The Interview Pt 02 6

I've been a bad, bad girl. Ever heard that song?

Criminal

by Fiona Apple. It strikes a chord with me. No pun intended.

My hubby moved me from North Carolina to Mississippi immediately after we married, and it was a bit of a shell shock to say the least. I got involved with a doctor in my clinic only months beyond our honeymoon in Ashville. No excuses. Hubby was thankfully oblivious.

The guy had to leave the practice because his wife found out he was a Casanova. His real name was Brad. I wasn't specifically called out, but people knew what was up. After his departure, I discovered that I wasn't his only honeysuckle. He had screwed about a third of the nursing staff.

Brad had three kids at home and several pictures of the family on his desk. I jerked him off a few times in his office only inches away from the brightly framed photos, polishing his knob like mahogany wood until he shot his hot seed across his wife's pretty face. I smeared his spunk across the glass with a tissue.

Brad's ropes of white cum contrasted sharply with the elegant dark sheen of his furniture. It was a pleasure to milk him in the middle of a busy day.

I skipped through the tulips during that dangerous relationship; no collateral damage to speak of, but I ended up banging my hubby's best friend in the guest room shower a year later. He was so fucking hot! Damn, he was good.

It's so weird how cheating becomes easier the second time. The guy's name was Dan. He visited our house all the time. Sometimes he practically lived with us. The affair started eight months after my first of two babies. It lasted three months before we got caught. Dan was excommunicated from our family, and I was sent to a psychologist for a year. No divorce.

Everyone decided I was seduced and depressed. I guess they thought I got seduced

because

I was depressed, but I felt more depressed after the seduction was over. My husband's brothers love me and were adequately convincing on my behalf, though I doubt they believed their own argument. I've always flirted with them both rather avidly so, they took my case pro bono.

Cheating

means you're fucking someone else behind your husband's back.

Cucking

means you're fucking that someone right in his face. In other words, he knows you're screwing around, and he either likes it or is unwilling to do anything about it. I know opinions vary but for the purpose of this exercise, I want to make the terms clean and simple... because everything else is complicated.

The cheating started because I'm a slut with a wandering eye, and I know how to catch a look. The cucking started because my hubby was invited to an interview in Nashville for an administrative job that paid bank. The offer came out of nowhere. He wasn't even looking. We went up there for a weekend. They wanted him bad based on our room at the Renaissance and the five-star cuisine with free drinks. I could learn to love that shit.

The problem was that we all got drunk the last night at dinner, and the firm had an executive named Gordon who was sex on a stick. He served as our primary liaison during our visit. We were left in his company by the end of the evening, and he invited me to the men's restroom at the Hermitage Hotel where we were dining. Now, I know that sounds incredibly forward of him, but that hotel's restroom is a tourist attraction and has been featured in several movie scenes. You can look it up online.

We went in there, me and Gordon. My husband followed closely behind with his fourth cocktail in hand because he can never say

no

to free alcohol. There's a shoeshine pyramid in the middle of that bathroom with a lovely chair that serves almost as a centerpiece. Andy climbed up and plopped himself in it. As the hour was late, nobody was getting shoeshines. I took pics with my cell of the eclectic decor. It's really an unusual facility.

I then asked to go to the ladies' room for obvious reasons and was told by Gordon that it was perfectly okay for me to use one of the handsomely appointed stalls where we were. When Gordon followed me in there, I expected my husband to do something. He didn't. Gordon locked the door behind us and coaxed me out of my blouse and skirt. He pocketed my underwear, both bra and thong panties, then made me straddle the toilet with my hands on the wall where I assumed he would insist that I pee into the bowl standing up. Instead, he finger-fucked the shit out of me till I squirted all over the seat, then made me squat and piss in the floor. I was plenty loud about it, but my husband was still perched on his throne when we exited. There were plenty of visitors while we kept ourselves busy, and I'm sure they all got an earful.

The mess was massively embarrassing, and I was completely down to get the hell out of there as Gordon dragged me through the hotel lobby on our way to call for his car. The Renaissance was only a few blocks away. Andy and I had walked to the dinner meeting earlier, but my hubby was in no condition to ambulate back. Gordon took us both to our hotel, then accompanied us inside where he attempted to book a Penthouse unsuccessfully. We then headed to

The Bridge

which is a bar several floors upstairs that provides amazing views of the city.

