The Lies You Tell the Others
(and the lies you tell yourself)
10 - Reunited
"I never doubted you, sweetheart. You know that, right?"
Her nipples ached, her head throbbed, the fish she had for dinner was not sitting well, her cunt felt like it was rubbed raw, and her anus was sending her waves of sensation she wished would end.
Michelle understood, of course, the source of all of her present maladies. The nipples were sore because, just that morning, the older gentleman by the name of George had wrung from her very soul the strongest orgasm, possibly, ever in the history of humanity, by means of pinching her A-cup titties within what seemed like an inch of their life while his wife pummeled her ass with a hairbrush and she at the same time stimulated her own clit with her magic wand even while sucking him off to the point she passed out.
The headache, dull by now, was likewise easily understood as the normal consequence of not only lack of sleep but also the vast quantity of liquor she had been given by all sorts of men during the past couple of days in the pursuit of what they believed they would get from her. Ditto the sick stomach, irrespective of the food she had had for dinner. Her pussy? The whole area was irritated, in part, by a painful rash on her Venus mound due to the crude job of shaving performed that morning by that same man George. but more importantly because she had taken six, or possibly seven or even eight -- it was easy to lose track - dicks of varying sizes inside her vagina in the past 24 hours or so, including that of a college student who had the longest and thickest one she'd ever experienced in her life.
As for her anus, it was the simplest discomfort to diagnose, because she was being butt-fucked at the moment by her husband. Her fiancé, she was quick to correct herself; maybe even only her boyfriend, as she had been reminded over and over during the past week. He wasn't the only one who had butt-fucked her in the past day, but he was usually the most vigorous about it and he was just getting started now.
She tried to relax as Alben pressed his erect member into her heavily lubricated anus. But she couldn't completely stifle a cry, at the sharp discomfort as he achieved full insertion.
"That's 'Sir' for the rest of this trip, Chelle," he reminded her. "No more 'sweetheart' for you."
"Sir. Of course." She already missed the freedom to address her older lover by his first name, or to speak her mind, even if ultimately she would always consent to every wish he expressed to her.
He didn't show much leniency and began slowly pumping in and out to a constant, consistent depth, mindful that he mustn't use full force but requiring this amount of heavy stimulation to work toward his orgasm.
She didn't know the full details, only that the big-titted, heavy-thighed, dick-sucking whore-slut Zoey had parted ways with Alben.
It had been two days earlier, after sexual encounters with that other woman two nights in a row, that Alben announced to Michelle that they were more than merely swapping now, and that she was henceforth the property of the plumber, permanently. He told her he would be marrying Zoey on the island this week, while Zoey smirked at her in triumph. He continually gave Zoey priority over herself, and to others he referred to Zoey as his fiancée. Zoey had taken her man away from her exactly as she had boasted, the first night, that she could and that she would.
Something about Alben's manner, today, suggested that the abrupt change back to the original arrangement had been more Zoey's idea than his own. Perhaps Zoey had laughed at him, telling him that her suggestion she would leave her own husband, as well as her young children, and marry a 60-year old man on a Caribbean island merely for his wealth, had been the liquor talking. Or that she had been simply leading him on for her own entertainment.
Besides, a quickie divorce for her and marriage to him, on the island. likely wouldn't be legally valid anyway, Michelle imagined.
No, she couldn't know what had transpired between them, and what had caused the sudden falling out. Part of her hoped that it had been a little like her pretend scenario. The other part did not want to see her husband -- wait, no, husband-to-be - made to feel like a fool.
In any case, they were alone together on this romantic island, at the far end of the brawny fishing village, under a sexy veil of anonymity, in the last intimate little cottage on the terminal road, at the tip of land that penetrated the yielding ocean. It was a setup right out of one of her cheesy romance novels, but somehow the fromage was overripe and maybe going rancid. Alben had made use of the cruise line's flexible booking policy to schedule this vacation within a vacation, one Michelle had for two long days fretted Zoey had laid claim to. Their spot was away from the shopping district but not entirely private either, with tourists and lovers walking past the location on their way to the wharf for moonlight strolls and maybe a little canoodling, as they themselves had done as soon as they arrived. Though, in their case, she had permitted Alben more than a mere canoodle; she had dropped to her knees and sucked his big dick, right there on the momentarily deserted wharf in the open air, under the light of a nearly-full moon, for half a minute before he told her to stop and get ready for the main event back at the cottage.
After disembarking from the cruise liner, it had taken them several hours to get there, first traveling by taxi from the seaport to the airport, then by commercial air for an hour, and then by a charter helicopter to the actual destination. The terrible hangover she still had, from the drinks pushed upon her during her trysts with a young barkeeper and the four frat boys and the cruise ship security force and finally the older couple just hours before arriving in port, had not made the air travel a particularly pleasant experience for her. But she had at least managed not to vomit.
Alben had described it to her as a perfect tropical vacation spot. By not reaching it until after dark, to her there was a mysterious feel to it all. Sinister, perhaps. She felt more than a little isolated. Vulnerable. Headachy, and sick to her stomach.
The house was at the last street corner in the village, where a service road intersected. The bedroom was oriented toward that corner, with windows facing both roads. The lights in the room were all on, and Alben had left the shutters and windows wide open. Any local resident or vacationing tourist walking in the wee-hours moonlight, with even a little curiosity at the sounds of their activity, could have peeked inside and seen Michelle's husband doing her doggy style.
Husband-to-be, she corrected herself again. It was important to be honest. Honesty was her new mantra. He was butt-fucking her. It was important not to be euphemistic, too. It was time to speak plainly, at least in her own mind.
