Vengeance Is Mine

Now that she had snagged Glen, and was out of mourning, wearing cheery bright colors again, my mother reverted to her old habits. She was behaving exactly as she had behaved when my father was alive. She was going out to play Canasta with the girls three nights a week. She had a game this evening, with Margo Spillinglass, Edna Michaels, and Barbara Zotz, at Barbara's house. After dinner, she gave Glen a big wet kiss on the mouth, and went out the front door. I heard the car motor start. She was off to Barbara's.

Glen went up to the Master Bedroom, and reclined fully clothed on the bed, with his back against the backboard. He reached for the TV remote, and switched on a sitcom. I went into my own room. I got undressed. Completely undressed. I grabbed a copy of Buddenbrooks, and lay face down on my bed under the reading lamp and opened the cover. It looked like a very good read, but I had other thoughts on my mind. My literary concentration was not totally there. The central air conditioner was on, cooling the house in the hot summer, and I could feel a slight chill on my upper arms, my back, my bare buttocks. I should have gotten up and put on a pair of pajamas, but I was not going to do that. I was only worried that my behind might get goose-pimples, which would mar their natural beauty. Joanne was a great admirer of the male-buttcheek, and she was always telling me that mine were the best. The roundest, the tightest, the bounciest, the most perfectly sculptured. I had always laughed at her. Cause, like, who cares? But now I cared. My whole plan depended on the perfection of my butt.

At this moment, I was stretched out lengthwise along my bed, with my perfect butt facing the open bedroom door.

"Glen," I called out loudly.

He didn't hear me. The TV was too loud. I raised my voice. "Glen."

"Yeah?" he called from the master bedroom.

"How do I keep from hitting the ball to the left?"

"What?" he asked.

"How do I keep from hitting the ball to the left?" I repeated. I heard the sound of the television go mute.

"What?" he asked again.

"Never mind. Never mind," I said in an annoyed tone of voice.

I heard him get up and start walking down the hall to my bedroom.

"What did you say?" he asked, as he entered my room.

I looked over my shoulder, and noticed that he stopped a little short at the door, and his face got that super-redness it gets when he's embarrassed.

"Sorry," he said.

"No. It's my fault. I wasn't expecting company," I said. "I should have put on my pajamas." I didn't get up to put on my pajamas. I let my gluteus muscles flex and ripple a little, as I lolled on the bed.

"What were you saying?" he asked.

"I was asking, how do I keep the ball from going to the left."

"You'll get the hang of it," he answered me. "It just takes a little practice."

I thought I felt an itch on my right buttcheek. I lifted my right hand and scratched it lazily.

"You should turn out to be a very good golfer," Glen told me. You've got the build and the muscles. You have a good muscular behind. That should give you plenty of power on your long drives up the fairway. It should also give you perfect balance." He approached the bed, and his fingers lightly grazed my right asscheek, where the itch had been. His face was red again. He was really studying my rearview. I let my cheeks ripple and flex again.

"Was that it?" he asked me.

"Yeah. That was all."

"Okay. Guess I'll get back to Bill and Patsy." (the sitcom he was watching.)

"Okay. Night," I said.

"Night," he said. He turned and left the room. Somewhat reluctantly, I do believe.

Everything was progressing nicely. Without rushing anything, I had exposed my perfect bottom to him, and he had admired it. Step two-completed. On to step three.

Two days later, when I knew my mother would be playing Canasta that evening, I had a slight accident on the golf course. I tripped on the tee at the second hole, and went down, right on my butt.

"Yooowww," I screamed.

"Are you okay?" asked Glen, grabbing my hand, and helping me to my feet.

"I think I twisted something," I said. "You better help me back to the clubhouse.'

I limped as he led me back to the clubhouse, gently supporting my arm. I was rubbing my 'painful,' left buttcheek, and moaning slightly.

"I got to teach a couple more lessons. Will you be all right here till it's time to go home?"

"Yes," I assured him. "Go ahead. Do what you have to do. I'll be fine." I gently rubbed my asscheek and moaned a little more.

I made a big show of being in pain all through dinner.

"Do you want me to stay home, honey?" My mother asked me. As if she had any intention of missing her card game. She knew very well that I would insist that she go.

"No. You go ahead. I'll be fine. I twisted something. I just need time to heal."

After she left the house, I got Glen to help me up the stairs to my bedroom.

