A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 07

"I'm Eric. At least I think I am. But these days thinking is not my foremost talent. Drinking is. I am an accomplished drinker-thinker. I marinate my mind.

My brain is a pickle.

It may have been yesterday that I saw Irene. It may have been the day before. Not that I care much. (Liar!) Ehm...I seem to care. An itch says that I do. But I drink some more and the itch will fade away.

I can't tell you much about my day today. My tongue gets in the way. And besides, nothing much happened. Oh, but no, wait! There was a letter. A long one too.

I really don't see why the bastard took the trouble. Shouldn't he be on his way to his next trophy? Well, great. I guess he needed to gloat. And show off, of course.

It took me a while to understand that the letter was addressed to me. Well, you know, being called a wimp needs some getting used to."

Dear wimp,

("Nice start and after some consideration, yes very to the point.")

Don't feel too sorry for yourself. Believe me, you are no exception. They are all liars and cheaters.

I have seen them, smelled them, screwed them. I fucked them, the blondes and the brunettes, the huge and the tiny, the beautiful and...well, why waste my time on the ugly?

I have impaled them and abused them, humiliated them and beat them. Then I laughingly dumped them. In the end they are all the same, you know. Don't think your little slut is anything special. They are all high and mighty at first, all prim and peculiar until you grab their hair and pull them over your throbbing cock.

They may gag and choke on you, but they swallow. They may gasp and moan. But they will thank you and come back for more.

You know me, I am Phil Mortensen and I screwed your wife. Don't think it is your fault, buddy. She begged me.

("Wow, that sure is a consolation; thanks, asshole.")

I am of Viking stock you know. As my dad used to say: "There are Vikings and there are peasants. Burn their houses, rape their women. But, son...never mix the two of them up."

He was fun, my old man. Until the disease blew his mind away. Oh well, shit happens. He had his share while it lasted. And I guess I owe him for showing me the ropes. I bet you saw "The Devil's Advocate" with Pacino? Meet my daddy. Better not shake his hand, though. Or even allow him a finger.

Isn't it amazing how many people believe that the devil is an ugly monstrosity on bent legs? That he has horns and ungainly hooves? That he spits fire and reeks of sulphur? How on earth would the poor bastard seduce so many if he looked this appalling?

My dad was tall and blonde. He had blue eyes of steel of course. And he gave it all to me. He also shared his honey with me and poured it over my tongue. Phil Silvertongue, pleased to meet you. In more than one way too.

("Yes, you are a jerk in many ways, Phil.")

A woman's lust lives in her clit, her nipples and all her other tiny places. My tongue knows where to lick and get her started. It makes her go all the way and then gets her to take off all over again.

I feel no need to be modest about my tongue, Eric. It has so many talents. It knows how to shape the little words that make a woman's mind buzz. Just ask your little wife, it made her so willing. My honey tongue whispers endearments to melt them. It also bites harsh commands that stun them. It creates sweet nothings and delivers cruel sneers. My tongue knows all the tricks, Eric. And my women can't resist them.

They may want to, but they can't.

Which brings me to Irene, your wife.

She resisted. You may be proud of her for that, if only for that. She hurt my ego by resisting everything I tried. She ridiculed me with her smiling no's. She was ever so sweet about it. I bet she knew how close she came, over and over again. But she never succumbed.

("Lovely. I guess we must admire her for that.")

I met her when I met Mary. She was the sun to Mary's moon. Maybe I only fell for mousy Mary to be close to Irene?

Women are tits and asses to me. Irene is not. She is eyes. Oh, she has great tits and a wonderful ass, as you'll agree. But her eyes were what snared me. They were everywhere. Even when she was not around.

I saw them all the time. They saw me. They played with me. They were her cat to my mouse.

They had a twinkle, a naughty spark. You must know of it too, or does she reserve it for the men she really takes seriously?

("Don't ask me.")

Her eyes told me she was a sensuous slut at heart. She may have known that or maybe she didn't know. But the spark in her eyes screamed at me to be released. Begged me, teased me.

