15.
"Michael, I'm so sorry. I don't know what more to say at this point."
He sat there stonily, across the kitchen table in his apartment. A beer sat in front of him opened yet untouched, condensation building on the glass bottle, trickling down.
"I know what you can say," he finally burst out. "You can tell me what all of this is about, what the hell is going on with you these past months."
"I told you already," Samantha repeated quietly. "I was trying to help Janet. Trying to help get her through this rough spot. But that's all done now."
"
What's
all done?!" Michael threw his arms up in frustration, eyes widening. "Help
how
? What're we even talking about?!"
"I told you, I can't really talk about it."
"That's not good enough!"
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in aggravation, mussing it up. Finally, he grabbed the beer, taking a swig before slamming it down too hard, looking off to the side angrily. Foam welled up the neck of the bottle and then spilled over like his bubbling emotions.
"Look, you know -- whatever. You're not going to tell me, fine. But it still doesn't change the fact that you put Janet first. You put her before our relationship. You put her before our wedding. You put her before
me
."
"She's my oldest friend," Samantha responded. "She's been my best friend ever since college."
"Still."
"You're right, Michael," she admitted. "I was wrong to do that. I thought I had no choice, but I was totally wrong. I was just trying to be a good friend."
Michael said nothing, only took another pull from his beer in silence.
"I'll never put her first ever again. Some friend she turned out to be anyway," Samantha added bitterly, more to herself than anything.
His countenance softened somewhat at that. Whatever had happened must've been really bad to come between her and Janet. He was angry, of course, but if he was really being honest with himself, he more or less would have expected Janet to come first, might even have been surprised if she didn't. They were practically sisters. It was just that the timing of all of this was terrible. Nonetheless, he felt some of his anger ebbing.
"Well, you missed out on some pretty damn good food," he offered grudgingly.
"Was it?" Samantha asked hopefully, picking up on the slightly improved change in tone. "I'm so sorry I missed out on that, honey."
"Look, Sam, if whatever is going on is really done, then it's fine. I don't want to fight with you, especially this close to the wedding."
A jarring thought occurred to him then. "You
do
still want to get married... don't you..?"
Michael thought he saw a flicker in his fiance's blue eyes, some brief hesitation, but a second later it was gone before he could be sure it was ever there in the first place. She rose from her seat and came around the table, putting her arms around the back of his neck, drawing him in.
"You're the best, Michael. Let me show you how much I want you..."
She planted a series of extremely sexy kisses on his lips.
A long time later, he would look back on that moment and realize she never answered the question.
***
"Ooh..."
Samantha moaned with a passion she didn't feel. It was wrong, all wrong. She should have been happy that she'd smoothed things over with Michael, enjoying this make-up sex romp session. She felt like a fraud for initiating it in the first place, but it seemed like the right, logical move, like the thing she would have naturally done if she'd really been truly relieved that her fiance wasn't angry anymore, and the best way to patch things up.
But somehow, there was just this feeling of detached apathy, that while this matter was settled, larger more important issues still were not. Why, though? Everything was fine between her and Michael, they'd go off and get married, and she'd never speak to or think about Janet ever again. Everything all neatly wrapped up. That's all she wanted, right?
Samantha, on all fours on the kitchen floor, felt glad that Michael was behind her, unable to see her expression. As before, it
did
feel good to be taken this way, to have him inside of herself, an affirmation of her core identity. At the same time, it was now an uncomfortable reminder having been in Michael's position herself, on the giving end only mere hours ago.
Giving it to Janet.
That was really what was so wrong -- how quickly everything had
changed
on a life-altering level, in so many ways, in such a short time. It wasn't even the whole crazy plan, taking the drug and everything else, which she'd had time to get used to for months now, but rather the events of this week alone. The days of raw sexual indulgence. The acknowledgement of their years-long mutual feelings for one another. The sudden betrayal. It was all too much, the pendulum of emotions swinging from one extreme to the other. To try to go back to normal after all of that was impossible...
You have to
, Samantha told herself.
Just try your best to forget. This is the only way forward
.
She reached down between her legs, rubbing her clit, trying to get herself more in the mood. Michael was oblivious, his hands on her waist, pulling her back into himself, groaning. Using her.
The way she'd used Janet.
Janet with her nice, round ass, her tight, little wet snatch squeezing Samantha's cock, craving every inch of it...
Stop it,
Samantha berated herself.
Stop thinking about that.
Janet betrayed her. Janet lied to her. Janet manipulated her. She'd convinced her to take that stupid, crazy pill. The one that had changed her, that had
altered
her, made her into something else... and then Janet had used her. Used what she'd become. And in the end, none of it had been for Janet to conceive. It had all been for her debauched, illicit, carnal gratification.
That sick, perverted slut...
All she had wanted was Samantha's cock. She'd used it every which way. She'd spit on Samantha's thick, hard member, while squeezing it, rubbing it between her tits, sliding and smearing it around with her saliva and Samantha's dribbling pre-cum. Sucking the jizz out of it with her slutty mouth, her cheeks hollowing. Making those obscene noises when Samantha shoved it up her cunt. On her hands and knees, just like Samantha was now, looking back at her with those blue eyes, through her perspiration-soaked, dark hair, mewling.
Stop it, stop it, stop it...
Samantha was moaning now, lost in guilty reminiscence. The fingers behind her legs were working more urgently now, though she wasn't in need of it to stimulate her arousal any longer. Lubrication was running down her hand.
Stop thinking about her. She used you. She just wanted your cock. Because she's a sick, filthy whore...
Yea, that was right. That's all Janet wanted -- to get banged on all fours, just like this. Samantha was panting loudly, rubbing herself furiously. This was what Janet wanted, what Samantha doing right now. Getting fucked doggy-style. Like a dog. Like a horny bitch.
"Ohhhh...ohhhh... ohhhhhhh..."
