The Lie

by Chad Kultgen

  Going into this whole thing I was halfway convinced that Kyle had probably never kissed a girl in his entire life. But he was actually a really good kisser. Not too wet, just the right amount of tongue and pressure. He did this thing with his hand where he reached up and put it kind of on the side of my face, not behind my neck like most guys do, just right on the side of my face, just touching me while we kissed. It was nice, not great, not passionate, just really, really nice.

  We made out for a while on my bed. I didn’t know if it was because he was high or because he was kind of shy or what but he didn’t try to take my clothes off or even feel my boobs or anything. He just lay there with me, kissing me. Again, it was really nice. I would have been perfectly content to just make out with him for a while then go get some food or something, but in the back of my mind I knew I needed to take it up a level if I was going to lock him in. And I was actually getting pretty horny from kissing him. So I sat up and took off my shirt and my bra.

  I took one of his hands and put it on my boob, which he seemed to like. I’ve been told that I have really nice boobs. They’re not huge—Bs—but most guys have told me they’re just right and I don’t think they’d have any reason to lie about it so I’m pretty sure I’ve got good boobs.

  We made out like that for a few more minutes before I unzipped his pants and grabbed his dick. I remember that it was really, really hard. Like probably one of the hardest dicks I’ve ever felt. I know some guys have told me that weed gives them like super-boners. Maybe that was the case. I didn’t know. But it was a nice surprise.

  I jerked him a little and then moved down and started sucking his dick. He had a pretty nice one. Not too big, not too small, kind of right in the middle and not shaped weird or anything. It was clean, didn’t smell like sweaty nuts or anything. It was perfectly straight. He could have used a trim on the pubes, but that was really my only complaint. And even for not trimming, it wasn’t out of control, just slightly bushy.

  My first boyfriend was really into blowjobs and he pretty much taught me everything I know as far as sucking dick goes. I’ve been told by most of the guys I give blowjobs to that I’m the best they’ve ever had. So I was pretty confident that it wouldn’t take long to make Kyle cum. I was right. It was seriously like two minutes maybe. He really liked a little rub right under his balls. I did that and then reached up and put one of his hands on my boob and he came in like two seconds. I swallowed because I know guys love that, which I’ll never really understand. I don’t mind it, but, I mean, once you cum, who cares if I spit it out or not? I guess I can understand not having it spit back out on you, but if I spit it on the floor or into a towel or something…whatever. I swallowed and then came up next to Kyle.

  He was like, “Oh my God, that was insane.”

  I was like, “Did you like that?”

  He was like, “Um, yeah. A little bit.”

  I reached over to the little fridge that was next to my bed and got out a bottle of water. I swished it around to get the little strands of cum that were stuck to my back teeth to go down. I reached for my shirt and Kyle was like, “You don’t need that yet,” then he kind of pushed me down on my back, which I totally was not expecting, and started sucking on my boobs. While he was doing that, he reached down with one of his hands and unzipped my jeans.

  I was more than surprised at this point. I really thought he was a timid nerd who I was going to have to make every move on. Now it was like he was taking what he wanted and it was right after I just gave him a blowjob. I had only ever had sex with one other guy who could go again and again like that. It was a little weird, but pretty hot, too.

  He took off my pants and my underwear and I thought he was going to fuck me, but instead he went down on me, which I completely didn’t see coming. I was already pretty wet from sucking his dick, which turned me on way more than I thought it would have, but when I realized he was going to eat me out, I could feel myself getting even wetter.

  He started out kind of slow at first, making small circles around my whole pussy. It felt nice, but it wasn’t what I wanted so I reached down and grabbed the back of his head and kind of pulled him right into my pussy. Once I did that, oh my God. As soon as he started licking my clit it was seriously one of the best sexual experiences of my life. He somehow knew how to get me so close to cumming and then back off. He did that like probably ten times and then finally used his fingers and his tongue at the same time to make me finish.

  I probably almost broke his neck, my legs clamped down on him so hard. Then it was like I was in a coma or something. Waves of little aftershocks would go through me every few seconds for the next minute or two. I have to admit, he was really, really amazing at that.

  I just lay there staring at the ceiling. He came up and lay down next to me. He kissed me on the cheek and I could smell my pussy on his face.

  The next thing I remember was waking up, still naked, under my covers, with Kyle sleeping next to me. Annie still wasn’t back from wherever she had gone and it was dark outside. I looked at Kyle for a few seconds, trying to figure out if I was feeling something for him, something real I mean. I think I probably was. I think that was the first time that I thought to myself he might actually be a cool guy. At the very least he was the best guy I’d ever had go down on me. If he hadn’t been so good at it, none of this probably ever would have happened. A few other guys had been okay at it, but even my high school boyfriend never made me cum from just going down on me. I remember, as I was lying there, I wondered if Kyle was that good with his tongue because he was terrible at fucking or if his pussy-eating skills were just the tip of the iceberg—you know, like maybe he was just one of those guys who was naturally really good at everything that had to do with sex.

