have a kid! You're gay!"

"You kissed me first!"

"I didn't fucking finger you!"

"You were about to!"

"When I came to my senses and remembered I was married!"

"He divorced you, you stupid bitch, and don't even pretend that you wussing out had anything to do with Irving!"

"I love him!" Rosalyn ran to Irving, bypassing Sydney like a quarterback making a run into the end zone, grabbing Irving by the face with both hands and kissing him as many times as she possibly could before Sydney pulled her away. "See how in love we are, Sydney? It must sicken you, seeing me doing this with a man. Why don't you just get out of here, go to some lavender bar, and kiss all the girls you want?"

Sydney struggled, trying to keep Rosalyn in her grip when the other woman clearly wanted to continue her charm offensive against Irving. "I don't know any lavender bars! Maybe you could give me directions?" Rosalyn bit her. "Fucking bitch!"

Sydney threw Rosalyn down on the bed, across Irving's legs. She slapped the other woman silly and threw her dress up to her tits. Rosalyn's panties she jerked down her legs. "Look, Irv. Look how wet she is. Think that's from kissing you?"

"It is!" Rosalyn protested. "It's all for him, I was even thinking of him while you were fingering me!"

"Bullshit!" Sydney screamed. She climbed atop Rosalyn. "I'm gonna fuck you, you bitch! I'm gonna fuck you until you admit what a lesbian you are!"

And she fell on Rosalyn, kissing her again, touching her again—hearing her moan again.

"Ladies?" Irving murmured. "You're kinda crushing me here...?"

Both women ignored him, despite Sydney speaking to him as she quickly found Rosalyn's clitoris, the perfect size to tickle, stroke, pinch. "Look at how big her clit is, Irv. Have you ever seen a clit that big on a straight woman?"

Below Sydney, Rosalyn's mask had slipped. Her aggressively judgmental scowl, her blazingly assertive eyes, her scrunched-up boxer's nose—they'd become flushed cheeks, flaring nostrils, a slack mouth with a pleasure-curled tongue inside. She was as beautiful as ever, but with her eyes glazed over with lust, she was even more exciting to behold. Irving felt himself harden, seeing that look in her eyes. Maybe not being able to feel his legs wasn't such a bad thing.

Both women were quickly forgetting their Sapphic concerns. Sydney was becoming absorbed in Rosalyn's pending orgasm, as was Rosalyn, obviously enough. It no longer mattered to either woman that Irving was watching, that a woman was fingering her or being fingered by her. All the three of them wanted was to experience, even secondhand, the orgasm Rosalyn was so clearly gearing up for.