But at the same time her mouth smiled no.

(Excuse me, Eric, here I must pause and apologize for a minute to my Dad. With Irene I forgot all his lessons, you know. Irene made me stumble, she turned me into her puppy. I was powerless under the spell of her gaze. She made me crawl and beg and did not even know she did.

Or, well...maybe she did?)

I married little Mary. Irene married this schmuck, the fool who had no more sense than to cheat on her. She got divorced. I jumped at the opportunity. Her eyes reeled me in, but yet again her smile stopped me.

She drove me crazy.

("Ah yes, crazy. That must be it.")

I had to find a way, or I would lose my sanity. Dad had told me to always use seduction. But he also told me that there is no such thing as a No for a woman. It's like a Spanish bullfight. We know up front that the animal has no chance. But how we love the fight.

(Yes, Dad, I know, I am a lawyer too. I can see the loopholes. I can see the comfortable margin between seduction and rape.

Don't worry, Dad.)

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

At the night of Mary's first birthday after Irene's divorce, I threw a small and intimate dinner at the villa. A tiny celebration, just for the girls and me.

Irene's eyes had a ball, that evening. She just needed to glance and smile at me and she had me hard. She must have noticed. How cruel could she be not to? And more so - how could she be such a cock tease and not take care of my precious hard on?

("Bad girl. How insensitive of her.")

She jumped as if bitten by a snake when I slowly slid my hand under her skirt. But oh no no! Eric, don't rejoice. She did not jump at once. She just sat there, nibbling on a leaf of salad. She caught my eyes while chitchatting with Mary. The husband of her best friend caressed her naked thigh, and she smiled in calm conversation with his wife.

She slowly pushed her cunt up against my probing fingers. She closed her eyes. And only then did she throw down her fork to leave the room in a flurry.

Believe me, I have felt her glow, it was there, she was very wet. I knew she was ready, Eric. She wanted me, her body screamed for me. But once more she decided to make a fool out of me.

("Make a fool of you? Ha! Ask her what she made of me.")

Funny thing is, I was not desperate at all, then. I knew I had her. I just knew. It was a matter of time.

But then she fell in love with you.

("Sorry for that, buddy.")

I was amazed when I saw you the first time. Your name was Eric, a proud Viking name. But man, are you a pussy. How could she ever shun me and fall for a wimp like you?

Your first wife had cheated on you big time, I heard. Didn't surprise me one bit. "Yes darling, no darling. Of course, sweetheart, no problem." There were evenings when I had to puke, just watching the two of you together. On the other hand, I told my self, I love a challenge. More than ever did I want to break the slut. Tear her away from you and make her mine.

("How nice to know I was a challenge.")

Sorry, sucker. It isn't personal at all. She is a natural prey, flashing her ass to be caught. She can't help it, neither can I. I am the predator. You just happened to get in the way. Collateral damage, as they say in the army.

Anyway, plans to get her invaded my feverish brain, one plan more fantastic than the other. Bad plans, too. Let me tell you from one experienced fucker to one sad wimp: never embrace a plan unless it is simple. And never go for an opportunity unless you can make the most of it. After all, it might be your only chance.

Don't plan for a quickie, Eric. It is so much wasted energy for nothing. Go with the flow: plan around natural opportunities as soon as they arise. Eliminate surprises, keep it simple.

("Thanks, Phil, to share this with me. Might come in handy.")

It was last August, right in the middle of the heat wave. New York was hell, so you turtledoves were very eager to accept our gracious offer to spend your weekends at our Long Island villa. One weekend Irene even found a way to arrive Thursday night and have Friday off.

I immediately knew this was my chance. And just as quickly I knew how I would go about it.

But first I must tell you something you have to know.

("Do I?")

You must have asked yourself often: why does this perfect Alpha male put up with his mousy, totally insufficient spouse? She must be great in bed or have other unknown qualities, like big money or something. Well, she does, though it is hardly the money.

She is the perfect slave.

