An Agreement Gone Wrong Ch. 03

Hello all! The third chapter of John and Christie's story. This is the wrap up of their first main "arc" but I definitely have more planned for them, both good and bad. Hope you enjoy

Contains: huge/hyper sizes, futa on male, excessive cum/inflation, all the way through, and some romance and cuteness

Comments and feedback are always appreciated :)

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*****

We need to talk

A plume of smoke escaped John's lips, tickling his crooked nose, the burning ember of a cigarette illuminating his face. Leaning against the hard exterior of the bar, his closing shift having ended only minutes ago, he let the cold air of the night wash over his face. His recently-returned bad habit hung limply from his fingers next to his waist, dripping ashes onto the concrete. Lifting his eyes from his phone, they scanned over the parking lot, watching the rest of the employees and the few, straggling patrons drive off, leaving him all alone in the cold darkness. Taking another drag from his cancer-stick, he blew the noxious fumes towards the sky before lifting his phone to his face and rereading the text he'd sent his wife; a checkmark next to the message let him know she'd seen it, and his heart started to race as he waited for her reply.

Dropping the cigarette, he stomped it out, his eyes still on the device in his hand. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and fished out the wad of cash bulging the front of his jeans that made up his tips for the day. Flipping through it, mentally counting the amount, he let out a sigh of relief; good, he'd have enough for a motel room tonight. His eyes darted once more to the bright screen resting against his chest - nothing. Stretching his shoulder, he stood back up and ran a hand through his messy brown locks. With no reason to hang around any longer, he made his way to his car, the lone vehicle left before him, shivering as he walked, the icy weather chilling him almost as much as the thought of what he planned to do did. Getting in his car, he quickly blasted the heat, put his phone on the center console so he wouldn't miss any contact from Christie, and started to drive towards the last refuge he had left.

This motel was one he used often, becoming like a home away from home for him. Being in the place he helped pay the mortgage was more often than not just... depressing. Even when things changed and Christie had stopped bringing her conquests home as often, something she did out of respect for him he assumed -- though he wasn't sure why she had any left -- things still weren't the same. Consciously or not, the married couple had been avoiding each other, him more so than her, and he felt like he had to basically tiptoe around the house like a teenager sneaking in after curfew. And when he was around, he kept to their previously-unused guest room, no longer feeling welcome in his own marital bed - plus it was the farther place in the house from where his wife usually had her fun.

So this motel became his safe haven whenever he could afford it.

Run down and definitely dodgy, it was the perfect place to duck into to keep his anonymity intact. Cheap and cash-accepting, it made him basically untraceable, just in the off chance Christie came looking for him; it wasn't that he feared his significant other, exactly, but he wasn't ready to face her. Well, at least not until he'd sent her that text. Plus, the receptionist at the front always seemed relaxed in his presence, more than likely because he didn't have a prostitute on his arm when he walked in, strung out on god-knows-what. Although he had lost a good amount of weight in the past few months, he still felt like he looked relatively normal and healthy. Tonight proved to be no different, and after parking, he quickly handed the young woman a handful of bills before retreating to his assigned room, a duffel bag slung over his arm.

Entering the room, he took in the familiar setting, casting a practiced, discerning eye across its contents; this place wasn't particularly reputable, and sometimes the cleaning staff got lazy. Still, it looked relatively clean today, and there wasn't any obvious refuse lying around or staining the upholstery. Setting his bag on the bed, he checked his phone again. Still no response. Tossing it next to his pack, he trudged towards the bathroom, unbuckling his belt as he went. Half-undressed, he stood in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, wincing at his changed appearance - the last few months had really taken their toll on him. Taking a deep breath, he turned the faucet on and splashed water on his face, letting it run down his naked torso. Was he really prepared for what was gonna happen?

Only time would tell.

Shaking his head of the moisture covering it, he grabbed a towel from the wall and walked back into the main room. Sitting on the bed in nothing but his boxers, John reached over to his duffle bag, his hand stopping halfway to its destination due to his phone lighting up in front of him. A shiver shot down his spine. Reaching swiftly for it, he snatched it off the bed and placed it on his bare chest, his breathing intensifying. Closing his eyes, John had to prepare himself for what the message from Christie might say; at this point would it be better for her to agree, or flat-out reject him and finally announce that she was done with their marriage? He wasn't sure, but either way, he wouldn't know until he built up the courage to look.

We do. When?

Straightforward and right to the point, that was just like her. While it didn't tell him anything specifically, at least she wanted to see him, even if it was potentially just to tell him off to his face. He could deal with that. He could. Now for the hard part: replying. He stared at the screen, rereading the three words she had sent him over and over again, trying to formulate a response. Should he be just as formal? Should he tell her how he was really feeling or what he had planned when they saw each other? Should his message act like nothing had changed between them? Shoulders dropping, he went with his original idea and sent a message back, his fingers tapping carefully across the screen.

Is tomorrow ok? I don't have to work.

John didn't have to wait long for a new message to appear.

That's fine. I have to go into the office but I'm free in the afternoon.

That works for me. I'll see you then.

