The Unreliable Author

I put down my phone and looked at Beth as she reclined in the bathtub shaving her legs. Her soapy breasts were squeezed together by her arms as she supported her raised leg with one hand and applied the razor with the other.

"Were you actively trying to get a lower rating than me?" I asked her. She feigned an expression of surprised innocence. "If you were hoping to provoke an avalanche of angry comments, it looks like you failed -- only four so far."

"I have to admit that is a little disappointing," she pouted, "after all the interesting stuff that followed your contribution."

"It's probably safe to assume that all the people who were outraged and offended by my narrative are not going to be interested in a follow-up story from the same account," I said, "And any who did read it were probably scared off by what you said about them. What was that comment I just saw?" I picked up my phone again. "Ah yes... 'stop trolling the readers'."

"But they were trolling you, my love!" she protested. "And besides, they were saying horrible things about me." She stuck out her lower lip as far as she could and I was very tempted to go over and bite it.

"Were they 'horrible' if they were, at least partially, true?" I retorted.

"Meany!" she splashed bath water in my direction and grinned. "What was it that the other guy said in that longer comment... about 'that's what you get...'?"

"Let me see..." I scrolled down. "Here we go, '...there's always people who like and people who will critique it harshly that's what you get for putting your stories out there. Happens to published authors too, if you don't want thoughts and feedback don't publish or cut the comments.'" I looked at Beth who was now in the process of shaving her other leg, giving me a tantalising glimpse of her lovely ass half submerged in the water. "I suppose he has a point."

"Well, I have a couple of problems with that," said Beth, looking serious. "First, it wasn't 'critique' or 'feedback'; it was a bunch of people expressing hypocritical and misogynistic sentiments which had more to do with their own insecurities than with the story."

"True, but there was some genuine critique in a couple of the comments I got," I interrupted, "There was something about how the lack of character development and back history made it hard to contextualise why things were happening. Quite valid, I thought."

"Yes, but most of it

wasn't

that, was it? I notice that, after my story, no-one called you a conniving bitch or accused you of fucking your own acolytes behind my back?" She had finished her legs and was now paying attention to her pubic hair -- pulling her pussy in different directions to allow the razor to do its work.

"I'm sorry," I said, "You're going to have to say that last bit again. I was a little distracted." She looked at my eyes and then down at her crotch and smiled. She angled herself in the water, thrust her hips towards me and spread open her labia with her fingers. "That is not the way to get me to concentrate on what I'm sure is an interesting and thought-provoking point that you are trying to make about literary criticism," I protested.

She beamed and allowed herself to sink back into the water. "So much for multi-tasking! What I said was... secondly, if we should just expect to get harsh, potentially abusive, comments when we put stuff 'out there', shouldn't that also apply to the people who post stuff in the comments? They are writing in a public space, too, and should 'expect' feedback. If you can't take it, don't dish it."

Beth pushed herself upright and stood in the bathtub, looking like Botticelli's Venus rising naked from the waves, but without even a half-hearted attempt at modesty. Seeing my gaze, she gave an exaggerated wiggle, sending droplets of water scattering from her breasts.

"I thought he was quite sweet, though," she said as I reluctantly handed her a towel.

"Who are we talking about?"

"The guy who made that comment on my story... the one you just read from," Beth clarified. She was towelling herself vigorously, causing all kinds of distracting wobbles. "That stuff he revealed about himself and his marriages was quite personal. I got the feeling he was quite kind. Although, obviously, he's completely wrong about me not being a goddess." She tossed her head imperiously as she wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the bath.

"Obviously!" I replied, laughing. "Such blasphemy!"

She kissed me. "Thank you, again, for treating me like one. It was lovely... if a bit comical."

"Yes," I replied, "I notice you left out the part about you giggling like a schoolgirl through most of it."

"Well," she smiled, "you

were

a bit over-theatrical in your performance as high priest and, besides, champagne makes me giddy. But I genuinely loved it, especially your acolytes. Will they be joining us again?"

"Only if you're very good," I said.

"Very good... at what?" she asked, running her fingers over my groin as she walked past me.

