by K T Morrison
“She didn’t say that.”
Chelsea smiled, looking at the side of his face. “What did she say?”
“It’s really big,” he said, mousy, just like Lib.
Chelsea whispered in his ear, “It’s really big, Finn,” her fingertips going over the shape of his cock underneath his boxer shorts. “I’ve never seen a big cock before...”
Ben groaned, shut his eyes off.
Chelsea said, “Let me just touch it, Finn, Ben’s isn’t like this at all...”
“Fuck off,” he groaned, but stayed immobile, arms heavy at his sides, Chelsea’s delicate touch over his cotton-shrouded erection feeling like sin, and the badness of his wife sponsoring a deep and awful ache in his testicles.
Chelsea giggled, then her two hands worked apart his fly, pushed it down so that his cock stuck straight out and bare from between his legs. It was desperate to feel contact and trickled lubricant. She said, “And here’s the good news, Ben,” then disappeared from his vision, her head sinking into his lap. Her mouth closed around his cock and he let out a long mournful sigh. It was somehow good news despite the hurt in his heart...
While her head went up and down in his lap, delivering him the most heavenly pleasure from her artful mouth, he pushed knuckles into his eye sockets until all he saw was fiery blood red. It still couldn’t blot out the images. His Libby standing there, Finn with his legs open, Ben and Libby discovering together that the neighbor who she was going to cheat on him with had a huge penis. His poor Libby, his poor inexperienced girl, caught up in some devious spiderweb that he’d helped create. His sticky little spider legs had joined some of those threads together—or maybe he was the fucking spider food, too...
“Shit,” he shouted, and his hands came down, grabbed Chelsea’s hair. He held it in shaking fists, then cupped his fingers around the pretty globe of her little skull and fucked her mouth.
The words repeated in his head: And his isn’t like this?....No....How big is Ben’s, show me on mine with your finger... and Libby did.
He roared and blew a whole days worth of pent-up lust into her yawning mouth. Chelsea blurted and laughed, coughed, gagged. But he held her head still until he’d pulsed every last bit into her.
When he was done, she elbowed his hand away, sat up laughing. She’d swallowed most of it, but a jiggling thread connected her top lip to her lower lip, and his semen dripped off the point of her chin. “That’s it, Ben, now you get it,” she said encouragingly, then fell against him, wiping her mouth and neck and cheeks on the sleeve of his shirt.
He panted. His cock—the one much smaller than his wife was getting railed with right now—still hard, poked up out of his fly, leaning to one side and dangling a fishing line of his seed. “I can’t believe this,” he said.
“It’s done, Ben, it’s done, and now we’re going upstairs to celebrate…”
29
Chelsea climbed on top of him in the bed he shared with Libby. “I’m so horny, Ben,” she said, “I’m going to scratch your skin off like a bitch cat in heat. God, I have to fuck, have to, have to...”
His jaw and brow ached as they resisted the sobbing sadness that wanted to tear him down, leave him a hump of a broken man on the bedroom floor. A cold meanness settled in his frontal lobe and his hands moved on their own and seized her hips.
Chelsea wore a loose T-shirt with Mötley Crue on it. The neck hole had been cut wider with scissors and it hung off one tanned shoulder. The turquoise string of her bra top crossed over her collarbone. Big hair, glam metal faces sneered at him, emblazoned below them the name of the tour in 1983, and also a sagacious command: Shout At The Devil. On his back looking up, Chelsea straddling on her knees, he could see beneath her shirt. Her belly was hard and flat and tanned. She was beautiful, her body drool-worthy, all taut curves and screaming sex. He could see her tits resting in the cotton triangles of her bikini top.