Okay.

John stared at the last message, once more unsure of how to proceed. He could try and end the conversation like he would have in the past, and send her something cute, tell her he loved her and all that, but it didn't feel appropriate. They hadn't been lovey-dovey to each other in so long, it almost felt like a foreign concept. No, he would leave it at that. Setting his phone back down next to him, he buried his face in his hands, elbows pressing into his knees. He could do this. He had to do this. He had no other choice. It was this or nothing - there would be no going back if he chickened out. Right. Once upon a time he'd won her love, and he could do it again! Straightening himself, he grabbed the bag next to him, dragging it onto his lap and unzipping the opening.

Taking out the clothes and towel he'd packed days before, he set them to the side, revealing the rest of its contents; an assortment of dildos and a very large bottle of lube. Taking the lube out first, he placed it on the nightstand next to him before going for the sex toys. One by one he removed them, lining them up in order of size on the floor in front of him. They were all fairly-realistic looking and flesh colored, each one attached to a matching set of fake balls. They got bigger and bigger as they went, the last one large enough to crest the top of the mattress, nearly the same length as his arm and even fatter around - it was the closest thing he could find that matched his wife's own endowment, at least as he remembered it. He gulped just looking at the monstrous thing.

Grabbing the smallest of the set, one that was close to his own manhood in length and girth, he stood up. Laying out the towel he had grabbed from the restroom across the center of the bed, he stripped off his underwear, and lay down on his back, fully nude Taking the bottle of lube in his hand as well, he stared at the perverse set of items he'd brought, studying their features, reminding himself of exactly why he was doing this. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, but if things went well tomorrow, it would be the last. Taking a deep breath, he started his preparations, popping off the cap on the container of slimy liquid, and pouring it over his fingers and the dildo, dousing himself in the cold lubricant.

It was gonna be a long night...

...

John sat in his car, his hand frozen on the key in the ignition. He'd received a new text from Christie only minutes before, letting him know she was home. His day had been spent lounging around the hotel room, stepping out occasionally for a smoke, repacking his things and pacing endlessly, waiting for her message; it also hurt to sit down after last night, and walking around helped him soothe his sore behind. As soon as he'd read it he grabbed his things and bolted to his car, hopping in a little too hard in his excited state, and started to get ready to leave. A sliver of doubt struck him as he began turning the car on, a last, creeping anxiety-formed thought halting him in his tracks. It wasn't too late to backout...

He could just leave, like really leave. Send her a last goodbye message, apologize, and head off to another city, maybe stay with his parents for a time. Start a new life, one where he dates and marries a regular girl. Find another teaching job, have some kids of his own, and not have to worry that his partner might fuck everyone he's ever known. Something simple, less complicated than what he had now. Something normal. But every time he tried to picture a different kind of existence, the person in his fantasy was Christie. Tall, strong, beautiful Christie. His Chris. Smiling at him, kissing him, falling asleep next to him. Except if it could be someone else, anyone else, he wouldn't feel so conflicted all the time, and he could maybe return to normalcy.

No, there was no turning back! If he did, all of these last months - no, all of these last years he'd spent with Christie would be all for naught, and that was something he wasn't prepared to live with! He'd made his bed, so he'd sleep in it. Swallowing the breath that had caught in his throat, he twisted his hand, a rumble emanating from the engine, his car coming to life. The thoughts he'd repeated to himself since he'd made up his mind initially echoed in his brain over and over again. It was for her. It was for her. It was for her. If he just remembered that, his new personal mantra, he could accomplish anything. Feeling more encouraged, he raced out of the parking lot of the motel and headed home, his real home.

The past few months hadn't been easy, that was for sure. Seeing his wife fuck numerous women throughout that first day had been shocking, to put it lightly, but it was the morning after that really shook him ot his core. Of all the things he'd expected to walk in on, Christie fucking his younger sister, Sam, was the last thing that he would've had guessed he'd see. He almost sprinted out of the house right then and there, his first thought to hop in his car and drive as far away as he could, much like he had just now. But he didn't. Running back to their bedroom is what he actually did, locking the door behind him and hiding under the blankets like a scared child shielding himself from the boogeyman. John wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but at one point he managed to call out of work, claiming he was too sick to come in today.

Life was a blur after that.

It had to have been the next day when he finally exited the sanctity of the bedroom, slipping out slowly, listening for any signs of copulation. Luckily for his own sanity the house was empty, only the residual scent of Christie's emissions wafting through the air. There were no women, no semen, and no signs of his wife anywhere - he even checked the other rooms just to be safe. The one thing there was, was a heap of messages on his phone, each containing random names or places, indicating that his wife has been very busy. That was back when she still stuck to the rules they had agreed upon, not that he blamed her for abandoning them later; John never acknowledged them, a part of him too fearful to say anything to his hyper-hung significant other. What was there to say anyway?