Unlike Zoey, she was scrawny. Her own tits were small, and her thighs and calves were likewise overly skinny. Bird Legs, he called her sometimes. Nonetheless, Zoey the big-titted, heavy-thighed, dick-sucking whore-slut, presumably still on the cruise ship, was out of the picture permanently now, still stuck with her limp-dicked fat-fuck-plumber of a husband Dennis. Michelle didn't have to worry now. She was Alben's small-titted, bird-legged, dick-sucking whore-slut again, same as before. Same as ever. Same as forever.
She had sucked his dick, nastily and thoroughly, on their very first date, New Year's Day 2000. And two years later now she knew he would always expect her to suck his dick, and she would always comply when asked, even if in the presence of others. Sometimes she would volunteer, and she understood why--the embarrassment helped her reach satisfaction. She understood that her willingness to take his sperm into her mouth made her no better than Zoey. In his eyes, if not her own. She understood now that humiliation was the word to describe it, not merely embarrassment. It also served to describe the perverse pleasure she took from it, not merely psychic pleasure but straightforward lust that led to easy orgasms. But the deep explanations didn't matter now. She was his again. He was hers. Simple as that.
No better than Zoey? She was worse than Zoey, of course - in his eyes, she believed, as well as her own. For instance permitting anal like this was worse, for sure. Zoey had apparently refused him that privilege. Whereas she was taking it in the butt from him this very minute. She let him perform the scandalous act any time he wanted. And it humiliated her. It helped her cum. George had clarified for her the humiliation aspect of it all, that very morning.
Having sex in front of someone? That was humiliating too. Having group sex, that was, well, no, Zoey had done it, so that was a push, not a win. But she would eat pussy when told to, and Zoey would not. So that also made her worse than Zoey, Or at least, Alben had not insisted that Zoey reciprocate, and Zoey had not offered. Thus, she was Alben's small-titted, bird-legged, pussy-eating, butt-fucking, dick-sucking, whore-slut. Worse than Zoey.
Worse was better, of course. And better was worse. George had spelled out how the humiliation exalted her. It helped her climax. Being weak made her orgasms strong.
Plain looking in the face, at best, with a widow's peak hairline that was starting to recede entirely with age and thinning on top too, she believed her late-bloomer prowess in bed might be the only advantage she held over Zoey, and surely the next slut like her. Alben clearly intended to mess around, to start playing the field a little bit again. Her lack of boundaries might be the one reason he had come back to her. Perhaps he had a wedding ceremony secretly planned here, and he would go through with it now, with her as the bride at last. She was afraid to ask.
She couldn't get Zoey out of her mind. The way Zoey tongued delicately at barely more than the tip of Alben's more-than-ample dick. The way Zoey looked at her, side-eye, while sucking that beautiful, circumcised member. The way Zoey flaunted her big tits and smooth pussy at her. The way Zoey thrashed during orgasm. The way that her sopping vagina tasted and smelled. The way Alben shamed Michelle after she brought Zoey to orgasm with her mouth and her own vibrator. The way he downright shunned her, a shunning that lasted for days, all because of Zoey.
But now he and she were reunited. And it came with a small sense of loss. For she wanted that feeling of utter submission again. She couldn't get Zoey out of her mind. Zoey was so pretty. In other circumstances, Zoey would have had nothing to do with her. Zoey probably sat at the cool lunch table back in school, while she had not. By submitting to him, she brought Zoey down to her own level. By dominating her, Zoey had instead raised her up. She had submitted to him, and therefore submitted to her. By submitting to her, she therefore submitted to him. Or, perhaps, she had simply submitted. To him. To her. She couldn't get Zoey out of her mind.
Alben increased his rhythm. "I'm gonna use you like a cunt, use you like a cunt, use you like a cunt," he intoned. He often uttered this phrase while sodomizing her. He had never explained. But she had inferred that it helped him move toward ejaculation when things were taking longer than he expected. The exact meaning? That was ambiguous to her.
Did he mean merely that he was using her butthole uninhibitedly, as though it was her vagina? Did he feel the same way when he fucked her in her mouth, deeply? Was he demeaning the one particular body part, or her entire self as a woman? Was he demanding her fullest submission, beyond what she was already offering? Beyond what she was capable of offering? Was her cunt the cunt? Or was she the cunt?
She didn't know. All she felt sure of right now was that the discomfort was about to get worse, but the finish line for him would be reached sooner.
"I love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, love you," she began to chant when he quieted down for a while. He didn't respond verbally to that. It didn't matter. She told herself he loved her too.
He thrust a little bit deeper still. She squeaked with pain, and he pulled out abruptly, which was also painful. She had hinted to him many times in the past to withdraw slowly from her anus. "Did that hurt?" he asked solicitously.
"It always hurts, when you pull out fast. But that's the point, isn't it? That's why you do it. It's okay," Michelle replied, letting her right hand drop to the bed surface, thus taking a break from the Magic Wand's stimulation of her clit. He had taught her, early in their relationship, that manual stimulation, or the help of toys, was nothing to be ashamed of, and also that a certain brief measure of pain could increase the pleasure of her orgasm. The amount of pain in this encounter was above that threshold, but she had reached the understanding recently that this was not necessarily bad. She had been getting close to climax, but a rest break for a both would make the eventual orgasm even stronger.
"I'm sorry if it hurts. It's just a nice tight place for my cock. It helps me cum better. You know how I am."
"I know. And I like it that you like it. You like it when it hurts. So I like it when it hurts. It adds to my humiliation." She couldn't get Zoey out of her mind.
"Humiliation? You've never used that word before. It's always been just embarrassing for you, hasn't it? Do you see it as me humiliating you?"
