blistered lips

In the corner he stands.  Facing the wall, his hands to his sides.  Naked and appearing so vulnerable, so alone.  And you might, indeed, think him a lonely man.  A sad man.  Even maybe a pathetic man.  But let’s take a closer look before we go away with our own first impressions, shall we?

Look, when we try to peer into his eyes (because really, when it’s all said and done, that’s where one can quickly ascertain the truth of a person, isn’t it?), there’s something covering his face.  My, oh, my, is that what I think it is?  Yes, it is.  Panties!  Panties covering the dear boy’s face.  Now what did he do to merit that?

But, wait!  Look at how the crotch of those panties are placed strategically over his nose.   We must get in a little closer.  Let’s just cozy up next to him and see exactly what is going on here.   Goodness!  Looked at how soiled the panties are!  Even from here the scent is quite robust.  The scent of sex, I dare say.  The pungent scent of man-woman sex.  Intriguing.  Quite intriguing.

Now that we are so close, do you see what I see?  Look at that penis sticking out so straight and stiff from his groin.  Hmmm.  A rather small one, isn’t it?  Nonetheless, it’s quivering and bobbing just a bit.  Pity to the poor woman he might try to mount with that silly little thing.  How tedious and utterly boring it would be for her, don’t you think?

Do you hear that?  Coming from the wall of the corner our little mini-meat-man stands against?  It’s muffled, but still exuberant and loud.  What could it be?  Did you see that?  I do believe that puny appendage of his just twitched.  Why, he’s reacting to the moans and groan, the creak of bed springs, the slapping of flesh we are hearing from the other side of that eggshell white wall!  And look at that!  He just took a deep sniff of those panties.  Oh, he did it again.  And again.  Look at that tiny stone pencil of his actually quivering.

Wait.  Someone is saying something from behind the wall.  Let’s listen.

This is what you deserve, you sad excuse for a husband.  Do you hear me, Henry?  Are you smelling the fuck on my panties while I’m getting my next dose of real man cock?  You’re a loser, Henry.  And you’ll stand there in the corner like the sorry dick-wad you are while I fuck this stud.

Oh my!  I think we have our answers.  And, at this point, I do believe we should leave Henry to his moment of bliss.

“It’s what I want, Jeremy. You need to get used to this once and for all.”

You remember looking at her: This woman you’d adored for what seemed forever. You’d spread out your hands, reaching for her.  The gesture seemed desperate and you’d quickly  put them back to your sides.

“But you’re my girl, Courtney. You can’t do this. It just isn’t right.”

“I am going to do this whether you like it or not. If you want me to be ‘your girl,’ then you need to accept things the way they are. Maybe, if you just finally get over yourself, I might even let you have sex with me.   I’ll bet you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Flipping a tress of hair behind her ear, Courtney had batted her lashes and smiled. Later you would wonder if that smile had really been a smirk.  That in your obsession with her, you’d read her beautiful, flawless countenance all wrong.  Of course, the possibility of finally being allowed to have sex with her probably had something to do with it; but at that moment she had you in the palm of her hand. You knew you would agree to anything.

***

Was that really only a month ago?

Because here you are now in what seems like a third rate porn video, a low-grade director’s fantasy on celluloid.

Courtney rented the hotel room, made all the plans, even drove both of you the ninety miles it took to get here.

She is face-down on the hotel bed while a man you just met not even an hour ago licks up the crack of her ass while pumping two fingers in and out of her pussy. Two other men stand naked on the other side of the bed, pumping their pricks and watching. The dirty blonde one looks over at you. “Can you handle this, man? You’re looking kind of pale. Are you going to be okay?”

Courtney takes her face out of the pillow she’s been moaning into and looks at you. “Get you’re clothes off. Don’t you dare fuck this up for me.” Before you can even respond she’s moved up onto her hands and knees and is telling the guy in bed with her, “I need it. I need your cock. Fuck me. Give it to me now.”

The guy with the goatee moves over to the head of the bed, bending his right knee across a rumpled pillow. He pushes his pelvis forward so that his cock is pushing into the side of her cheek. “Open your mouth, you fucking cock slut,” he grunts, “grab this prick of mine and eat it.” Then he looks over at you and sneers. “Is she a good little cocksucker?”

“I don’t know.”

You hear the words, wondering who said them, then realize they’ve come out of your very own mouth. Courtney has grabbed his cock and is smearing the pre-cum up and down the shaft as she licks and sucks the bulbous head.   She stops and looks at you.

“Tell them why you don’t know.”

“I, er….”

Just then the guy behind her starts shoving his cock between the triangle of her spread thighs. You see her back arch and hear the quick intake of her breath.

“Tell them.”

You feel the heat of humiliation coloring your face as you watch Courtney begin to rhythmically meet the thrusts of the cock shoving in and out of her.

“Tell them, you son-of-a-bitch.”

And then she purposely twists from the waist, pulling goatee’s cock up to the edge of her red mouth. She wants you to see. She stares defiantly into your eyes as she begins lowering her lips to the oozing, bubbling head.  “I like cock,” she says, and begins moving her mouth down the shaft until the entire root has disappeared and her mouth looks obscenely bloated.  Still staring and you, she begins sucking.

“Courtney doesn’t suck my cock.”

Again you can’t believe the words have come from your mouth. You don’t know why, but you start taking off your clothes. As the dirty blonde crawls up on the bed, you hear yourself again.