For a while after that it was normal to walk into the house after work or wake up to find Christie hammering away at another woman, some he recognized, some he didn't. A lot of them were women in the neighborhood or ladies from her work, but there were just as many randoms, females he'd never seen a day in his life. He'd duck his head down and head to their room, and later the guest room, trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible, or just turn around and wait in his car until enough time had passed. She did keep it out of their bedroom, something he appreciated, something, he realized later, she did as a show of care for him. As the days passed, this became less common, his wife seemingly taking her fun elsewhere, her truck more often absent than not on most days. The one thing he thanked the heavens for was that he never saw his sister amongst the inflated, passed out bodies that littered his house for a time.

They still hadn't spoken much, him and his sister, since the 'incident' although she ended up texting him a couple weeks after the fact. She apologized profusely, begging for his forgiveness, trying to explain herself with each new message. It had taken him more days to reply, but when he did he accepted her apology, and left it at that. Sam had sent follow-up messages in an attempt to mend their relationship, claiming she didn't know what came over her and that it was an accident and so on and so forth; she even wanted to meet up and talk in person, but he couldn't face her. Not yet. Not after seeing her in a position he hadn't wanted to in a million years. John had just reassured her that it was under the bridge, and that him and Christie were going through some things, and that he understood - something that by that point, wasn't a complete lie.

The truth was, the more John caught glimpses of his wife's sexual prowess, the more things made sense. Megan, Raven, his own sister - he got why they seemed to fall to Christie so easily. She was hot, powerful, and hung beyond belief - all things he'd known but perhaps didn't quite understand, because he had never seen her in action, so to say, leaving him ignorant to how alluring she actually was. Of course he thought the world of his wife, there being no match to her beauty in his eyes, but that was contingent on ignoring a very large part of her. Christie held back so much in all their years together, that it never truly struck him how she appeared to women. How much pleasure she could give them, how addictive she was, how much she could do with their bodies. But now he did. Now he knew all too well.

Not that Christie had ever used her penis on him, as much as he knew she always wanted to, but watching her fuck others was incredibly arousing, something it took him far too long to accept. She was just so good at it! He knew she'd had, by her own admittance, a lot of experience before they started dating, but it was like she was in her own league. It was no wonder women flocked to her! Her movements when she had sex were brutal, but precise, her overwhelming strength and the mass of meat between the legs giving her an edge over any and all competition she might have had, her partners cumming what looked like endlessly as soon as she penetrated them. Christie never seemed to get tired, never seemed to go soft, never seemed to run out of semen to unload on everyone and everything around her - John was almost sad she stopped bringing her partners home.

He thought about her, her awesome body, and all the times he had been lucky enough to see her ravaging someone else whenever he wasn't at work. When he was... preparing himself, especially, did the images flow through his brain. Seeing some of the women around, like Melissa next door or Megan at work -- Megan who had given him the same spiel as his sister did -- was a constant reminder of what he was missing out on, what he missed out on for himself through all the wasted years. Megan had, speaking of her, apologized and claimed it would never happen again the next time they worked together. He doubted the veracity of her claim, especially whenever she would call out of work randomly with no real explanation. Their relationship had changed as well, although it was, oddly enough, for the better.

Megan had become, more or less, the only person he could talk to about Christie, even if he was sure she was still sleeping with her. They had been on friendly terms before, finding each other's presence enjoyable in the mixed monotony and hecticness of the bar, but somehow, his better half fucking her brought them closer. Maybe it was because the waitress knew about his wife's no-so-little secret, but much of their downtime revolved around talking about her and the issues they were having as a whole. At first, she was just an ear for John to talk into, once things had returned to relative normalcy, but after a while she began to give advice, seeming genuinely concerned for his well-being. In fact, it was Megan who gave John the courage to do what he was about to do.

...

"So you never let her, ya know, do it to you?" Megan asked, retying her flowing red locks in a tight ponytail, leaning over the bar.

It was the beginning of another shift, and since the sun was still high in the air, the establishment was relatively empty. John had one patron sitting at a stool on the far end of the counter, mindlessly watching sports-highlights on an overhead television, sipping from a beer. Megan had a single table, and they were in the middle of their meal, chomping away at their late-lunch and talking animatedly. There wasn't really anyone else working with them at this early hour, just the cook and a dishwasher toiling in the back of the house. Left to their own devices, the topic of conversation had turned to what it had been quite often these days: Christie.

"No, I mean," John paused to take a sip of a drink he had hidden under the bar, wetting his throat, "come on, you've seen it! As a young, masculine guy..."

That last part came out in a self-mocking tone, drawing a giggle from Megan.

"...there was no way in hell I was gonna let her near me with that when we were still in college. I did, uh, play with it and stuff during foreplay, but that's really it. Maybe put my mouth on it a couple times before things went to shit, but nothing more than that."

"Well did she ever like, ask if she could? If she could use it on you?"

"Yeah I mean it came up but--"

He was interrupted by the jingle of the bell at the entrance, a new table walking in. Megan perked up the sound and waltzed over, greeting them loudly as she went. John took this moment to return to his own duties, checking out what he would probably need stocked, and making sure he had enough glasses for the time being. Shuffling around several bottles, rearranging them the way he liked, he thought about Megan's question. Why didn't he ever let Christie fuck him in all their years together?