I tried my best to ignore her. "Talking of the acolytes and of divergence from actual events, what prompted you to put in all that stuff about thwacking them with a riding crop? It was fun to read, but I know for a fact that, if you'd done that in real life, you'd be apologising profusely at the first sign of pain and would be offering them comfort and cups of tea."

"Are you saying I'm a softie?"

"No," I replied, "I'm saying that you're way more into the psychological torture than the physical."

"Too true!" she growled. "I don't know why I put it in. It just felt like the kind of thing a goddess would do in that situation, especially if she was aiming to be a bit provocative."

"Well, it provoked more comments about it being wrongly categorised." I pointed out. "Maybe you should have considered putting it in the BDSM category."

"Don't you think it's a bit ridiculous to compartmentalise human sexual experience into over-simplistic, seemingly mutually exclusive boxes? I mean, couldn't an exploration of same-sex desire or different fetishes just be part of an open, loving relationship? I did add 'BDSM' as a tag," she protested. "Anyway, are you planning to disclose my little modifications in your next posting the way I exposed yours?"

"I'm tempted. But, we'll be accused of 'back pedalling' again," I said.

"No," she insisted, "we are merely toying with the truth, like any unreliable narrator should."

"But if we keep revealing the bits we've made up, won't people eventually stop believing

anything

we tell them?" I pondered.

"Darling," Beth replied, "Have you learnt nothing from the comments? People will believe exactly what they want to believe, whatever we put in or leave out. Besides, it is the job of the author to fabricate entertaining lies in order to attempt to express a truth that cannot be captured by the facts alone."

"Profound!" I mocked. "Who said that?"

"Me, silly! At least, I don't think I'm quoting anyone."

"You are, indeed, wise, witty and perceptive... as well as being incredibly sexy and somewhat depraved," I drawled. "How do you manage it and how did I get so lucky?"

"It's a gift," she said breezily. "Talking of which... Why don't you jump in the bath and, by the time you're done, I'll have a very small gift ready for you in the bedroom."

"If it's a riding crop with feathers attached, I'm not sure I want it." She just smiled and shooed me towards the tub.

"Maybe go for clean-shaven all over on this occasion," she said, glancing down towards my crotch. Intrigued, I clambered into the bathtub and set about following her instructions. She left and closed the bathroom door. I could hear her moving around and, at one point, descending then ascending the stairs.

Finally, I was finished. I dried myself and hung up the towel. As I was heading for the bathroom door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I don't normally go completely shaved down there -- usually I just keep it trimmed -- but I had to admit that somehow it made my penis look larger. "Maybe I should rock this look more often," I said to myself.

I entered the bedroom warily. There were no masked, naked strangers standing around, no new items of furniture, just Beth sitting at the end of the bed. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. She had laid out some large towels on top of the bed and she indicated for me to lie face-down on them. I did so, resting my head on my arms.

"Are you comfy?" she purred, resting her hand on my naked bottom. I nodded. "Good. Close your eyes. Relax." I did as I was told. She removed her hand from my buttock and I could feel her shifting on the bed. "You know, one of the things I enjoyed most about the whole goddess experience was that whole anointing thing at the beginning. Having aromatic oil rubbed onto every inch of me by the acolytes was delightful and the fact that you had, thoughtfully, warmed it up first was heavenly. So, I thought you might like to experience something similar."

I lay there for a while as she did something beside the bed. Then, I felt a sudden splash of heat on my back and almost jerked off the bed. At first, I thought she had made a mistake and had heated the oil too much so that it was scalding me. However, once I got over the surprise, I quickly realised that, it wasn't as hot as I had initially perceived it to be. I relaxed again as Beth began to massage the oil into my back, spreading the warmth over my neck, shoulders and arms. When she administered a fresh batch of hot oil to my lower back, I was ready for it this time and relished the sensation. She rubbed it over my ass and down the backs of my legs. Reversing her direction, she moved her hands back up my legs along my inner thighs, pushing my legs apart. Another pause, and hot oil was dribbled between my buttocks. She massaged the warmth into my anus and perineum and then, holding my butt cheeks apart with one hand, she slipped a hot, oily finger inside me. She held it there for a while and then began stroking in and out. I could feel my penis stirring underneath me. A stretching feeling told me that she was inserting a second finger. Again, she paused to allow me to relax around it before thrusting again. I began writhing in response, grinding my cock into the bed.