I secured a table for the three of us in advance by going up there by myself while Andy and Gordon were still at the front desk. I was immediately hit on by two well-dressed cowboys who fired a drink over and sat down beside me. They claimed to be music industry execs and seemed completely uninhibited when I told them I was waiting on my husband. Their persistence probably had something to do with my lack of a bra and the sheer sleeveless blouse I was wearing. They could probably also look up my skirt.

Turns out, these guys had a method for picking up girls in bars. The short of it was they would corral some woman that they liked, then ask her to call a friend for a foursome. Apparently, this is a surprisingly successful technique in Nashville. If the method didn't work, they were good with an MFM threesome. I'd be good with that too. My girlfriends were all out of town.

The guys were seriously cute; I'll give them that. They seemed curious when my hubby staggered in beside Gordon who was more than a little perturbed about how I'd been cornered. I touted the jealousy for all it was worth. By that time, I was feeling like Gordon's property, and my hubby was along for the ride. All I needed to convince me was another strong drink...

Gordon gruffly insisted that I lewdly unbutton my blouse and put myself on public display at our table. I hesitantly agreed after hubby deferred any objections. I guess I did it just to see Andy's reaction, of which there was none. Gordon did it as punishment for my friendly visitors. Things got worse in the elevator on the way to our room where Gordon took off my blouse completely. He made me press my nude breasts against the window. "Show Nashville your tits," he told me. I playfully surrendered, but then he wouldn't return my shirt.

Gordon escorted me and my husband down the hall to our room. I was topless with my arms across my chest. "Put your arms down, Megan," he told me. "Nobody's going to arrest you. I've got plenty of connections in this town. I know people."

"This is embarrassing," I told him. I still complied with his request until we passed two young girls that I was pretty sure were lesbians on their way out for fun. They were wearing short shorts and cowboy boots. Gordon whistled them down to come feel me up, but they giggled and quickly took off.

"Let me in the room, Gordon." I was losing my patience, even though this man was a hunk. I wasn't accustomed to humiliation, and he was drenching both me and my hubby with a concentrated dose. Andy had given Gordon our keycard. I'm guessing that occurred at the desk when they were attempting a room upgrade, but the fact that he possessed it turned out to be a mortifying mistake.

"Take your skirt off," Gordon ordered. We were standing right outside our room. Andy was leaning against the wall next to our door, otherwise he would have fallen.

"No, Gordon. Let us in the room, and we'll talk about it. I'm tired of running around naked in public." It occurred to me that I was no longer wearing panties.

"Take it off, or we stand out here until you do." Gordon put his hands in his pockets where he had stuffed all my underclothes. He pulled out my lingerie, dropped it on the floor, and put his big foot on the pile with my blouse. I've never had a man confront me that way. My husband was useless, and I was no physical match for Gordon.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"I'm waiting," he said coolly. Nothing bothered him. Such a pompous ass. This man stripped me in the bathroom with my husband on the other side of the door, then rammed his fingers up my vagina. I climaxed in his hand. I pissed on the floor at his request. I exposed myself in an elevator for his amusement and was nearly assaulted by lesbians. Now, he wanted me to fully undress in the hotel hallway. Not happening.

A door opened down the hall just out of sight. There was conversation as the people headed in the other direction. I looked back at Gordon. Okay... yes, this was happening.

I unzipped my skirt and let it drop to the floor.

"Kick it over here," he said, like I was some kind of criminal dropping my weapon. I was wearing three-inch stilettos. I hooked the skirt over my heel and slung it hard at his chest. He caught it in mid-air. Dropped it. Stepped on it. Began grinding it into the carpet with the rest of my clothes.

"Bastard," I mumbled, one arm across my chest and my other hand covering my cooter.

"Put your arms by your side, Megan. It's not like I haven't seen what you've got."

I didn't know whether to scream or cry. I backed up against the wall facing Gordon and flattened my palms against its smooth, sturdy surface as he studied my body. I could feel the weight of his eyes. His lust. He didn't fuck me in the restroom because he knew he'd fuck me later. He wanted to savor that self-induced edging. I hadn't even seen his cock. He'd had his hands all over me and his fingers inside me. My husband needed to know all about it.