Hips driving up with force, he bucked her off him and she toppled to the bed at his side. Quick and aggressive he was over top off her, pulling up her shirt and exposing her breasts. One of the cups had gone askew and her rubbery nipple poked out, brown and aroused. Chelsea struggled her arms over her head, yanked them out of the shirt’s sleeves but he kept it over her face. The fabric was gathered in a clump behind her head, held in his fist, the pretty features of her Scream Queen face jutting out the black cotton; her mouth was open, her breaths came lusty, her chest rising and falling, the covered nipple humping out against turquoise constraint. With the knot of T-shirt clenched tight, the threadbare fabric stretched over her face, he grabbed her pussy over the denim. He was rough with it, beating on it, tearing his fingers over her damp sex, warm through her jeans. Her breath came in gasps through her open mouth held in an O, the cotton forming a trampoline over the gap. He bit her chin, shoved his hand under her jeans. No underwear, just shaved perfect pussy that was eager to greet him. He twiddled his fingers hard through her membranes, then stiffened his arm and strummed. A wet and sticky sound built and Chelsea arched her back and croaked. He jazzed her pussy until his triceps cramped, then curled two fingers inside her and bit on that long graceful neck. It brought a gasp from Chelsea and she raised her knees up, bumping his shoulder, but allowing him to dig deeper inside her.
“Oh, ho, Ben,” she purred, “somebody’s mad at me...”
His hand came out wet, and he unbuttoned her jeans, pulled them down to her knees. Chelsea writhed on the bed, long arms grabbing at the sheets, that one perfect brown nipple peeping at him, her ribs and stomach muscles undulating against her bronze skin. On top of her again, he tore away her bikini, and her breasts jiggled and bounced; she inhaled sharply, liking it.
“You gonna beat me up?” Her voice was breathy and encouraging from behind the shroud of her shirt. Like she wanted to get beat up.
Then his mouth went over a nipple, the prefatory one, sucked it hard, rushing all the blood to the surface of the skin. Chelsea moved gracefully under him, her long fingers dragging long nails over his shoulders, the whole while blindfolded by her shirt.
“Choke me,” she gasped in a whisper.
He growled, bit at the other nipple while his hands undid his fly.
First, one hand closed around that long elegant neck. When she smiled, he slipped the V of thumb and fingers of the other hand underneath the first hand, and slowly squeezed. Veins rose against the skin, and Chelsea responded like she liked it. The grace and beauty of that thin neck of hers was astounding, and in context of the brutality of closing his hands around it was wild and outrageous. Chelsea was almost like another being, better than human. Perfectly proportioned, gorgeous face, long graceful limbs, flawless skin—but inside that skull was an evil brain. He closed his hands a little tighter as a little chuckle escaped her lips and he closed off her airway. Soon as it was done, he let go; she laughed at him.
“You choke like a girl, Benji,” she said, reached up and lightly swatted at his face.
“You’re such a bitch,” he said.
“And you don’t have that killer instinct... those soft hands couldn’t—”
“Shut up, Chelsea, I have to stuff my cock in your mouth to stop you?”
“Just fucking give it to me, Ben,” she said, sneering, confident, sexual, and even hidden by her shirt, frightening. Her hips pushed up, grinding her wet pussy into his hard cock, the slippery feel of her sex astounding and overwhelming.
With her flat on her back but her knees to one side—haunch, ass, and pussy bared—he got over her again. Her cowboy boots scissored on the bedding and she taunted him still: “Don’t tell me you went soft, Benjamin...”
He jammed the back of her thigh with a knee, exposing her slit, closed his hands around her neck, caressed her, squeezed, released, caressed, took her cotton-covered mouth in a kiss as he aimed his hips. The spear-point of his erection found her hot wet opening and he pushed himself inside her all the way until his pubic hair scratched at the soft shaved shapes of her mound. She breathed a lusty
exhale into his mouth and he started to pound her. The more he pounded, the more she responded.
“Fuck me like that, Ben,” she shouted, “fuck me hard,” then bit at his neck, teeth tearing her own shirt.
He pushed at her face, said, “Don’t leave any marks on me.”
Through the shirt, her soft lips moved, visible now in a small oval tear: “Why not, Ben?—the jig is up. Finn’s going to leave his mark all over your wife, trust me...”