Once she saw I would never be faithful to her, even for a week, she made a nice decision. Nice for me, that is. She decided never to leave me, whatever I did. She has always been totally gaga with me, ever since high school. It is a sickness, really. Even my constant, wide open cheating can't kill her love for me. Love, the word makes me laugh. But anyway, let's oblige the little slut.

She allows me anything. I don't even have to threaten her anymore with divorce or separation. She accepts pain, torture, humiliation. You name it, she allows it.

("You must be so lucky.")

I don't know how it works with you, but when she sucks my ass, I get hard as a rock. I just love the angry bruises on her ass cheeks. Or the way she arches back to take my cock all the way down her throat, while dangling from her clamped nipples.

Of course you don't know what I am talking about.

But believe me, she is good enough to keep around for a while longer. She gets me through streaks of boredom and has spiced more than one adventure of mine.

So I decided to involve her in my plan. Just a nice way to make her whine with jealousy, which does wonders for my libido.

("And don't forget your ego.")

Over the years I have been suggesting to her that I'd been fucking Irene as long as I knew her. She never entirely believed me, but as she had heard so much about my extramarital exploits, I guess she started to become less certain that I was bragging.

So, a few days before Irene came to visit us, I told Mary she would have the chance to see with her own eyes how the slut would do me. She hesitated. I supposed it was because Irene is her best friend.

Best friend, Eric? I think we are both in for a surprise.

("Wow, another one?")

You see, Irene and Mary love to paint a very serene picture of that late Thursday night terrace scene in August, the night before you arrived. I might cast some new light on what really happened.

It was an eye-opener for me too.

We had been lounging through that balmy evening. The sun hated to leave and so did we. We drank some, talked some and once in a while slipped into the pool to freshen up. But I had to go to bed. The next day, I told Irene, I needed to be in the city very early.

So I went inside and took a shower before bed. Then I realized I had forgotten a rather important report I had been reading on the terrace. Well, in hindsight I might better have left it there until morning. On the other hand...

I hear that for any man in his good health it is very arousing to watch two women fuck. So I guess that what I saw would have made you as hard as it did me.

("Groan...")

Irene lay back on her chaise lounge, her long tanned legs spread. Her scanty bikini top had been moved aside to make her wonderful tits fall out. The stiffened nipples silhouetted against the surface of the shimmering pool. She moaned with an open mouth. She moved her fingertips to the aroused little morsels of flesh to rub them and pull at them.

Then her hands went down to rest on the head of my wife who was entirely occupied with sucking Irene's wide open cunt. The sounds were very suggestive. Looking from the dark house I could not help feeling my cock grow inside my hand.

The girls moaned and then I saw Irene's body arch in the throws of a major climax.

After it subsided, I swear that I saw her look my way and smile, even smirk.

("Irene a lesbian? Go fuck yourself, Phil.")

Half an hour later Mary came to our bedroom. After I spanked her mercilessly for having sex without my permission, I fucked her hard in her ass. We both came and I never felt a greater intensity.

Another thing to thank your little whore for, Eric.

("You are ever so welcome, jerk.")

The next morning, on that infamous Friday, Mary and I faked that we left for the city. I tied Mary up, clamped her tits and gagged her. Then I hid her in the attic to watch the poolside, where we knew Irene would go to get some topless tanning.

What no one knew, not even Mary, was that I had drugged the orange juice we left Irene for breakfast. Ah, once again, don't rejoice prematurely, my wimpy friend. It doesn't get her off the hook, believe me. It was just something mild to make her sleepy. And something extra to spice her dreams.

Nothing crude like a rape drug.

You know, Eric, I have my pride as a seducer. There is no fun in fucking lame, unconscious sex dolls. Besides, I knew the slut inside her would submerge as soon as my silver tongue would come into play.

("Prick.")

Call it self-confidence. Call it conceit, I don't care. What's the use of being a bastard if you feel offended by name-calling? Fuck them all. And especially you, Eric.

("Quite honoured, Phil.")

