Beetlesmith's Ch. 15

She never called me William—ever! She said it sounded too formal, too unlike me. That was when I knew for sure it wasn't Karen sitting before me.

"I tried to get her to stop coming over, but god, what a slut you turned her into. After the third time, I just gave in to it. What was the point of holding back? The little slut wanted it, and she wanted it bad. And you know what, William, once I gave in to it, it was fun. I enjoyed it..."

She paused and laughed to herself while smoothing back her hair. Her laugh still sounded cold and distant.

"...But you know what I enjoyed the most, other than making that little slut suck my pussy until I squirted all over that prissy little face? I really enjoyed doing it behind your back!"

Jesus, she's trying to egg me on again! I could feel my anger returning as she continued to mock me.

"Every day when you were at work, I had that little bitch walking around the house on all fours, just like a dog. It was a little game we played. I put one of your belts around her neck like a leash, and made her crawl alongside me. I'd go so far as to make her lap water out of the toilet. And if she played the mongrel to my liking, I'd reward her with a good fuck with the strap-on...Doggy style, of course." She paused briefly to laugh at her pun, "And if she were particularly good at lapping up food I dropped to the floor, I'd reward her with the double dong. I'd stick both ends into both of her dripping holes, telling her to bark like a little dog the whole time I double fucked her. She'd bark until she came. Then I'd tell her to bark some more, before making her tongue my snatch. I made sure to keep that dong in her ass as she ate me...God, how she loves that double dong, now. After a while she'd almost cream just showing it to her. And you know William, that's how I'd get her to do...Well...Get her to do other stuff. Things I'd rather not say to your sensitive ears."

I didn't want to hear anymore. I could only guess at the depths of human depravity Karen and Barbara had sunk.

She laughed again, and the metaphorical tomb opened wide, issuing forth a chill wind, freezing my soul.

She had the power, same as me; she could make others do her will. It was fully realized in her. However, it wasn't sex that was driving Karen, but the malignant and corrupting force of power itself. It was the power one wields to dominate another's will. Sex was just the vehicle she used to drive her to those ends of domination. What was worse, I could tell she knew no restraint in wielding that power.

Ever since the 'Cope incident,' I had gone to great lengths to impose a degree of restraint against the corruptive force of the elixir. A restraint I sometimes failed to meet, but it was always there, guiding and confining my behavior and keeping me from enacting my darker thoughts. Karen, lacking that restraint for whatever reason, unleashed those dark thoughts within her, making Barbara perform acts no human should ever be made to do.

I asked weakly, "Why are you doing this?"

She snapped back in rage, "Because you denied me pleasure! The little cunt was mine, but you told me no!"

"I don't want to hear anymore."

"Of course you don't," she continued to mock, egging me further down a road I didn't wish to travel, "Why would you want to know how much my pussy dripped whenever she stuck her hot tongue in my ass..."

"Shut up!"

She laughed again when she saw the rage retuning to my face. Then, in a mocking tone that sounded eerily similar to mine when we were at the coffee shop, she asked, "Did he fuck you in the ass...In the mouth...Did he jizz across your face? What did he taste like, Karen?"

She smiled, seeing the effect those words had on me, before yelling, "He tasted like a man! I licked up every strand of his cum, and begged like a whore for more. We did everything imaginable, and I loved it. I loved how he treated me like dirt as he fucked my ass, always telling me what a stupid cunt I was for marrying such a weak, stupid limp-dick. And whenever he called me a cunt, I begged him to fuck my ass harder because it made my pussy drip like a fire hose. He made me wetter than I've ever been with you! And after he came in my ass, I begged him to shove that cock of his in my mouth so that I could clean it..."

I punched a hole in the wall right beside her head.

It took her a second to realize how close she had come to having her face rearranged, before dissolving into a torrent of tears. My wife had returned.

I wish I could tell you that I missed on purpose; that I punched a hole in the wall to scare her into silence, but that would be a lie. I had every intension of knocking her teeth out, but something inexplicable happened—the same as with that puff of air. Just as I launched my fist square to her face, and with the full force of my weight behind it, it felt as if something deflected my hand to the right, and making me miss her head by a hair's width.

