His Better Half

"What the fuck.... that's your ring-tone! Did you loan somebody your phone?" He grabbed the instrument and answered it.

"Where are you?" came Michelle's voice in his ear. "I've been waiting over here for an hour. The door's locked, and the doorman hasn't seen you all day."

"I told you," explained Ray into the phone. "The condo is being painted, so I had to move our date to my friend's place down the block."

"No, you didn't. You haven't told me anything since your email this morning."

"Of course I did, baby. I called you right after work. You even came over here. There you are now, lying on the be....." His voice trailed off. His eyes got wide momentarily, and then narrowed to angry, evil slits, along with his nostrils. "All right, something funny is going on here," he said into the phone. "You'd better come over right away. It's down the block, building 2650, unit 14B. And hurry." He hung up.

"I don't know who the fuck you are, you little imposter," he said to Michael. "But we'll get to the bottom of this in a hurry." He sat down in a chair, arms folded, and kept his eyes glued on Michael. Michael shrank deeper into the mattress, wishing he could turn invisible, or sprout wings, or maybe just have a merciful coronary. The clock ticked. Sweat dripped down Michael's forehead. Traffic noise drifted up from the street. Ray was as immobile and foreboding as a dormant volcano.

The doorbell buzzed. "You wait here!" yelled Ray, and went to the door. He showed in Michelle, straight from work, primly dressed in a charcoal grey blazer and tweed mini-skirt. He dragged her into the bedroom to see the cringing Michael on the bed. "Okay, tell me. Who the fuck is this little bitch, and what's she doing here?"

Michelle turned her shocked gaze at Michael. "Oh my fucking god!" she cried. "That's no bitch. That's my husband!"

"What!?" cried Ray. "Husband? Husband!!" It took him a few moments to sort it all out in his mind. "Do you mean to tell me I've been fucking a man? Your man? Why I aughtta...." He pulled Michael off the bed and to his feet. He grabbed the neckline of the yellow dress with both hands and tore it in half, flinging the shreds to the floor. He stuck his paws into the remnants of the black lace panties and yanked them in two. Michael stood there naked but for his silk stockings and garters, shivering with fright. His miniature penis, small but unmistakably male, hung there like a frightened minnow.

"Yep; that's my husband all right," said Michelle.

Ray paced the floor, back and forth, muttering. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him! We have to kill him!! Yeah, that's it, we'll kill him. I fucked him in the ass! He sucked my cock! He can't live after that." He whirled and took two menacing steps toward Michael, who hid his face in his hands and whimpered like a child. "Should I strangle you? Or should I just toss you out the fucking window? What the hell did you think you were doing, coming over here and fucking me? Nobody makes a fool of Ray Burton!"

Michelle was just as livid. "What the fuck are you doing here, Michael? What the fuck were you thinking? This has nothing to do with you. This is about me and Ray, a real man who can give me the loving that I need." Michael just cringed. "I've been married to you for thirteen years, Michael, and I've never really been loved like a woman until I met Ray. Now YOU have to come and try to ruin everything! Just when things were going so well." She looked at Ray. "Do you really think we need to kill him?" she asked.

"Sure, baby. There's no two ways about it. I'll take care of everything. He has to die. Let me make a few phone calls. I have some friends."

As Ray started dialing the phone and making the necessary arrangements, Michelle looked at Michael cringing in the corner of the room. He was pathetic. He was disgusting. She could barely think of him as a person, let alone as a man. His miniature penis hung limply between his pasty white thighs. But he did have a cute ass, she had to admit. And he did make a terrific apple pie at Thanksgiving and Christmas. And he was good at getting the toilet bowl clean. And somehow, against all odds, he could always get the soap scum off the shower wall. Michelle always wondered just how he managed to do that. He loved to vacuum the apartment. He would make an excellent wife, Michelle thought, with a little training. She had always wanted a wife. Someone to take care of the tedious parts of her life, someone to cook and shop and stay at home and sign for packages. Someone to feather the nest for her. And someone that she could fuck when she needed to, when Ray wasn't around. She thought about the possibilities. She thought long and hard. Yes, Michael would make a nice little bitch for her. For her and for Ray.

Ray was still on the phone when she walked over and pressed her finger down on the hook. "Ray darling," she said. "Let's not kill him just yet."

"What are you talking about?" Ray said. "He sucked my cock. He has to die."

"He can cook. He can clean. He knows how to use a Swiffer. And he is very good at taking orders. Maybe we should keep him. On a very short leash, of course," she hastened to add. Seeing the hesitation in Ray's eyes, she pressed her point. "You enjoyed his ass and his blowjob, didn't you? Didn't you cum in his tasty butt? Didn't you enjoy his dainty mouth? Don't you think he might be worth keeping around? You know I have to work late sometimes."