“Shut up...”
“She’ll never be the same, Ben...”
Now he grabbed her wrists, held them up over her head, speared deep, pushing with his toes until her pelvis tilted, getting his length as deep inside her as he could. She loved it, loved it but laughed.
“That’s it. That’s it, Ben... Ben Todd doesn’t know how good he can fuck...”
“Shut your mouth...”
“He’s finding out...”
“Shut up, Chelsea...”
“Libby’s finding out, too... Libby’s finding out all about other men... She likes other men...”
30
He withdrew, gripped her upper arm, rolled her so she was face down and flat on the bed. He got over her back, legs closed between his. The point of his erection pushed into her ass crack; he took a hand to wiggle it around until he found her asshole, then he slipped inside that. Chelsea kicked her legs behind him, laughing and sighing.
“Libby’s finding out all about what other men can do...”
“You’re such a bitch,” he said
“That the best you can do?” She laughed, “You need better lines, Ben... you know you have to cozy up to the producer…”
“How are you so awful?”
“You fucking love it, you toad, now fuck my ass...”
He crushed his weight over top of her, wanting to suffocate her in his bed sheets while he pounded her ass with his rock hard cock. He got the headboard banging louder than it ever had before. He gave Chelsea everything. And finally, he was getting the response he wanted. She grew sweaty, her breaths long and airy. She gasped; he pounded his dick as deep into her as he could.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she started to chant, and he slipped his forearm around her neck, closing her head in the V of his arm.
“Fucking choke me, you weakling...”
“Shut up,” he said again but she only laughed.
Now he was swatting her ass, one arm around her neck, the other slapping an ass cheek, his cock driving fully in and out of her rectum.
And he was done. Done with Chelsea. He pulled out, jerked himself furiously onto the small of her back. She giggled menacingly at the wet feel of it on her skin, cooing and laughing. He squeezed it all out of him, all his badness flowing out of his balls, signing his pearly signature on her lower back.
Now he was panting, suspended above her on one hand, his other gently squeezing and stroking his erection. He was disgusted with her. Disgusted with himself. And an hour and a half north of here, he wondered what Finn was doing to Libby, and wondered if would be anywhere near as bad as the things he’d done and wanted to do to Chelsea.
He collapsed next to her on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like it was all coming to an end.
Chelsea chuckled, her thin hand coming to draw away the T-shirt from her face. Face sideways on the pillow she smiled at him.
“Not bad, Ben, not bad at all. I had a mini ass-orgasm there.”
Now he coughed an actual chuckle, turned his face to hers. He smiled seeing her beauty, but it faded. “He’s not going to choke her, is he?”
“He will if she wants it.”
He looked up to the ceiling again. “She wouldn’t want that.”
Chelsea cackled and her knees darted up to thump his thigh. “You thought she wouldn’t go for it at all, you thought Finn would never get her in bed... One look at that dick...”
He admitted to her his greatest fear: “I think she really likes him.”
“He likes her.”
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“Finn likes all my friends he fucks. He’s not running off with your city mouse.”
“I hope he’s good to her.”
“He’ll be good, Ben. Serious. He’ll make her come a dozen times, do things she didn’t know were possible. He’ll fucking cuddle with her if she wants it, that madman.” She chuckled again. “He’ll buy her breakfast in the morning, and your dopey bride will probably fall in love with him.”
“No, she won’t.”
“Right, cool guy, makes good money, hot, hot body, killer eyes, killer ass, giant dick, she’s already got a crush on him, he fucks her six ways from Sunday, comes in her little corn hole and she never, ever thought she’d like that, but Sweet Jesus, when he did, it put a little flutter in her tummy... she’ll be drumming on her little bean thinking of her night with him, you laying where you are right now, sleeping and oblivious.”
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her evil face. It amused her to torture him like this; she was enjoying it, he could see the sparkle there. “Why are you so bad?”
“Everyone loves a bad girl, Ben,” she said and smiled.