She continued to cry while looking hard at me for mercy, begging me with those watery, blue eyes to forgive her for her spite and hate. Between great, rending sobs, she cried, "I...didn't... do any of that...with Roger. I...I just said...said those things...to...to hurt you. He...He wanted to...to do those other things...but I wouldn't let him...We just...We just..."

"Fucked?" I finished for her.

She nodded slowly before continuing, "That's why...He...He...He broke it off. I...I wouldn't...do those other things."

"So, you didn't end the affair like you said, he did?"

She didn't answer, but continued to sob. She knew the implications of that lie, told to me so long ago, and feared my reprisal.

For the first time I knew with absolute surety she was telling the truth about her and Kendall; I also knew, although she wouldn't admit it now, everything she said about Barbara was also true.

I couldn't stay. I couldn't look at her anymore. I remembered enough to get my keys from under the bed, and left her crying, alone in our room.

********

I was driving around without direction—just driving. I didn't want to be on the road, but I couldn't go home. I feared what I might do if I saw Karen's sniveling face so soon after our argument. So, I continued to drive, hoping my anger would dissipate.

It didn't. I got angrier as I thought about what just happened. It wasn't the actual acts she performed with Barbara—disturbing though most were—it was the fact that she wantonly went behind my back, disregarding my wishes. Karen purposefully played me for a fool, and derived pleasure at doing so. Whether or not the after-effects of the drug influenced her, she showed a level of contempt for me that I never thought imaginable.

It wasn't just Karen, either. Denise was also being a flaming bitch by calling off our appointed ménage at the last minute, and using the flimsiest of excuses—hairdresser, what a crock. It was as if she went out of her way putting as little thought as possible in trying to hide her deception.

How contemptuous of her, playing me for the fool, as if I couldn't see through her simplistic lies?

My 'chump meter' was redlining—everyone was playing me for one—right down to Candice, acting the prude for so long, then finding and flaunting her inner slut right at the time I wouldn't do anything with her. The less said about the treachery between her and Kendall, the better. I specifically asked the bitch about her relationship with the 'dickhead,' and she blatantly lied about it to my face.

Candice—another cunt who will pay dearly for her treachery.

For these last two weeks, I'd become the end all-be all, cosmic chump. A broke-dick, flea-ridden mongrel the universe had decided to kick into the street in disgust, and continued to kick me until...

I wasn't going to take it anymore. I was through being everyone's fool.

I drove until I saw the sign, 'Tammie's Toys,' flashing neon pink and gold. Suddenly, I felt that surge of power, and strangely, a warm feeling of contentment and peace quickly followed. A peace that comes when one is sure of their destiny...

...enact fucking revenge on all the Cunts in my life!

********

The store was crowded, or so I thought for a weekday. About seven people were milling around, looking at various toys, DVDs, nighties, anything the late-night sexaholic might find attractive in their quest for extracurricular or extramarital fun.

My eye wasn't on them—the pathetic miscreants. Instead, I was looking for that clerk with the tattoos, the one who helped me before. As luck, or providence, would have it, there she was at her regular spot behind the counter. She looked bored as ever. Her eyes shifting between the customers, whom she knew would steal the store blind if she lapsed in attentiveness, to her watch, which seemingly ticked away the minutes to closing with all the diligence and speed of molasses on a bright and chilly January morning.

Her mood brightened when I came up to the counter.

"Well hey," she said, cheerfully. Then dropping her voice low, asked, "How're those...You know...Plugs and eggs working out?"

"Not bad, I guess," was my muted reply.

"Hey, sorry about the last time. Hope you're feeling better."

"About that last time," I started, seeing a perfect opportunity, "I'm really sorry I had to run out on you like I did. Something just came over me. I'm not sure what, but I was feeling pretty sick. Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for...I don't know...For dodging you like I did."

"Oh, don't worry..."

"No, I mean it. It was really rude of me, especially after you were so helpful, and...Well...So wonderfully nice to me. I kick myself thinking about what happened. You must think I'm a world-class asshole."

Her hand rested on the counter and I gently laid mine on top of hers as a friendly gesture that said, 'Sorry,' in a more personal way.

