Gina: Happy Birthday
Gina lied. The happy babble of the normal kids stuffed into the campus coffeehouse pressured Gina like water on a diver too deep. Gina loathed these anesthetized idiots. Their cheerful eyes accused her, their frivolous mania smothered her, and their oblivious chatter trampled her fragile confidence into the mud of their privileged, inane lives. Their despotic conformism bullied Gina into joining her fellows in condemning the pretentious pervert artiste, the lying little girl, herself.
Gina couldn't face Ashley, but she was surrounded and could not retreat, and so she stared resolutely at tabletop and lied, "No, Edward didn't do anything weird. No nothing kinky. Yes, we go to a hotel and make love, but he is a perfect gentleman." Gina lied badly; her antisocial life had provided little practice in the art of deception.
Gina and Ashley had made a fetish of honesty. They avowed that their unblinking truthfulness set them above the mundane self-deceived world and bound them together as comrades. Ashley openly admitted she could not tell Gina everything she was up to, but promised she wouldn't lie. Ashley was a genius at deception via strictly constructed truth.
Gina simply lied. These were Edward's instruction; she obeyed. Gina fidgeted uncomfortably in the hard chair in the middle of the student coffeehouse avoiding eyes—laughing eyes, contemptuous eyes, blank eyes, and especially Ashley's loving eyes. Gina stared at the tabletop, blushed with shame, and fought tears.
Gina could not sit still. It wasn't just her lies that made her fidget, or even that she knew her burning face betrayed her deceit. It was her burning ass chafing from Edward's repeated rape over the past two weeks. It had been consensual sex, but Gina had just turned eighteen that day, thus rape under the laws of the commonwealth. To Gina, Edward's crime was a trivial misdemeanor, not a corrupt and deviant felony aggravated by the inequality of power conferred by age, authority, and duty, and by the pure perversion of the act. Gina saw herself as the truly guilty party. She had deceived and seduced the honorable Edward. She concealed her age (liar); she corrupted him (criminal); she loved the things he did to her (pervert). The Voice of Truth testified that the defendant had lusted for each depraved detail.
Gina fretted, "I've betrayed Ashley. I'm a craven liar worse than any of these happy idiots laughing and joking about their stupid lives with their stupid friends. It's my birthday and no one cares or even knows—happy birthday to me. I just lied to the only friend I ever had. I am utterly alone again. Happy birthday to me."
The renowned Professor hadn't been much interested in Gina's pussy. He only wanted to fuck her where it hurt, and so she let him. That's what he wanted, and so she offered herself, and her ass, up to him. Welts from weeks of beatings Edward had inflicted with his belt striped that beautiful ass. Not one of his many fine designer belts, but a heavy strap he wore only for Gina.
Gina didn't simply accept this abuse; she loved it. Kinky sex was a thrill, a great adventure. Gina was no prude. Besides, the great Professor couldn't get hard until he had slapped her around a bit. In just two weeks of passionate abandon, Gina had embraced utter submission to the brilliant and beautiful Edward. Gina was desperately in love. She crawled to him, sucked his cock, endured his thrashings, and took him into her bowels. Now she dutifully lied to her only friend, "No, Edward didn't do anything weird. No, I said nothing kinky."
Edward had said, "Lie." He also told Gina that he could not be seen with her in public because of his engagement to Anna. Gina would have to skulk off alone to the cheap hotel for their secret, sordid trysts. That Edward was embarrassed to be seen with her hurt worse than the beatings or butt fucking. Nevertheless, Edward wanted Gina to hide from the world, and so she did.
What Gina didn't know was that Anna already knew Edward was fucking Gina. And Edward knew that Anna knew. Ashley knew. Everyone involved knew everything, except young Gina. It all began with Anna. Then Ashley arraigned everything for her.
After Edward had fucked Gina twice, Anna ordered him to her boudoir where she let him lie to her about the affair one last time. Anna sat serenely peering into her vanity mirror, applying makeup, and ignoring Edward while he lied. Anna admired how the glistening colors in the pools of her eyes meandered from blue to green and through the aqua rainbow between. How rare and lovely her eyes, how the elusive hues flattered her fair complexion. The rosy shimmer of her hair flowed around her face. Anna leaned in close to check her mascara and her silken gown opened about her luridly spread legs.
All the while Edward stood behind her attempting to explain the unexplainable. Anna checked her lipstick, leaned back, absent-mindedly brushed her hair, and feigned ignoring the garbling lies falling about her like the muttering of drizzling rain. Edward secreted excuses, lies, and flop sweat. Anna patiently let Edward make a fool of himself. Then she confronted him as she leaned in to touch up her eyeliner. Anna didn't even look away from her mirror. "Darling, you are a terrible liar. I know all about the freshman. You really are so predictable." Edward was mortified. Had he lost Anna? Had he lost the game?
Anna finally glanced at Edward's reflection in her mirror. She critically looked him up and down, and at length indulged him with a listless smile. With the forbearance of an adult allowing a bad child to gobble up a second serving of desert, Anna casually granted Edward permission to fuck his student. "Have the girl, I insist. I want my man to be happy. I realize what a slut you are."
Anna fondled her hairbrush, resisting the temptation to punish Edward immediately. The time was not quite right. She looked back to her image in the looking glass and for the millionth time the uncommon mystery of her eyes surprised her. Anna returned to brushing her lush mane. She was meticulous in her old fashion rituals—a hundred scrupulous strokes of the brush every day, proper order, proper discipline. The panicked Edward looked on in silent confusion. A bead of cold sweat crawled down his back.
Anna finally turned her chair toward Edward. She crossed her legs and adjusted her gown to cover up. She held the hairbrush on her lap, drumming it with her fingers, and set forth her conditions. Edward could fuck the girl. He must keep it quiet. Not a hint of this could reach gossiping lips. No consorting on campus. He was not to breathe a word to Gina or Ashley of her acquiescence to the affair. He must shower thoroughly before returning to Anna.