They looked at each other for a long while in the quiet room. She said, “You’re the one that likes to choke innocent girls.”
“I liked choking you. And you’re not innocent.”
“Want to choke me again?”
They connected eyes, both of them expressionless and blinking. It was a lure. “You’re going to pretend you died, aren’t you? Freak me out...”
She held the straight face as long as she could, then snorted in her throat and exploded in cachinnation. He admired her row of perfect movie star teeth and chuckled a little too. “You were going to, right?”
She steadied her sexy eyes on him, said, “Choke me and find out.”
He looked away; looking in her eyes would have him making mistakes again. He said, “You don’t care he’s having sex with Libby?”
“I love watching Finn fuck a girl. I love the way the muscles of his back squirm, love his ass, oh, my God, he has the hottest ass. Then it’s the girl... what’s her reaction to him? I watch her face to see how she responds to his size. They’re all different.”
“Is his size...? Is it really big?”
“Ten. Thick. Inches.”
He groaned, made a disgusted cluck of his tongue.
Chelsea chuckled air through her nostrils. “You’re going to have a new woman limp through your front door tomorrow...”
He chewed on the inner lining below his bottom lip, grimacing, wondering what his wife would think of sex with Finn. What would Lib think having sex with a man who could do it better, and had better equipment on a better chassis?
Chelsea read his mind, whispering, “He’s fucking her right now...”
“Stop...”
“He is, Ben, he’s fucking her hard, making her scream...”
“Lib doesn’t scream...”
“Finn’ll make her scream, Finn’ll make her...”
He grunted, rolled his eyes at her, made sure his display of disdain wasn’t hidden from her.
She giggled softly, then her hand crept over. “Uh-oh, Ben, what do we have here?”
The feel of her hand on his dick made his stomach bounce.
“Libby’s husband’s got a boner thinking about his wife getting it better than ever before.”
“No, I’m not...”
“Ben, I’ve been laying here looking at your dick, it went rubber, now it’s rock again. No biggie, ninety percent of my friends’ boyfriends get off on it in some way when their girl’s with Finn. It’s usually the sounds they make...”
Now she was pushing her jeans down over her knees and working her boots off with her heels.
“Don’t...”
“Don’t what, Ben? Fuck you? Let me sit on this...”
He put his hand down and held her wrist. “Stop.”
“Right...”
“I’m serious. You need to leav
e.”
“You don’t want to fuck all night?”
“No.”
She laughed. “Oh, Big Shot.”
“Pull your pants up and get out of here.”
Her humor dissipated. The smile on her face stayed the same but her eyes chilled to cold stones.
“I thought it would be fun, Finn and Lib come home, maybe join us in bed. You got other plans, good for you.” She pulled her jeans up and buttoned them, sat up, turned her shirt right-side out. He watched her sexy bare back, the profile of her teardrop breast pointed still with a hard nipple. She stretched the shirt over her body, pulling and adjusting, saying, “If Lib tells you she has a tummy ache tomorrow, tell her to take one or two aspirin. It can help her stretched-out little kitty cat.”
“I’ll let her know.”
She looked over her shoulder, sexy half a face, caramel locks tumbling over a cheek and shoulder. “Poor girl, downside of the first time you experience the joy of a big dick is the next morning, God, then having to ride home on a motorcycle...?”
“You can go now, Chelsea.”
She turned her face up and laughed loud. “You’re a riot, Ben. Listen, it’s been a blast.” She stood up, stomped her heels in her boots so they fit better, not an ounce of fat jiggling, her braless breasts swaying under Mötley Crue.
She snapped up her bikini top, tucked it in a ball and shoved it in her tight back pocket. “Call me tomorrow, okay? You know you’re going to…”
He met her gaze, tried to be strong. “Good night, Chelsea.”
She looked at his erection again, smiled a wide sneer. “Good night, Ben. Sleep tight…”
Part 5
Home Girl
31
It was unexpected, but just before lunchtime he masturbated. Apparently he didn’t get enough last night.