"Hmmmm..." Ray was turning the idea over in his mind. He hated it when Michelle had to work late. He hated going more than a few hours without cumming in her mouth, her pussy, her asshole. It would be nice to have an auxiliary set of holes to release his load into. "Well, it might be worth a try," said Ray. "He does have a sweet asshole. And we can always kill him later if it doesn't work out, right?"

"Of course we can." Michelle turned to Michael, now cringing on the bed. "Well, Michael? Would you rather we kill you now? Or use you as our wife? Your butthole would be ours, of course. Your mouth would be ours. Your entire body would be ours to use as we wish."

Michael's heart leapt in his chest. He wasn't to be killed? He would be allowed to live? He wouldn't be tossed casually out the fourteenth floor window? The thought of being the sex-toy of this demented pair left him feeling... what? He should have been offended, scared, appalled, disgusted, mortified! He should have preferred, and prayed for, death. But he wasn't and he didn't. For one thing, he felt relieved to have the chance not to be murdered like a rat in a trap. But it was more than that. He felt liberated, exhilarated, elated. Released! He remembered the feeling of Ray's enormous cock in his ass. He remembered the feeling of power he had while sucking Ray's cock with his mouth. He even dared to consider that he might have something of the same sort of relationship with his own wife, who he loved desperately, someday. He felt free, for the first time in his life. He no longer had to pretend to be a man. He no longer had to live up to anyone's expectations. He no longer had make any sort of decisions for himself. He could, at last, be free! "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Michelle shot a quick glance at Ray. "We need to fuck," she told Michael. "A lot. And you are going to be our bitch."

Michelle continued to take charge of the situation. "Ray," she instructed, "we need to seal this deal. Get your clothes off, and lie on your back on the bed. Michael!" she barked, "You get between his knees, on all fours, and start sucking his cock, if you are man enough. I am going to fuck your ass to show you who is your master."

Ray and Michael took their places as commanded. Michelle took a strap-on dildo from the dresser and wrapped it around her waist. As Michael once again applied his lips and tongue to Ray's oversized tool, Michelle grasped his hips and began working the artificial cock into his asshole. He was still stretched and wet from the buttfucking Ray had given him earlier, and easily accepted the wiggling, wobbly rubber dick. Michelle began to thrust and twirl the appendage deep into his anus. Michael felt his bowels expand, react, and thrill to her ministrations. He applied his mouth, lips, and tongue ever more enthusiastically to Ray's swelling organ. Together, the three built up to a lewd rhythm.

Michelle thrust; Michael sucked; Ray rammed and twitched. Michelle moved her hips in a figure eight; Michael gnawed and gummed and laved with his tongue; Ray parried and riposted with his fleshy saber. Michelle stabbed; Michael hoovered; Ray jabbed. Michelle pushed her ersatz erection deep into Michael's colon; Michael wolfed Ray's pendulous penis deep into his gullet; Ray pivoted his pelvis and pounded his pud into the furthest reaches of Michael's mouth.

Eventually, the sex, the friction, and the gratuitous alliteration were too much for the three horny lovers, and they approached orgasm together. Ray felt the spooge in his balls begin to boil and prepare for launch. Michael felt the nerve endings in his butthole signal his brain that the end was near. And Michelle felt her clit rubbed raw by the strap-on, and her endorphins begin their violent release.

"Arghgghg!" yelled Ray, his jism spurting deep into Michael's throat.

"Aieeeee!" shouted Michael, his asshole twitching with pleasure as his uvula was flooded with Ray's delicious spooge.

"Kelly Clarkson!" yelled Michelle, as her pounded pussy erupted with ecstasy.

The threesome collapsed on the bed, a huddled mass of sweating, shuddering, pulsating humanity, reveling in their respective orgasms. They remained in the same position as they slept through the night.

******************************************

Three months later, Michael was sitting at his make-up table in his bra and panties, putting on his face. He had spent the day cleaning the house, but now fun time had arrived. Ray was due home from work soon, and Michelle soon after that. They had tickets for the opera. Michael was excited. He carefully put on his mascara, his eye shadow, and his lipstick. He still favored Estee Lauder for his mouth, but was trying out a new color, Pink Parfait. He hoped that Michelle and Ray would like it. Especially Michelle. He especially liked it when she approved of his lips.

His dress was on the bed. Michelle had bought it earlier in the week, along with her own. Michael and Michelle liked to dress alike. These were perfectly matching evening dresses, jet black, with side slits and plenty of cleavage. They always looked like sisters, if not twins, when they dressed alike, especially now that Michael had grown his hair out a bit. Michael felt a frisson run down his spine as he thought about the two of them walking down the aisle of the opera house together, hanging on Ray's muscular arms. They would cut quite a swath as they took their seats in the stately auditorium. And then, after the show, they would go out to dinner, just the three of them, at their favorite restaurant. And finally, they would come home, and make love all night long in their great big bed.

Michael smiled into the makeup mirror, admiring his sparkling, dazzling lips and his long, sexy eyelashes. He caught a glimpse of the big bed across the room. Yes, he thought to himself. Life was good.