I felt the electric current flowing into me from the Goth girl, just as it had done with Lisa and Candice:

Scenes flashed through my mind, scenes of the Goth girl always in a heated argument with the same guy. I guessed he was her boyfriend—he looked like a real knob though, with his shaved head, bugged eyes as if he had a thyroid problem, and 'Neo Lives' tattooed in heavy black ink across his chest. The scenes were all the same, save for the clothes they wore and the location of the arguments. Both changed in each new image, suggesting that the same quarrel played out repeatedly over the course of days, if not months. The argument was always the same, though—always about money and sex, sex and money. Both were in short supply in her life because of the 'knob,' and it made her cranky.

I came out of my vision when the Goth girl loudly protested my last statement about being an asshole, "No I don't! I think you're kinda' cu...I mean really cu...Well anyway, you're kinda'...Rad...I mean, hers and hers plugs...I mean, come on!"

I could tell she was flummoxed. Just like Kimberly at the coffee shop. Jumbling words and their meanings until even she didn't know what the words she spoke meant.

Dropping my voice low in a show of mocked embarrassment, "Speaking of hers and hers, I'm not sure we did it right. The damn things kept slipping out..."

"Really; didn't you have them all the way in, up to the rubber stop, I mean?

I ignored her question, "...Then I remembered your offer to demonstrate one for me."

She stared blankly at me for the longest time, and I wasn't sure whether she'd tell me to fuck off, or to go blow myself.

After a few moments of that silent stare, she shifted her gaze away from mine and towards the customers, then began clapping her hands for attention, while yelling, "Okay people...People...People listen up! Some things have come up and I have to close the store."

There were loud protests from all quarters of the store, and questions from some patrons if the store would open later, but she ignored it all. Sweeping through the store, she gathered all of them up like a mother duck, then shuffled her little ducklings forward toward the store's entrance.

Having secured the entrance, she rushed toward me only to stop about five feet away. A look of panic covered her face, "Shit, fuck, I don't have my plug. Did you bring your plugs? Shit, fuck, the one time I don't have it with..."

I laughed, "Plenty of plugs on the shelf."

She gave me another concerned look.

Guessing whatthat look was all about, I said, "I'll pay for it and the tube of lube. Hell, I'll even leave them to you as a gift when we're done."

Smiling, she shot over to the shelves with the anal plugs. She was reaching for one of the medium-sized plugs when I stopped her, "No sweetheart, this occasion demands...What did you call it before?...Oh yeah...This demands the 'fuck-me-that-will-never-fit' plug."

Another panicked look crossed her face, "I've never used the big ones before. I'm not sure..."

"Then this will be learning experience for the two of us."

She thought for a second more. I could see the metaphorical gears and wheels turning in her thought process as she scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes. Her thoughts were stamped on her face with a 'What am I getting myself into' look. The 'look' wasn't there for long, as she grudgingly grabbed one of the monster-sized plugs and a bottle of lube, and led me to the back room.

Once there, I shuddered at the catastrophe in front of me and started to have my own second thoughts.

I saw the supposed 'comfy' couch she talk about last time, along the opposite wall from the door. It was covered with stains from what I wouldn't hazard to guess at, and really didn't care to know. It looked like the only thing it was good for was providing bedding for rodents. There was also a lounge chair, and although it had fewer stains, it tilted slightly to the slide because of a broken leg. The less said about the coffee table covered in a brown and green, congealed slime, the better. Fortunately, the dingy yellowed light that hung down from the ceiling didn't provide enough illumination to see what was in the corners of the room—cadavers, maybe.

The Goth girl was about to settle into the couch.

"I think it would be better if we did this on the floor," I said, noting the rug looked reasonably new, and not half as bad as the couch.

"Suit yourself," she said, nonchalantly. Then a light bulb went off over her head, and she asked with more interest, "Hey wait a minute. Before I...We...Start doing anything, I'd like to see what I'm getting."

Funny how it took her until now to ask that question.

I laughed, "Would you?"

"Yeah, pull it out Mr. 'hers and hers,' and let me see it."

It took some time. I still wasn't used to the intricacies of fishing a large tool out of my pants; and in case you're wondering, yes, it was still growing.

She giggled at my difficulties, but her laughter was cut short when I finally let my flaccid cock flop forward.

You should have seen the look on her face—priceless.