  I definitely knew I wanted to keep this thing going to at least get him to go down on me a few more times and to test out how good he was at regular sex.

  chapter six

  My stepmother had, once again, nagged my father into taking her to his Italian villa for the weekend, so I had our house essentially to myself, not counting the live-in maid who was new, her name unknown to me at the time. I invited a couple of girls from school to come over and indulge in some wine while sitting in the rooftop Jacuzzi, knowing that an invitation to the Keller mansion has literally never been declined by any girl I’ve issued it to. I also invited Kyle over, in the hopes that whatever strange hold Heather had over him would be sucked out of him by one of these whores along with a gallon of his deluded semen.

  I don’t know exactly what it was that compelled me to care so much about Kyle’s well-being when it came to prematurely committing himself to women, but I was compelled nonetheless. Maybe there was something in me that recognized his inability to see that all women are worthless because his economic means didn’t render women completely dispensable as mine did for me. Or maybe, and I’ve only come to give this theory any credence in the past few months, but maybe I was somehow jealous of Kyle’s ability to see the good in women. As I’ve stated before, I see no good in any woman beyond her ability to aid me in ejaculating and, although I feel my outlook is correct and infallible, there is some part of me that wishes I could blind myself to their insignificance and believe in the lies of love and mutual respect—believe that each gender isn’t using the other for selfish reasons.

  I asked Kyle to come over thirty minutes earlier than I had told the girls to arrive. I assumed both parties would be on time—Kyle because he’s never been late for anything in his life and the whores because they were just that, whores. And whores are never late where money is concerned. Although these whores weren’t literal, that is I wasn’t paying them to fuck me, they were whores nonetheless because they would fuck me and they would do this because they understood me to represent money that could potentially be theirs in various forms of gifts, dinners, et cetera. Furthermore, if one were lucky or skilled enough to sink her hooks in and eventually wed me, the money I would represent would be more than any common
whore would make in ten thousand careers. They would not be late.

  My reason for having Kyle come early was that I had acquired some information about Heather, and I hoped that it would make him see she was no better than the girls who would be coming over and that, in this realization, he would fuck the one I chose not to fuck and understand that this is what he should have been doing all along.

  He arrived on time and, as predicted, we got into my father’s scotch. I told him that some girls were coming by to fuck us, which elicited no visible excitement in him. And then I planned to reveal to him that, through the help of a private detective named Mr. Kenneman, whom my father had placed on retainer during his first divorce and whose services he had given me full access to for my eighteenth birthday, I had come to learn that Heather did not attend a private school. She graduated from Newman Smith High School in Carrollton, Texas—a suburb of moderate affluence, not as wealthy as Plano but not as pedestrian as Lewisville. She had had three publicly recognized boyfriends of more than six months apiece, all of whom attended Newman Smith with her. She had fucked at least five different guys, all three of her boyfriends and two others, one of the others while she was with boyfriend number two. She played no sports and maintained a very average grade point. It was by means of her mother’s legacy that she found her application to SMU accepted. And it was by means of her father’s upper-middle-class salary at the biggest utilities company in Texas, TXU, that she found her tuition paid. Her parents had been divorced for seven years but still remained friendly. The most telling detail of all, however, had nothing to do with her high school record or her family’s past. In fact it was rumored to have happened less than a week into our freshman year at SMU, and it was information that found its way to me not through Mr. Kenneman, but through my own channels of social influence.

  Collin Davis, whose father, Andrew Davis, recently won a large settlement that enabled him to collect one third of the inheritance his father had intended to give entirely to his two more responsible siblings, had in no uncertain terms claimed that he fucked both Heather and her roommate, Annie, simultaneously. This isn’t condemning in and of itself, but Davis went on to say that after he was done with them, Annie left the room and several other male friends of his entered and proceeded to fuck Heather in all holes, then cum on her face. Although I question the validity of the story based on Collin Davis’s reputation as an asshole and a liar, it’s very similar to a girl claiming she’s been raped. Whether she was or not, the accused is fucked for life. And whether Heather was defiled in the manner described by Collin Davis or not, the retelling of his story to Kyle would leave an image in his mind of Heather’s face glazed in the semen of ten men that would never be erased. That image alone, I thought, would be sufficient to end his childish fantasies about her.

  As I say, however, I only planned to reveal all this to him. Before I could, he told me that the day prior had seen Heather giving him the best blowjob of his life and him returning the favor by going down on her. He kept droning on and on about how amazing the day with her was and how they fell asleep in each other’s arms and how her hair smelled so good as she lay next to him and how he didn’t want to let her go when he had to leave, et cetera.

  Logically I knew I should have told him the smell he liked so much in her hair was probably the aroma of ten drunken frat guys’ semen, but I couldn’t do it. For as long as I’ve known Kyle, he hasn’t been what I would consider overly happy. He is very pragmatic, which is a quality I have the utmost respect for, but also a quality, I think, that removes any ability to blind yourself to the inherent flaws in any situation, no matter how perfect it might seem. The only aspect of his life in which he has been able to overlook the flaws, or I should say has been unable to see the flaws, has been with women. As someone who will never know happiness from any woman beyond seeing her with my semen or her tears or a mixture of both streaming down her face, there was something in his happiness I couldn’t bring myself to destroy. Instead I shook my head, begged him to reconsider rushing into this thing with full force, and offered him another glass of my father’s scotch in the hopes that he might get drunk enough to fuck one of the sluts who would be arriving momentarily, then feel enough guilt to tell Heather about it the following day and ultimately drive her away before any significant damage could be done. None of that happened.

