Figured I'd finally post something other than comments, and see how big a splash I can make with my debut.
This little number has been on the back burner for some time. Before I made a profile, in fact. Started out as something vague and silly, but I kept adding to it until I had this; a two-part tale that's not nearly as vague, but still a little silly.
I think I should warn some people that this is NOT a "feel good" story. No warm fuzzies to be found here. I love me a good revenge tale, so of course that's what my first piece is going to be. I've also got a couple Romance stories and an Erotic Horror yarn kicking around somewhere on my computer, so those might be coming later if I feel like it. But today it's all about good old fashioned vengeance!
Some may be offended by the content of this story, but there's no need for that. Don't take things so seriously, bruh; it's just fiction.
~~~
She did it. The bitch really did it, and if my suspicions are correct, she's going to do it again. I'm inclined to believe those suspicions, considering the video I'm watching confirmed the ones that have brought me down this path to begin with.
"And just like that, I'm a five-time loser," I say bitterly as I rip my headphones off and all but throw them down on my solid red oak desk.
My desk. I still remember when I bought it twenty-six years ago, a year into my first marriage. Gwen said it was way too big. To be fair, it was, since we were living in a pretty modest apartment where space was at a premium. But I made it fit, and it's been with me ever since. Besides, what the fuck did Gwen know? There was a time when she said my dick, at a respectable seven inches long and two in diameter, was too big, but she got used to it. And then there was that black guy. Ten inches long and thicker than Gwen's wrist, but dammit if she didn't make it fit.
Gwen was my first wife, by the way. We married young, but thought we knew it all, like most twenty-one year olds. Thought we had all the answers between us. But three years in, she changed the questions. But I suppose I can blame myself for that.
I may have called him "that black guy", but I knew him. Knew him quite well, in fact; we were thick as thieves once upon a time. Magnus O'Neil was his name. His REAL name. Sounds like a fucking superhero, doesn't it? But he had another name that followed him from high school into college, one that was arguably cooler, considering how he got it. "The Ten Man", that's what they called him, and I had been one of "them" back in the day. When my wife heard it, she thought it was a Wizard of Oz reference. Like a dumbass, I explained to her that it wasn't "The Tin Man", but "The Ten Man", as in the number ten. As in the ten inches of tube steak he had swinging between his legs.
Should've left that out and said it was his number on the football team.
Once that question was answered, a whole new set cropped up in her head. Ones that she never bothered to share, and instead decided to find answers to herself. Like "Can he really go all night?"
For those interested, the answer was an
emphatic
"yes", as confirmed by no less than five hours worth of video shot while I was out of town earning some brownie points with my boss...Which ended up being edited down to two hours, copied and sold out the back door of the local video store. I found out about it when our neighbor bought it and immediately recognized the white woman being fucked into a stupor.
I thought Gwen had been raped. You can't imagine how embarrassing, and infuriating, it was when my neighbor calmed me down and got me to watch the tape before I went off an made a fool of myself. Cheesy as it sounds, the only thing that got raped was my soul; I saw her fully consent to being filmed, so long as Magnus "brought the goods", in the first five minutes.
That tape is still out there, making the rounds. You can probably find it on the internet. I know videos of white women fucking black men are a dime a dozen, especially these days, but that one does have something that sets it apart. When they switch to the cowgirl position, the locket around the woman's neck keeps flopping around and hitting the black guy in the face. He eventually gets annoyed enough to snatch it off and throw it across the room.
That locket set me back two-hundred dollars when I bought it for our second anniversary, and the last time I ever saw it was in that video. I think the camera guy took it. Yes, there was a camera guy. No, Gwen didn't fuck him, at least not on film, but he did get a blow job. Though she was so out of it from the pounding she was taking from The Ten Man that the camera guy had to do all the work...
Back to the desk. After the divorce, I got rid of most of the stuff me and Gwen had accumulated together. And I don't mean that I was forced to give most of it to her by order of the court. Once she found out about the video, she let me go without much of a fuss. Sometimes I wish she had fussed. Why didn't she fuss?
Anyway, the desk stayed. I had paid far too much for it, and the fact that Gwen had been against it from day one made me feel like I was getting back at her in some small way. Stupid, I know, but it's all I had to cling to back then. And in the nearly three decades I've had it, I've been doing a lot of clinging. An unreasonable and, at the risk of sounding childish, downright unfair amount of clinging.
This desk has seen it all. It's seen four wives and countless girlfriends and fuckbuddies cum and go. No, I mean it; I've fucked all of my wives on this desk, and every woman I deemed worth keeping around has rubbed their ass and tits all over its surface. You'd think the desk would look like crap after twenty-six years of sweat and other...fluids, but I take care of it. And it takes care of me.
Before my current soon-to-be-ex, Gwen was the only one of my wives who had never been bent over the desk by anyone but me. She didn't even like looking at it, so she sure wasn't going to touch it. The one time I got her over it, she gave me the evil eye and the cold shoulder for the rest of the week. Plus, she had the decency not to fuck around in our home. Another reason my first marriage is the only one I wish I had handled differently.
The three wives after her? Stephanie, Mary, Natasha, they all brought their men into our home and made a b-line for the desk. It wasn't even a "marking your territory" thing with the guys; my wives literally dragged them over to the desk and fucked them all over it. The fuck did the desk do to them? But I'm kind of glad they did, because that's how I caught them.
This is going to sound crazy, but after they did the deed, I got "vibes" from the desk. As soon as I entered the room, it was like the desk itself was angry and had been waiting to rat them out. No matter how much they covered their tracks, I always knew. Even before I set up a camera to watch my den after wife number three, Mary.