She stared at my cock, limp though it was at the moment. She could only guess what my full size was going to be.

I didn't tell her exactly how close to twelve inches my cock extended in its full, pulsating glory, although I knew it weighed heavily on her mind at the moment. I figured she could learn that bit of information on the job.

After trying to calculate my erect size, she looked at the plug in her hand. The bulge at its widest part was as almost as big around as a large orange. Then she returned her gaze to my crotch with a look of surprised wonderment mixed with abject terror donning her face.

"Oh, fuck me!" she exclaimed.

"That's the plan."

She started to stammer like an idiot.

I laughed. The Goth girl was always making me laugh.

Trying to make my voice inflections sound like hers, I gently mocked, "I know what you're thinking. Shit, fuck! Oh fuck me gently with a chainsaw, shit. I think I just bit off more than I can chew."

She laughed brightly at my little dig. Then nodding her head, she said between more nervous giggles, "That's fucking-A right. Maybe you should put the plug up your ass if you think it's so funny. Better yet, maybe I should go back and get one of the smaller plugs..."

"Don't do that. We've come this far, and aren't you curious to see how this turns out? I'll be very gentle, I promise. Now, why don't you come over here. It won't bite."

She dropped the plug and fell into me, kissing me hard. In that instant, I felt her anxiety melt away, and replaced with a growing state of arousal.

As we kissed, she slowly slid her hand down, groping clumsily toward my cock. When she found it, she didn't grab it as I thought she'd do. Instead, she stroked it gently in both hands, as if she were giving loving attention to a beloved family pet.

My cock sprang to life as she continued to slow-stroked me. Every now and again, she'd gently scrape her purple colored fingernails along my shaft while purring. I was hard in no time.

She gasped around my tongue. Then breathless, she joked, "Jesus, I know it won't bite, but does it talk? Now I know why you have hers and hers plugs, it probably takes at least two to feed this thing."

I laughed, and said, "You're so sweet, but one's usually enough if it's the right one. I could say it had its own zip code, but that would be lying."

She stopped kissing me, "Zip code! It's big enough to have its own flag."

"Thanks again. So, now that I'm guessing you like what you see, I think you should give me that demonstration you promised."

She removed her boots and pants, and kneeling on the floor, began to work a good amount of lube into her ass with two fingers.

It was that vision I had with her the other day, becoming all too real and in perfect detail right before my eyes, right down to the spider web tattoo on her ass and the black widow spider crawling out from between her cheeks.

"Nice tattoo," I complimented.

Still working her fingers around her asshole, she responded breathlessly, "My boyfriend inked that."

Kneeling beside her, I rubbed her back to comfort her, "He do the butterfly and rose as well?"

"He does all my tats."

"He does nice work. He must be in high demand as an artist."

An abrupt, sarcastic laugh escaped from her lips, and she stopped working herself over. "Yeah, right, a lot good it does us. The fucking asshole can't hold a job, and when some dirt bag biker friend wants a tat, the asshole doesn't even charge him for the work. He works ten, sometimes twelve hours on this dirt bag's tat for free. He could be getting twelve hundred bucks for the job, if the lazy fuck would get a job. Ink and needles cost money you know, and so does food and smoke."

Shit, I should have left it alone. She was in one of her arguments I had envisioned when touching her. Now, her mind was off the appointed task as she bitched about her shitty relationship with the 'knob.'

I touched her clit, the faintest of touches, yet it stopped her bitch session. I felt her arousal begin to flow as she grasped firmly at the carpet. Given her heightened state of sexual excitement, I was surprised she didn't come when fingering her own asshole.

"Shhh, quiet now. Let's not ruin your demonstration."

"I'm sorry," she croaked.

I returned to stroking her back in a soothing manner, and couldn't help but feel and see her ribs sharply impressed against her taught skin every time she took a deep breath.

What the fuck, doesn't the bitch eat?

I don't know why, but at that moment, I felt pity for her. What with her 'knob' of a boyfriend, and the fact she was on some kind of Auschwitz starvation diet due to a lack of money, all I can say is I felt she deserved better than what she had.

Guilt swept over me, accompanied by the nausea. I was about to call it off and give her some money so she could buy some food, when she pulled me close to her and kissed me.