I was right, of course. The moment I woke her sleeping nipples, she moaned and pushed them into me. God, do you have one hot bitch for a wife, sissy. Before long she sucked my rigid cock. She was even better at it than in these dreams I dreamt about her for years. All too soon she screamed and begged me to fuck her harder. After I filled her cunt, she was so over the hill that she anticipated my slightest moves.

I gave her all I got. I never lost my hardness. Knowing whom I fucked and feeling the crying eyes of Mary on my back, turned me into a golden Viking fuck god.

And was she worth it. My God, let me tell you, Eric, I never found a cunt that squeezed me tighter. And I never ravaged an ass as glorious as hers. After all these years, after all my dedication I found that she wanted it as hard as I did.

I knew I had been right all the time. She is a slut, Eric. Don't try to stop her, don't try to understand her. She is the greediest slut I know. You can't satisfy her anymore. Not now, not ever again. Set her free, Eric. Give her a chance to fuck real men like me.

She thanked me, you know. She grabbed me, kissed me when I rose to leave. Don't go, not yet, she pleaded. And after she admitted she could not get me hard again, she begged me to call her for a repeat. Soon.

Poor Eric, you must be the sorriest fucked-over wimp I ever met. Twice in three years. But well...such is life, isn't it? Give up, man. Know your place.

("I shall, Phil. After I kill you.")

My sincere greetings to you and of course to your exciting little wife,

Phil Mortensen.

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

"I threw the letter away.

Of course I read it first. Not all of it at once, though. Sometimes a red haze of rage made it hard to go on. And I must admit that there were tears too. They can make reading a blurred affair.

But I read it and I wondered.

Not about Phil. He was every bit the egotistical bastard Irene and I had always thought he was. Nor was I surprised by Mary's submissive character. That made sense too. The sudden bout of lesbian bliss seemed quite out of Irene's character, though. I had never even seen a hint of it.

But well, I have been surprised by more things concerning her, lately.

I did wonder about the many versions I got of this one damned morning in August. Irene had told me what had happened. She had tried to make it seem like a dream. I can see why she'd want to do that. Mary had also told me her version. She was blinded by jealousy and quite a bit less forgiving. Now Phil tells me that Irene had been teasing his cock for years, so she had it coming. He also said that Irene was Mary's lover.

I needed some time to digest that.

Should I believe him? And if so, did it matter? Irene let herself be fucked. There was no reason to doubt her co-operation. Maybe it was true that Phil had drugged her mildly. It was also true that Irene never complained about being abused. She didn't that same day and never later. She could have. I might even have believed her. But she never did.

Well, alcohol tends to make one aggressive. I should not judge her right now.

Of course she ought to be the one I should believe over the others. She is my wife, dammit, I love her. It is true that she never found it worthwhile to tell me the truth. And it may also be true that she might be expecting another man's child. But yes, her version may be closest to the truth.

Does it matter? Do I even want the truth?

Does it matter if she has been fucking Mary all these years? Does it matter if she has been teasing the gruesome Viking before giving in at last? I don't think so. It would only make it hurt more.

She fucked away our love. She betrayed what we had. She sold it for a few good orgasms. I meant less to her than a few orgasms. That's what matters.

But the cruellest thing she did was to keep my love for her alive.

I am Eric. They say I'm a wimp, a loser. They may be right. I lost two wives who preferred to fuck other men. Better men, no doubt.

I don't know what to do, beside drinking myself into a stupor. I know that I should not drink, not moan, not crucify myself for what I did not cause.

But then again, didn't I?

Maybe it is like the statue and the balances. Maybe I just don't put enough weight in the scales. Maybe it is all this great and amazing fucking and all this swagger and passino on one scale, and my wimpish love on the other. How would the damn thing ever lean my way?

See the blindfolded lady? She is supposed to be Justice. But watch her mouth. She is smiling.

Even so can I let the bastard get away with it? And what about Irene? The child?

Ehm...even more to the point: do I empty this bottle or throw it against the wall?"