“Courtney used to fuck me.  She never, ever would suck my cock, but she did fuck me.  Not a lot.  But she did fuck me sometimes.”

You are down to your jeans and are unzipping them.  Your dick is throbbing.  You are ashamed and turned-on.  It is a sick, dirty feeling.   And you like it.

“Courtney stopped fucking me a year ago. But I’m so pussy-whipped, I don’t care.”

The bodies on the bed have rearranged themselves. Courtney is riding dirty blonde’s dick, while the guy who’d been fucking her pussy is now pushing in and out of her ass from behind.  Mr. Goatee is standing on the bed, his hands clasping her long hair, forcing her mouth down on his dick. You can hear her gagging and see her throat actually expanding as his pelvis smashes full into her face.

You are naked now and realize that you’ve started playing with yourself. You ramble on.

“I’ve never been able to satisfy Courtney. She’s cheated on my from the beginning. I always knew. I just pretended I didn’t. Because it doesn’t matter as long as she gets what she needs.”

You move to the bed, mesmerized by the tangle of flesh, with your beloved Courtney at the center of it all. And then you are whispering.

First to Courtney: “You get all the cock you need, baby girl. You get yourself all the dick you can take. I understand. You can’t help it. You deserve it.”

Then to the men: “You give it to her, guys. Fuck her good. Give her some nice, dirty, hard fucking. In all her holes. Fill her up with your gizz. Make her cum hard.”

The entire time you are stroking yourself.

You are realizing that this is the way it will always be. And you are realizing you don’t care. Your baby girl is getting her fix the only way she can. And you will always be there helping her get it.  Doing anything she wants.  You can’t escape when you’re pussy whipped.  You’re officially a cuckold now.  A pussy-whipped cuckold.  And you don’t care.

“Don’t kiss me on the neck.”

“Why? I thought you liked it.”

“I do. Just not right now. I just want fucked. Just stick it in.”

“Okay, but don’t bitch at me later.”

“Christ, shut the hell up and stick in it.”

And then he is pushing her over the kitchen sink, sliding her skirt up over her generous, round ass. Surprised to see she is not wearing panties, he thinks better of saying anything; she obviously isn’t in the mood to listen.

As he goes to push her right leg out further with the cap of his bent knee, she moans.

“Hurry up, damn it. Give me that cock.”

And so he presses between her legs, again surprised when the head of his cock glides so easily between her already-moist thighs to bob against her sodden bush. She grunts, wiggling her slit back onto the head. He feels himself slide into her–fast and deep–with hardly any effort.

As he starts moving in and out, he can hear the slick sound of her juices coating his pistoning cock and feel them oozing between the hair on his balls. The smell of her sex wafts up to surround both of them. He moves quicker; her animal need has quickened his pulse, sharpened his need.

She’s curled her fists along the edge of the sink, her white knuckle grasp helping her to push back. Her breaths are fast. She is grunting and groaning, then whimpering.

“I need it. Right there. Yes. There.”

And then she is crying and her cunt is rhythmically spasming around his cock as she begins cumming. The raw quickness of her orgasm pushes him over the edge and he is pumping his load into her, his face buried between her angora-covered shoulder blades.

They stay that way, hunched over the sink like twin embryos as they catch their breath.

And then she stands up straight, his dick sliding out of her and down her thigh–a slug, leaving it’s slime.

“Okay, leave me alone, now. I need to finish these dishes.”

“What in the hell is going on, Sarah? Why are you acting so funny? Where’s Monica?

“Jason, I…”

Sarah turns to the window, brow knitted, trying to think of how to tell him. Damn her, she thinks, why did she have to do this today while I’m here?

“I…”

“Sarah, what’s is wrong? Just tell me where Monica is.”

“Ok, remember New Year’s Eve? Remember when you and Monica had that fight?”

Jason hesitates, grabs hold of the edge of the table. It was just a spat. They were both drunk, him stupid and drunk. Monica had said things, crazy things, but she was drunk, for god’s sake.

“Where in the hell is my wife?”

“You don’t have to yell.”

Sarah turns away, biting her lip, looking toward the kitchen wall, staring at it. She looks back at Jason. Then he hears it. Very low, hardly noticible. Living in an apartment complex, you get used to ignoring the sounds of all those lives going on around you. But this is coming from inside the apartment; this is coming from the bedroom.

Jason walks over to the wall, reaching out, touching it. He looks back at Sarah.

“Who’s in there Sarah?”

“Jason, you told her you wanted her to do it.”

“I was drunk, Sarah. I was shit-faced drunk.”

But he remembers. Remembers showing the guys all the porn on his computer. How they all laughed, telling him he was a pervert. How Monica was standing there with her arms folded over her chest. How he laughed while Barry explained to Monica what cuckolding was. How pissed she was. How, when he kept laughing, she’d told him he might just get what he wanted. How the guys had joked and said they’d help out anytime. It was all so funny then. What had he said to her? Do it and make me happy for once. Something like that.

Jason starts toward the hall. The noise seems so much louder now. Does he hear moaning? Is that Monica moaning? The bedroom door looms, white and huge. He has to see, has to know.

“Don’t go in there.”

His hand on the doorknob, Jason barely hears Sarah. But he hears Monica now.

“Give it to me. Fuck me like a whore. Harder.”

He turns the knob.

“Jason, don’t go in there.”

He pushes the door open.

And there is Monica, there is his wife. And Brad.