Message-ID: <14810eli$9808281717@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14810.txt> From: apuleius@poboxes.com (Apuleius of Madaura) Subject: RP: Nice Girl by Of 2 Minds (MF cheat) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: apuleius@poboxes.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35f16f8e.5119402@news.labyrinth.net.au> Reposter's Note: I am not the author of this story. - Apuleius -------------------------------- Nice Girl By Of 2 minds Sometime in the middle of the night I woke, my bladder on the verge of explosion. Herb always does that to me. After full two-minute piss, I staggered back to bed and found that Karen was not there. It was 2:51 a.m. I was so groggy, I thought she must be in the bathroom. She sometimes gets bad cramps and diarrhea. "Kar?" Then I knew that she couldn't be in the bathroom (since I'd just been in there), and I remembered that Chris was staying with us, and with a pang of nausea, realized that they were downstairs. I immediately pictured Chris' dick, which was big. And although I hadn't seen it in over four years, I trusted it had not gotten any smaller. The thought of Karen touching it (or any other part of him) made me sick. But then Karen has a strong aversion to sex, and an even stronger aversion to people like Chris. Chris Coleman and I had been brought together as juniors at BU by a housing shortage on campus. He was a tough looking creep from a shitty Boston suburb, with a long scar across his chin (an ice hockey scar; he had played left wing for BU as a freshman, then quit to devote himself to being a full-time scumbag). The thing about Chris was that he didn't care about anyone but himself. A real pig. To give you an example, one beery night about a month after moving in together, he stumbled across a freshman Zeta Phi sister lying inebriated and unconscious in the stairwell of our dorm. He carried her back to our room, raped her, took money from her wallet, then dragged her out onto the 4th floor fire escape and left her there. As he gave me the full low-down the next morning at breakfast, I decided that I hated him. (To this day, I still regret not having turned him over to campus security.) The rest of our year together was a blur. He lied a lot, stole every nickel, dime and quarter I left unattended and sold herb for pocket money -- from our dorm room. Looking back, I'm glad he never got busted. It might have made me look like an accomplice or something. But worst of all was the way he leered at Karen (who I also met at BU) whenever she came over. Before the year was over, it was so bad that she stopped coming to my dorm. So one night four years later, I'm clearing the dishes away from a roast turkey dinner I'd made for Karen. The phone rings. A familiar voice on the other end knows my name. "David?" "Coleman? Chris?" "That's me." He sounded good natured and surprisingly adult. "Holy, shit. How are you? Where are you?" He laughed. I'm about 10 miles from your house, if this map is right." There was some static. "I'm in the car on my way down to Philly." "What a surprise," I looked into the living room. Karen, exhausted from work, was fetal on the couch. There was no way I could not invite Chris to stop by for a quick drink. On the other hand, Karen was in one of her IEMMs (indefinitely extended miserable moods). This could be bad, especially if Chris' roving eye thing hadn't changed over the years. There was no way out. And besides, I was curious about what had become of him. After giving directions and hanging up, I put the kitchen together and took Bernie for a quick walk and a crap. Two hours later, Chris and me drinking beers and smoking a joint rolled with some really strong weed he'd brought with him. Karen (who has never even smoked a cigarette) watched us, looking surprisingly placid considering who was sitting on the other end of the couch from her. I however, was feeling surprised. Chris had turned out to be a pretty decent guy. He'd gotten his CPA after all (I'd never thought he would stick it out) and was working for a big accounting firm in Boston. From the look of the brand new Jeep Cherokee in the driveway, I judged they were paying him acceptably. He also looked good. I'd always been jealous of his body. But unlike me, he hadn't totally stopped working out after college. Leaning back on our couch with a loose fitting t-shirt and faded jeans, he looked like a professional ice hockey player relaxing after a big game. I even thought I saw Karen looking at him with a strange kind of interest. He was also nothing of the letch Karen and I had known him to be. Not only did he refrain from foul language or tasteless comments, he only glanced once or twice at Karen's