I flopped down on my stomach on the bed.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked me.

"I don't know. It hurts. Maybe if I had a little massage, it would help."

"You want me to massage it for you?"

"Yeah. That might be good," I told him.

"Let me get out of my clothes," I said. I hobbled to my feet and began stripping. It probably wasn't necessary to take off my under shorts for the massage, but I did anyway.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked me.

"Mostly the left side," I said.

My bed was too low for him. He really couldn't give me a massage bending over. He would have to straddle me. He climbed on the bed and straddled my calves.

"My pants are getting crushed," he complained.

"Take them off," I suggested.

He got up and took his pants off. Then he got back on the bed, and straddled my calves one more time. His strong hands started to work on my left thigh. Rubbing it, kneading it.

"That feel good?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," I sighed. "That feels wonderful. But where it really hurts is up a little higher."

He moved his strong hands up. He was at the top of my thigh. He was working both my left and right thigh. I felt his hands just at the bottom of my buttocks. Caressing the fold just at the bottom of my butt-swell. "That's better," I said. "But maybe just a little higher."

"My hands aren't moving smoothly enough," he said. "I should have some oil."

"There's some baby oil in the hall bathroom, in the cabinet under the sink," I informed him helpfully. He got up and went down the hall. As he walked away from me, I noticed his own powerful butt, his taut thigh and calf muscles, his expansive, tapered, mostly smooth back, but with a few black curly hairs, here and there. He was a good-looking man. I knew why my mother had fallen for him.

When he came back with the bottle of baby oil, I saw the large bouncing bulge in his slightly droopy, not-so-tighty whiteys. No doubt my mother was enamored of that as well. Whore. Cunt. Bitch.

Glen straddled me again, and poured some oil on his hands, and on my upper thighs. He went back to the crease at the bottom of my butt-swell. "Yes. That's good," I said. I started to spiral my ass around a little, pressing it up into his strong hands. "Maybe just a little higher," I suggested.

His hands moved up to my firm ample mounds and began the healing manipulation. I writhed and twisted under his palms, and gave him sonic encouragement, which let him know that he had found the right place. He now poured some oil directly on my butt, and got to work. I could feel his white-clad engine stiffening against the back of my legs. I smiled to myself, and sighed deeply in pleasure.

Now I raised my ass up, encouraging him. "Oh, that feels so good. The pain is going away. Thank you. Thank you. You're such a good therapist. That feels so wonderful." I managed to maneuver my bottom into a position so that my cheeks slightly separated and his two thumbs slid down into the crack. When he hit my ass-iris, I let loose with an ecstatic roar. "Oh. So good. So good."

Now I felt him oiling the area between my cheeks, and gently rubbing my little bud. I gave him every kind of physical encouragement to press on, and to press in.

"You have such a beautiful ass," he admired. His breath was a little short, and the words came out in a tight staccato.

"I do? Thank you," I said.

"Maybe I ought to stop," he said. "Massaging your butt is giving me a hard-on." He laughed, like it was a big joke.

"Don't stop," I pleaded. "It feels so wonderful."

"But I might have to rape you," he joked. Or half-joked.

"I don't care," I said. "Anything. It just feels so wonderful."

He was now purposely pressing his erection into my flesh. First I could feel it through the thin cotton, and then I could feel naked flesh. He must have moved the garment aside. His prick was naked now. He must have let it stick out through one of the leg holes. I maneuvered my body to press against his prick. To make him aware that I was aware of it, and that I accepted it. His hard-on, that is.

"Such a nice ass," he kept repeating. He was stabbing the end of his hard prick in between my thighs. Now he moved up on my body, and as his hands were massaging my two cheeks, I felt his giant spike move between them. His stiff cock was resting in my crack, lying outside my hole, just resting there.

"I love ass," he told me.

"You do?" I asked.

"Yeah. I love ass. I love to fuck ass."

"Wow," I answered.

"I'd love to fuck your beautiful ass. I'd love to slip my thick, stiff, ten inch cock, inside your tight little butt passage," he informed me in an aroused voice.

Ten inches, I thought. My god. I hadn't bargained on that. That would hurt me. That could damage me. But I had to continue. It was worth some physical pain to get my revenge. Yes, I decided. It would definitely be worth it.

I didn't answer him. I just raised my butt up, so that the length of his rod could sink deeper within my cleft. Then I tightened my cleft, and began a movement that was like frigging. I was jerking him off with my asscheeks.