"We are not coming here to work for you, Gordon. You are a son of a bitch."

"My mom is a bitch. I'll agree with you there. But you both are going to work for my company, Meg. The money is too good for you to pass, and you know it." I rolled my eyes defiantly. "Spread your legs," he told me. I just looked at him. "Do what I tell you, or we'll be here all night."

I opened my legs until he nodded that he was satisfied. The look on his face was somehow dredging my cunt. I had this unwanted tingle in my clit. My hood was receding for a naughty reveal. I was creamy and ready for his cock. My tiny nipples were aching, peaking on my B Cup breasts like acorns begging to be bitten. He liked it. He was soaking in the vision of it.

"Let me in, Gordon. Please." It was a plea and a whisper. That was the voice he was looking for... the perfect tone and response. I was naked and begging and vulnerable.

"Open yourself, Megan. I want to see your pink lips."

I sighed heavily... not in exasperation but in a sudden fretful need to have him fill me with more than his fingers. I spread my pouting labia with my hands on either side. He could see how I was glistening with excitement. He observed my swollen bead, the liquid drops that were accumulating at the base of my narrow slit. I didn't look like a girl who had ever delivered a baby. The doctor's sewed up my episiotomy to the hilt, and even three months of Dan hadn't disfigured my virginal appearance.

"Fuck yourself until you come." He gave his orders in a solemn baritone. The words penetrated me like a long, angry penis. I felt the power and the pressure drilling deep up my core when all that really existed was breath and expectation.

"Fuck yourself, Megan, and address me as

sir."

​

"Yes sir," I finally responded. I gave up the fight. This man was making me masturbate in front of my husband and anyone else who came ambling by. He wasn't going to shield or protect me. He was still angry about the cowboys at the bar. I slid a finger inside my slot, then a second one followed. I frigged my clit until I gushed on the carpet. I was gasping by then, unaware the two lesbians had returned.

"Oh my god," the taller one giggled as they clogged past me in their boots. The shorter one stepped over the expansive puddle. "She fucking pissed on the floor," she complained to Gordon. "You need to lock your stupid whore in a cage."

I dropped my head backwards. It hit the wall with a thump. Gordon hopped off the opposite side like a springboard and traversed the small space between us. He looked directly at my husband.

"Do you know what I did to your wife in the bathroom, Andy?" Gordon's hands circled through the sprinkles of fresh sweat on my breasts. He squeezed my maroon nipples and kneaded my little titties from behind. My hubby's eyes were the size of saucers, and his pupils were fully dilated as Gordon snaked his menacing fingers up my twat. "I fingered her pussy just like this."

When a woman has an orgasm, it just lowers her threshold for the next one. I climaxed for my husband in seconds. More spray. More trembling. More moaning and squealing. My voice echoed in both directions as I came. I couldn't have walked across the hallway to enter our room, even if my life depended on it. The door could have been wide open with a herd of nuns heading straight in my direction. I couldn't have even crawled to our room.

I collapsed against Gordon, extending and arching my back with the last bit of energy I possessed. He draped me over his knee and plowed his thick digits to the depths of my G Spot, digging with his nails, stretching and clawing.

I was barely conscious when the convulsions finally ended, hardly aware that Gordon picked me up. He carried me over the threshold like his bride and laid me down naked on the king size bed. "Get your wife's shit out of the hall," he told Andy. All my clothes were still out there along with my pride. We had entered a new world of servitude where my clothes would be optional, and my husband would be impotently submissive.

Andy had met his alpha nemesis and been totally gelded. I was going to get totally fucked. Over and over. No condoms. No withdrawal. No form of contraception. Andy and I had been working on baby number two. Now, Gordon was taking over. Bigger dick. Bigger loads. Harder and longer orgasms. Complete and utter submission.

The executive ushered Andy into the room with his arms full of my clothes, then essentially put my husband to bed where he immediately passed out cold. I put on a night shirt while Gordon was taking a shower, after which he walked into the bedroom and slid beneath the sheet beside me. I was cautiously frigid. I can't really explain it. Gordon turned me on physically, but his humiliating dominance confused me. I didn't like how he belittled my husband, and I didn't like his arrogant confidence. But I did.