  Instead, the sluts arrived wearing bathing suits under their clothes and a child’s fascination with shiny objects behind their eyes. Both were attractive enough to fuck, neither attractive enough to fuck in the vagina.

  They came in, proceeded to get drunk in a matter of minutes, and both made a similar play for me. Their conversation was pointless and without intelligence, a kind of random pattern of talk that held no substance, value, or purpose other than to toss out a few lines of sexual innuendo here or there to let me know they were there to have sex with me, as if their presence alone wasn’t indication enough of their willingness to allow me to defile them in any way I saw fit.

  They virtually ignored Kyle, who seemed not to care—probably lost in the memory of the blowjob he got the day prior, or some fantasy of what his and Heather’s children might look like, what their house might look like, what he would buy her on their first anniversary, et cetera. I pitied and envied him.

  At some point in the Jacuzzi, both sluts were making fools of themselves in an argument about which of them could give the better blow-job and I submitted to the debate that each of them should suck Kyle’s dick and let him be the judge. It was painfully obvious to see that they would have done anything I asked of them regardless of their own feelings about the request. To their delight, Kyle preemptively declined the blowjobs and they turned their attention back to me. One of them, Jordan I think her name was, explained that she had no gag reflex and maintained that this made her better at giving head than any other girl. The other’s name was not Jordan but that’s the only name of the two I remember so I’ll call her Jordan as well. Jordan explained that she had some kind of anatomical abnormality involving her tongue and its ability to curl into a U-shape. This, she was convinced, gave her the ability to deliver a much more pleasurable experience while your dick was in her mouth.

  I had no real interest in getting a blowjob from either of these whores unless it ended with one or both of them crying due to some humiliation that I was to initiate, which was not out of the realm of possibility but seemed like it might require more effort than I was willing to expend on that night. Kyle left the Jacuzzi to go inside, citing the fact that he had to make a phone call. I could only assume it was to Heather and it would be a long one. This would give me time to violate the Jordans in a manner far more entertaining than a mere blowjob/ejaculating in their eyes/laughing as they cried.

  I told them both that I had had too many blowjobs to count. As a result I hated blowjobs. I despised them. It would be a miracle, I told them, if either of them could even get me hard by sucking my dick. Instead, what I really liked to do was watch two girls fuck each other. They laughed and thought I was joking. They asked me how they could possibly fuck each other. I explained that I had a strap-on dildo in my bedroom for such occasions. They looked at each other, neither wanting to actually do what I was asking, but I could see in each of their eyes an unspoken pact made at that exact moment that outlined their agreement to do to each other whatever I asked in the hopes that I might choose one to see again, to start a relationship with, to buy lavish gifts for, to marry, to make my princess, et cetera.

  One of them challenged the claim that I actually owned such a piece of sexual paraphernalia by promising to let the other fuck her if I could produce the device. Throughout the course of my sexual adulthood, which I would argue began at eleven, I have owned every sexual aid that I have had the ability to purchase, for the simple reason that I like to challenge myself from time to time to see just how far I can push a whore, to see just how important my level of resource is to her. The strap-on dildo was easily one of the tamest weapo
ns in my arsenal. I was fairly certain I had gauged these girls perfectly. The strap-on dildo was their initial upper limit. If they submitted to it as a first step, then I could potentially coax them into more depraved acts. But had I asked them to fuck my RealDoll, or to don schoolgirl costumes and shit on each other’s chests as an opener to the night’s activities, it would have been too much too soon.

  As we walked back into the house, we passed Kyle, who was on the phone. I couldn’t tell what he was saying but his general demeanor and gentle, hushed tone led me to believe he was talking to Heather. I thought about yanking the phone out of the wall and forcing him to watch what horrible magic I was about to conjure with the Jordans.

  Instead, I left him to his folly and proceeded back to my bedroom where I forced the two sluts to take turns fucking each other with the strap-on dildo. It required little effort once the dildo was produced from a chest in the closet where I keep such things. Once they began, I found them, like all women, to be open to any whorish act I would suggest. Without even rinsing it off, they subjected themselves to inserting the dildo into each other’s cunts, asses, and mouths while asking me if it was making me hot. After about half an hour of this I realized I wanted them to leave, so I fucked one in the ass, removed my dick, forced the other to jerk me off with her feet into the open mouth of the original, who was then commanded to spit my seed into a small cup of Listerine I had left sitting on my bedside table without using the night before. I was sure this final act of depravity would result in the Jordans making a quick exit, but that wasn’t the case. The one who spit my semen into the Listerine actually asked me if I wanted her to fuck her friend some more. I had had enough. They had to leave. In a few quick seconds I devised my plan to force their exit—one final sexual act so foul their dignity would override their womanly lust for the resource I represented.