Eventually, she withdrew her fingers. Still holding my buttocks apart, she reached for something beside the bed. Something pushed against my anus. For an instant I thought it was Beth's finger with a fresh coating of hot oil but then I realised it was cold... very cold metal. My anus clenched in surprise but Beth massaged it with her fingers to help me relax again. The next time she pushed the metal against me, I was prepared and she was able to inch the butt-plug inside me. The coldness was an interesting addition to the usual sensations of fullness and weight. I shivered happily.

Without a word, Beth pulled my shoulder to get me to turn over as the coldness of the butt-plug slowly spread inside me, gradually diminishing in intensity. There followed more hot oil on my chest and abdomen, then on my hips and legs. It tingled and then soothed my freshly shaved skin. My penis was already swelling in anticipation as, finally, Beth began dripping hot oil onto it. It twitched in response to each drip. She began stroking me firmly upwards with hot, slippy hands, alternating left and right. After a while, she added a twisting motion and I began thrusting my hips forward and backwards, pushing the plug deeper into my anus to bump against my prostate. She spent the next few minutes using her hands and fingers in a variety of techniques on my slippery cock.

She stopped and leant to the side of the bed again. I was expecting more hot oil but, then, I felt her head duck towards my groin. Her breath and then her closed lips brushed the head of my penis. Then, she enveloped the head of my cock in her mouth and I gasped. Her mouth was filled with slightly slushy crushed ice. My breath stopped for a few seconds and the dramatic change in temperature overwhelmed me. She began rhythmically moving her head up and down. Melted ice-water dribbled down the length of my shaft and onto my balls. The head of my penis was tingling. Gradually, the shock and unfamiliar sensations gave way to growing pleasure. I resumed my writhing and thrusting.

When the ice had more or less melted and leaked onto my scrotum, Beth withdrew her head. I wasn't sure what was coming next, maybe more hot oil. But no, Beth straddled me and slid my penis into her vagina. After the ice, her cunt felt wonderfully hot on my cock. We began fucking, her thighs sliding on my oiled hips, her buttocks on my thighs. I grabbed her hips to pull her harder onto me and our combined moans became louder and deeper.

When she stopped again and lifted herself off me, I opened my eyes and started to protest. She silenced me with a finger on my lips. With her other hand, she reached behind her and I eventually realised that she was taking out her own butt-plug, which must have been in there all this time. She placed a hand by my head to support herself, grabbed my cock and eased it into her butt. Her own plug must have been chilled too because her anal passage was cool after the heat of her cunt. I lay still, allowing her to dictate the speed and depth of my thrusts into her ass, initially slow and shallow but gradually getting faster and harder.

Then she unveiled her last surprise. She lifted the hand by my head to reveal a remote control. She pressed the button and the butt-plug in my ass burst into life, vibrating intensely against my prostate. I opened my mouth and eyes wide. My back arched. I grabbed her hips again and drove myself deep into her butt one more time. The orgasm shivered through my body. I felt myself pulsing hot cum into my wife's ass as she collapsed on top of me, her breasts sliding across my slick chest.

I had just enough energy to reach for the remote control to turn off the vibrating plug before I wrapped my arms around her, exhausted. We lay like that for a long time just breathing together.

Eventually, Beth whispered, "I think we both need another bath."

P.S. I was convinced I had heard something like Beth's comment about authors being liars before, so I did a bit of research and I found this from

The Sandman, Vol. 3: Dream Country

by Neil Gaiman:

"Writers are liars, my dear, surely you know that by now? And yet, things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot."

It's a similar sentiment. I'm pretty sure Beth hasn't read the

Sandman

graphic novels, so she may just have come up with it independently. Personally, I prefer Beth's version but I'm biased -- Neil Gaiman has never pushed an ice-cold butt-plug up my ass to bring me pleasure.