He knew now, that he had my permission to stick his dick into my hole. He sat up for a few minutes, and slipped the rest of his clothing off. Then he oiled up his ten-inch erection. It was ten inches. I didn't even want to look at it. It was scary.

I turned my face away, while he poured oil into my crack and worked his slippery fingers into my rectum. Twisting, turning, opening me up, more and more, more and more, for his ten-inch engine.

"God. You're tight," he said.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Am I the first?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Don't worry, honey. I'm gonna make it real good for you. You'll see. Glen is gonna stick his big golf club inside your tiny, little, number-one hole. You'll be like my little caddy. You'll be carrying my golf club for me. Yes. I'm going to stick my big birdie way up inside you. Would you like that? Would you like to have Glen's big birdie inside your tight little hole?"

"Yes. Yes," I breathed.

And then my flesh started separating around his ten-inch iron. His mashie stick was gliding down my narrow fairway. It hurt like hell. It was gruesome.

"How is it?" he asked me. "How does it feel?"

"Oh, it feels so wonderful," I lied. "I love it. I love it. I love to feel your cock in me. Fuck me with your big cock." I worked my ass around his dick as if I were enjoying it like crazy, but I was really just trying to stimulate him and pull him off as quickly as possible. "Aaaacccchhh," I cried as if I were in ecstasy. But I was really in pain.

As he was happily fucking me, he began a confessional. 'I gotta admit something to you," he said.

"What?" I asked. Not that I really cared. I just wanted him to shoot his load and get the hell out of my room.

"I never fucked a guy's ass before. Only a woman's."

"Really?"

"Cross my heart. I never even thought about it before tonight. But when I saw your ass..... when I touched your ass. Something went crazy in me. I wanted it so bad. So bad."

"Well, now you've got it," I told him.

"Yeah," he agreed happily and gave me another lengthy instroke. I felt him so high up inside me, I couldn't believe it. But it hurt. God damn it. It fucking hurt. And I hate pain.

"AAAGGGGHHH. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna shoot my hot load inside your tight little ass. Oh, god. Oh, god. It's creeping up my tube. It itches. It tickles. I'm coming. AAAAAGGGHHH. I'm coming. I'm coming."

He was indeed coming. I felt it squirting into me, in eight or nine scorching jets. And then it was over. Thank god. But, unfortunately for me, this would be just the first of many nights. This could not be a one-fuck affair. I had to alienate his affections. I had to make him thirst for me, and become my lover.

He kissed the back of my neck. "Did you enjoy it?" he asked me.

"Did I enjoy it? Did I enjoy it? Can you even ask? When can we do it again?"

He laughed, and playfully bit the back of my neck one more time. "That's what they all say, when I get finished banging them. The women, that is."

"Well, me too," I assured him. "Definitely, me too."

After that, he couldn't wait for my mother to go out to her canasta game. It was happening. He wanted me. He wanted me. My ass had become like a drug to him. I wondered if my mother noticed that she wasn't getting as much as before.

But I still hated it. I was doing this only for revenge. When I had my triumph, this would all be over. A closed chapter in my life. I would probably just return to fucking Joanne. I couldn't wait for that day.

And then one day a strange thing happened. It was a Tuesday, which was one of Glen's days off from the club. I was upstairs, lying on my bed, reading Manchester Park, when the front doorbell rang. My mother had gone downtown shopping with Margo and Barbara. Glen was downstairs.

"I'll get it," he called.

"Okay," I yelled.

A few minutes later, I heard Glen trudging up the stairs to my room. He had an enormous carton in his hand.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's for you," he said sheepishly. "A little present. I ordered it. That was Special Delivery at the door." He put the carton next to my bed.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Open it and see," he said. "I hope you like it."

I went to the dresser drawer and got out a pair of scissors, and with the hard steel point, I punctured the tape along the carton, and finally was able to open the flaps. There before me was a collection of matching leather-bound books stamped in gold.

I took one of them out of the carton, then another one. I knew what it was.

It was a multi-volume edition of the entire works of William Makepiece Thackeray.

"Do you like it?" he asked me timidly.

"The complete works of Thackeray. Yes. Yes. I love it. I really love it. How come you got me this?" I asked him.

"Well I wanted to give you some kind of a present," he explained. "And I couldn't give you candy, perfume or jewelry, now could I?"

