Here's the next edition. Someone has been bombing my previous stories with weird anonymous comments, which I'm working with the webmasters to remove. But know that I do read comments and emails sent to me, so thank you to all those who have sent me encouragement. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!
Chapter 8: An Unwelcome Guest
Ok, so I was wrong.
I was sure that letting some ridiculously stupid emotion like love into the picture was going to ruin everything, and that allowing my hormones to run free and fall madly and foolishly in love was going to rot my brain and make me do something monumentally idiotic that would end this whole scam.
But it's been three days since I tried to confess to her, and I have to say it's actually been three days free of errors, problems, or any pesky reemergence of ethics or scruples. She still has no idea what a lying asshole I am, she still is happy to do whatever sexually perverted act I want to do to her, and after that brief glimpse of conscience I experienced I am once again finding it much easier to live with the guilt of being a lying asshole.
After work for the last three days, I have been going to her apartment where she has faithfully waited for me naked and anxious for me to go through our evening exercises. And by exercises, I mean I squeeze her gorgeous breasts and make love to her luscious body for hours.
See what just happened? Do you see what I mean? That right there is what I've been struggling with. Last week, I would have been grabbing her gigantic tits and fucking her wet cunt. But with every passing day, I am feeling closer and closer to her. I don't want to fuck her any more, I want to make love. And don't get me wrong, I'm still a crass asshole who wants to fuck her pussy. I'm just saying that the more time that I spend with her, the more sensitive and romantic I get. And for me, that is such a jarringly new experience that, as enjoyable it might be, a significant part of me still finds it completely revolting.
Historically I have not been someone known for grand romantic gestures. I have never rented some outlandish horse-drawn carriage through a crisp, chilly evening downtown that ended at a magical candlelit restaurant that serves an exquisite Sauvignon Blanc. I have not planned some quixotic weekend getaway at a quaint bed-and-breakfast near a quiet mountain trail tailor-made for a quintessential stroll while holding hands and using a bunch of words that start with "q." That's not the guy I am. I'm the guy that pretends to be a bra salesman and tricks a woman into fucking him continuously for a few weeks through bullshit exercises that will supposedly help her fit into lingerie. That's the disgusting prick I am.
But now when I go through several exercises where I can make love to her... I mean, where I can fuck her forcefully and vigorously, she has also revealed a fetish for bondage that allows me to break out the "super duper ultimate radical therapy" props that involve handcuffs, whips, nipple clamps, and dildos, which she absofuckinglutely revels in. She is this unbelieveably perfect mix of beauty, sexiness, naiveté, gullibility, and slutiness that has been ideally crafted for a scheming asshole like me. But now, more and more, I'm thinking of her as a gentle soul that makes me feel warm and undeservedly cared for.
So of course I don't want this to end. Ever since that night I tried to confess to her and didn't, I thought about saying something to her. Lots of times. A few weeks ago, the thought of lying to her didn't bother me a bit if it meant I ended up with my cock inserted somewhere inside her gorgeous body. But now, I hate that I lied to her and that I have to keep lying to her to keep this going. Of course, I don't hate it enough to actually have the gonads to do anything.
And who knows? Maybe I don't have to tell her after all. I've kept everything going up until now without any major incident, and I can probably keep this going for quite some time. Yeah sure, eventually we will stop rutting long enough to go out on some dates, and at some point she would introduce me to friends and family some of whom are likely to be, statistically speaking, not as unnaturally dense as her. And that means that they will want to kick the living shit out of me for what I've done to Tasha, and I most certainly deserve whatever asswhooping they care to carry out on my sordid derriere. But that's way down the road, no need to stir up anything now.
At least, that's the ridiculous story I keeping telling myself as I approach her apartment door and knock. She answered and I knew immediately something was wrong. She answered the door wearing a t-shirt and cut-off shorts. Granted, the t-shirt was too small for her torso, and I didn't know how the shirt fabric was able to withstand the pressure of her enormously bulging tits straining against her hardened nipples.
But as sexy as it was, she wasn't naked or in lingerie like she normally was. "Hi Albert! Come on in! Is it that time already? I'm sorry, I got lost in conversation with my neighbor Brittney."
I walk into the apartment and see a young woman in her mid-20s who in her own way is quite stunning. She had a pleasant face, silky red hair that was curled up in a pony tail, and a nice thin figure, a little thin for my taste but she definitely had curves in all the right places. Her breasts were not as spectacular as Tasha's but were nevertheless nice and round, and her long, muscular legs would fare nicely in a competition with any other woman, bar none.
This really caught me off guard, and I was not prepared to deal with any of Tasha's friends yet. Since she was friends with Tasha, I wondered if maybe she might be as gullible as Tasha. Ok, no one is as freakishly gullible as her. But maybe if I smile and act halfway decently, maybe just maybe I could work my bullshit charm on her. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not charming, all I have is bullshit. I'm an asshole who is really fucked now. Nevertheless I slap on a stupid smile and try to think of what the fuck I'm going to do.
Tasha continued to introduce her, "I've been telling Brittney how wonderful you've been with all the exercises you've shown me." I looked at Brittney as she turned to me with her mouth clenched sternly that let me know I was in even deeper shit than I feared.
"Yes," Brittney said in a voice that practically had a metallic edge to it, "Tasha has told me about the WONderful exercises you've been doing with her." That one syllable was said with an annoyingly mocking exaggeration as she stood up to greet me. Or confront me. Or knock my teeth out, I wasn't sure.
"Oh... great! I... uh... Tasha hasn't told me anything about you!" That's it, stall and get her talking. I need to know what and who I'm dealing with here. Maybe I can find some way to butter her up with compliments. Except now I'm thinking of buttering her protruding breasts. God, I really am a pig.
Tasha jumps in, "Brittney here lives two floors up from me. We met a couple years ago and have gone out to some clubs here and there." Tasha is so animated that she must not notice the way Brittney is looking at me with the same intensity of a prizefighter circling a dazed opponent.