breasts, even though they were swinging loose under her black sweatshirt. Certain that I would find Karen and Chris at the kitchen table drinking a cup of herbal tea (her favorite midnight activity), I threw on some pajamas and went downstairs. Even though Chris had turned out to be pretty cool, there was just no way Karen would ever let him touch her. It was actually Karen's disinterest in sex that made our relationship possible in the first place. If she had been into sex, she never would have been into me. What I am (low self-esteem yet still confident with a slightly flabby body and a not gorgeous but still sometimes boyishly charming face) is what brought us together. I am safe, and this is what she needs. My safeness has helped Karen entrust her great, beautiful breasts to me. My job is to make her feel comfortable, protected from the shit of life. >From pain poverty, and perversion. As you would expect, Karen's problems for sex stem from her childhood. Her father did some strange stuff to her when she was a little girl. He didn't molest her or anything, but he would leave really dirty magazines lying all over their house, and walk around with no clothes on, sometimes with an erection. Not that her family was trash. Actually, her father runs a big division of NBC or something. When we first started dating, I asked her how much money her family had. She gave me a look and said "Daddy doesn't talk about it, but my mom thinks he makes over ten thousand dollars a week, so probably a lot." Anyway, Karen's dad did all this weird stuff and it really messed her up. What made things even worse for her is that she grew up very, very sexy. She looks like a model in one of a high end clothing catalogue, like J. Crew or L.L. Bean. Only she has really big breasts. On a slender, delicate frame. Bad. The best way to describe Karen's body is pornographic (I know that sounds horrible, but naked, on her back, my wife's amazing breasts (her deep pink nipples are so large I can barely fit one in my mouth) spread and spill slightly outward. >From the neck up, though, Karen resembles nothing so much as a college girl working as a summer camp counselor in Maine or something. A blonde sports babe with a big, friendly smile. She has nice, big white teeth. She's a nice girl. But still, because of her tits, she grew up with men constantly being sexual with her. And it's made her feel repulsed by sex. What a world. I'm deeply in love with Karen, but it might be never before she works through this thing, whatever it is. This is definitely hard for me. Karen's anger at men is so bad, we sometimes go months without having intercourse. And when we do, the ecstasy of seeing her naked breasts wobble (or as is more often the case) sway a few inches in front of my face, usually makes me shoot my load (into a condom; my semen has never and will never touch any part of her body) within minutes. She never complains though. For Karen, sex is all about intimacy. When we make love, she wants to be held. I listened around the corner before looking in the living room, but heard nothing. I also peeked in the den. I wondered if maybe that they hadn't gotten hungry or something and taken a ride to 7-11. But that just wasn't Karen. And besides, Chris' jeep was in the driveway. They were in the basement. It now occurred to me, with a sickening finality, that it was very likely that I was going to find them together -- in some capacity. There just wasn't anything else they would be doing down there besides having sex. Hot tears spring to my eyes and I felt like sitting down. This just made no sense. Whatsoever. Strange thoughts came as I descended the stairs to the basement. The whole thing was unreal. Lacking the nerve to kill them, I decided I would punish her with shame. And refusing to forgive her -- ever. I would divorce her. They were in the guest room, where Chris was supposed to have stayed -- by himself. All we had down there was a cheap cot, and I heard the box springs squeaking lightly, and she was moaning in a way I had never heard before. I inched toward the door, pulled it open a few inches more than it already was, and waited while my eyes adjusted to the total darkness. Although, I steeled myself for the worst, there is nothing -- no thought, action or comforting word of wisdom that could have prepared me for what they were doing. In a few seconds, I could see them almost as well as if the lights had been on. Karen, my sweet, miserable wife, was lying on top of my old roommate who was now an accountant, her head in the crook of his neck as he fucked her from underneath. He was holding her ass cheeks so far apart I couldn't believe that she wasn't screaming in pain, and (this made me