"I guess not," I laughed.

"And I knew you were always reading those big thick books. So I went into the bookstore and asked them what they would suggest. And they suggested this."

I felt something happen in my body. I felt something happen in my soul. A strange warmth. A melting. This dear sweet man had bought this wonderful gift for me, and here was I hating him, hating his cock. What kind of a person was I? I felt a couple of tears slide down my face, from both eyes. Why, I didn't hate him at all, I realized. I loved him. I hated my mother, but I loved him. After all, he hadn't hurt my father. My father was already dead when he appeared on the scene. It was my mother who had driven my father to his grave, and if I weren't careful, she would do the same to my beautiful Glen.

I stared at his beautiful face with a new awareness, though I was seeing it through my tears. Those deep soulful brown eyes. The thick, black, wavy hair. The perfect pink compexion, with a slight dusting of dark whiskers. The irresistible dimples in his cheeks. The adorable cleft in his chin. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. I sat down in his lap, and threw my arms around his neck. I brought my lips to his. And I kissed him. Kissed him deeply. We had never kissed before. But I was kissing him now. And he was kissing me in return. And his strong arms went around my back and pressed me close to his chest. And I felt the hard golf club in his pants stirring into action.

He wanted it. He wanted me. And now I knew that I wanted it. And I wanted him. I arose from his lap, and we both started to undress, our eyes never leaving each other. I went over to the bottom dresser drawer and took out the new bottle of lubricant I had bought for these occasions. That baby oil was really shitty. No wonder it had hurt so much.

I lay down on my stomach.

"No, sweetheart," he told me. "Turn over. I want to face you this time."

"Oh, yes," I agreed. I wanted to face him also. I flipped over and raised my legs in the air. I lubed up my asshole and I lubed up his cock. He crawled between my legs, and his dick started slipping into me.

I couldn't believe the strange new sensations that were coursing through my body. I was overcome with unbelievable passion. How could I have hated this before? Had it really been painful? That was so hard to believe, because now I felt the most exquisite pleasure that anyone through all time has ever felt. I wondered if these new feelings were physical or emotional. Did it feel so wonderful now because my body had adjusted, or because my heart was suddenly filled with Glen.

"What a great fuck you are," breathed Glen into my parted lips, and his tongue followed his words. His cock was almost a foot into me, down below. And now his thick wet tongue was exploring every corner of my mouth. Oh, god. Oh, god. I never wanted his cock to leave my body ever again. I wanted my darling inside of me forever. His cock was no longer just a cock. It was a lovespear to pierce me throughout all eternity.

"Wrap your legs around my ass, baby," he told me. Yes. That seemed so right. So natural. How was it that I had to be told to do that? I threw my arms around his back, and pulled him into me from head to crotch. Yes. Yes. So wonderful.

He lifted his lips off mine for only a moment to say, "I love you so much, baby. So much. I've never loved anyone like this before."

"I love you. I love you. I love you," I cried incessantly, as more tears spilled down my cheeks. How could I love someone this much? I had never had such feelings before. My heart had thawed, and was now raw and open. I took my lover into my heart forevermore.

"Didn't I tell you we were gonna be good friends?" he reminded me.

"Yes. Yes, you did," I remembered.

"I'm getting ready to spill my sperm into your sweet little boypussy. Do you want my seed inside you? Swimming there? Growing there?"

"Yes. Yes," I cried. "I want your mancum inside me. I want it a lot. And I want a lot of it. Come! Come!" I urged him, as I slammed my hips up into his. And then his lovespear sent jets of nectar flowing throughout my being. All through me. Everywhere. I was flooded. I was happy.

That was the first night of our everlasting unquenchable mutual passion. Maybe he had loved me before, but now I loved him back. So much, that love was the only emotion in my heart. I had quite abandoned the notion of revenge upon my mother. I was not going to use Glen just to hurt that woman. I was beyond that now. I was a different person.

Now, every time my mother left the house, Glen came right into my room, and we experienced the most incredible joy. Glen had even taught me how to mouth-worship his fantastic love spear. As I nursed on it, I would raise my eyes to his face, to see his dark eyes twinkling, to see his dimples deepen as he smiled. My handsome, manly Glen.

We fucked every chance we got. If only my mother hadn't been there, so we could have really been a couple. But what could I do? I had decided to be merciful. Until that day......