"Can we maybe start over?" he asked sweetly.

"I don't think so," I quipped. "You've shown your true colors pretty brightly."

"I like to be in control, Megan. It's my fault. I need to ease up. I think if you were around me more, we could fix that together."

"What's that supposed to mean, Gordon? That you plan to make me your mistress? You're not even married. I bet you fuck a dozen bimbos a week."

Gordon laughed boisterously. "Not that many," he responded. "That would average out to more than one per day. But yes, I see my share of women. I'm still hoping we can get to know each other better."

"By parading me around naked and fingering me in front of my husband?"

"Your husband said I could have you, Meg. I wasn't supposed to tell you that, obviously. It was a very kind gesture."

The thought had crossed my mind that Andy handed me over. I had told him I'd like to see other men. It was an honest admission during therapy, though not entirely well received. My psychologist shot me down like a pigeon. "Oh, Andy said that did he? Somehow, he failed to mention it to me."

"Well, I understand you like to fuck other men."

"What???" I was about to come unglued. "And how do you understand that?"

"Didn't you have an affair with your husband's best friend?"

"He told you that?" I was getting even angrier.

"Yes. He said he thought about divorcing you, but he couldn't let you go... and you gave him permission to find a fuck of his own."

"Wait, he told you I said he could fuck around?"

"He said you announced it in therapy, and the psychologist had a fit."

"Yes, she did. But I didn't tell him he could just go out and... wait, Gordon. Who exactly is my husband fucking?"

Gordon looked at me innocently. "I have no idea what he's doing, Meg. It just came up in conversation. I didn't ask any questions."

"You are lying out your ass, Gordon." I sat up on my elbow in bed. "Tell me who he is fucking." My voice was getting louder, but Andy remained out like a light.

"I've told you too much already."

"You've told me enough to piss me off and now, you're going to tell me what I want to know." I reached down and grabbed Gordon's balls. He was wearing only black boxer briefs after his shower, and he looked hugely sexy with wet hair and stubble. He clinched his pectorals in agony.

"Whoa! This kitten's got claws!" he announced, jerking my hand away like it was nothing. He pinned me to the mattress with my arms above my head. "I'm going to rip this stupid night shirt right off your slutty body and shred your sticky crease into mincemeat."

"Go ahead, Gordon," I hissed, fed up with his games and increasingly suspicious of my husband. "Fuck the ever-living shit out of me. Rape my married ass."

I don't think he was expecting that response. I'd been nothing but obstinate since he got into bed, but I had every reason. Gordon grabbed the collar of my shirt and tore it down the middle, spreading the material open and exposing me completely.

The sound of it was like a vibrator being shoved up my snatch. It sent chills down my spine and electric shock waves through my ovulating ovaries. The trip incidentally corresponded with my fertility red zone, an issue of paramount concern.

"Fuck," I whispered as he sat up and looked me over. I tried to sit up too, but he slammed me back down on my back. "You want it, come get it," I bluntly taunted. "You say I'm a whore, so tear this shit up. I've had it coming since you escorted me to the bathroom."

"Yes, you have." Gordon stood up and dropped his briefs. I knew he was big after squeezing him but seeing him erect was an awakening. He was bigger than Dan. Longer and thicker too... and he was angry. Mad enough to rip me in half. I had created a monster that I could not control.

"You got a condom?" I asked.

"Even if I did, I wouldn't use it on a slut like you, Megan. You get the whole thing. The cock and the cum. You're going to beg me for both, because that's just the kind of skank that you are."

"Then give it to me, Gordon... everything you've got. Breed me like a bitch in heat. Fill me up. Wear me out."

Gordon put his hand around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make me pliable. He lifted me by the neck and parked me high against the headboard. Then, he slapped my tangerines till my eyes filled with water, tilting me slightly forward to beat my small, dangling breasts from an angle that made them most vulnerable.

"You like that, don't you bitch?" I nodded affirmatively, my cheeks now streaming with tears. He slapped me across the face and squeezed my throat harder. "You want to jerk my balls again, you little cunt? You want to yank on my nuts?" I shook my head weakly. He backhanded my jaw from the other direction. The blow dropped me like a featherweight in the ring with Mike Tyson.