sick) sliding his finger in and out of her asshole. His dick was even bigger than I remembered it from college. Slamming upward into my wife's pussy, it was the cruelest, sexiest, nastiest thing I'd ever seen. She sat up on him, his finger still sliding in and out of her ass, and guided his free hand to her right breast. He groaned, "God, you're tits are so fucking big. They make me want to shoot." She giggled and rocked on him. He found a new rhythm, pulling his finger out of her ass as she sat on him, then shoving it back in on her upstroke. I could tell Karen was loving it. She was not my wife anymore. She was someone else, hopelessly complicated, deceitful woman. "If you keep doing that for another minute, I'm going to come," she said, matter-of-factly. "I'm definitely going to come." He began slapping her right tit, and pulling and twisting the nipple. True to her word, in a few seconds Karen ground to a standstill on his huge cock, let out a brief muffled cry, her whole body spasming. I never knew women could come like that. "Fucking whore," he said up to her. "You're a.... pig," she groaned back. "I hate you.... always have." After a few seconds, she collapsed besides him, giggling, and reached down to the floor. I watched with disbelief as she pulled up a joint and lit it as Chris scooted down to eat her. "Chris?" He made a throaty response, indiscernible as he tongued lightly at her clitoris, something she's only let me done once or twice since in all our years together. She shut her eyes. "You don't think he'll wake up, do you." Chris didn't answer. He took the joint from her, dragged deeply, then stubbed it out in an ashtray on the floor. In the meantime, Karen rolled over onto her stomach, raised herself up on her knees, and spread her cheeks. He kissed her asshole lightly. Without warning, he slapped her left buttock violently. She moaned tremblingly. "You're a cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt," he told her. "Hmmm," she cooed. "Taste my shit." I had no intention of moving. I was going to watch, but not interfere. Even if I had, I was sure Chris would beat me and then leave, and Karen would go with him. Chris spit into her ass crack and began lapping at her hole like a dog. Although I couldn't see her face too well, I could see that she was smiling. She reached back to play with his hair, to stroke his cheek. She angled herself to make it easier for him. He started fucking her asshole with his tongue, slapping his face into her butt to penetrate as deeply as possible. "I'm so sorry, David," she said quietly. I froze, tears streaming down my face. "I'm so sorry I have to do this." She stiffened again, cleared her throat, and then began to convulse. It was the strangest thing to watch. She was still climaxing when Chris sat back on his haunches, spit into her ass crack again, spit into his hand, and spread the lubrication onto the head of his dick. Karen mumbled something that sounded like "please." He guided himself into her asshole, and began fucking her harder and faster than I fuck her missionary style. There was a terrible, dull ringing in my ears. They fucked that way for at least a half hour. He called her a cunt about a thousand times. She cried, actually wept tears -- through three orgasms. She called my name a few times, and repeated her earlier apology. As she came for the third time, she called for her father. Once he was free of her, she turned around to take him into her mouth. Without moving her head, she slowly, methodically jerked him into her mouth, twisting the shiny head of his dick in her slimy fist at the end of each stroke. Once she stopped to lick the mixture of spit, cum and shit from her hand. After a few minutes of this minute, he grabbed her by the hair and started fucking her mouth, his balls slapping against her chin. His head tilted backward and I could tell he was going to finish. He smiled, his hockey scar catching the light from a lamp in our neighbor's backyard. He laughed and shot come all over my wife's face and hair. She jerked him into her mouth and swallowed a long ribbon of semen. She rubbed his come into her tits. Then she pushed him back on the bed, lifted his balls, slipped her middle finger into his asshole, and took him into her mouth again. I turned and went upstairs. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ At some point before dawn, Karen slipped into bed with me, warm, freshly damp and smelling of soap. She'd showered. From outside, I heard Chris' Jeep start up and back out of our driveway. Pretending to be asleep, I reached for a breast. She guided my hand to where it wanted to go and held it there for safekeeping. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>