Carla's Pursuit of Loyalty

The dark room with black painted walls was overcrowded and poorly lit. Random colors of all wavelengths and intensities painted the stage at crazy angles. Calm ambient jazzy music burned slowly.

Five guys wearing unremarkable baggy t-shirts stood on the stage, tickling their instruments calmly, two hundred or so audience members talking loudly and drinking out of cheap dixie cups. Suddenly, a guy on center stage wearing a wifebeater started bouncing like a twelve-foot-tall bunny on his toes and started screaming. Just as fast as he sprung into action, the band kicked in and collectively sounded like they were taking a hedge trimmer to a violin.

"TELEVISION..."

The audience started bouncing off each other like molecules in a volatile chemical reaction, and within seconds a hole formed in the center, like an angry eye of a tornado. People swirled around it, some got stuck in the vortex and got bruised making the passage, but they all obviously loved it with an animalistic passion. Temperature of the room rose fast and Carla stood back, protecting her $9 Long Island Iced Tea. The singer was spinning in manic circles from jump to jump.

"...THE MEANS OF WORLDWIDE INFECTION..."

It wasn't 1.6 million people in a Moscow airfield, but they made up for those numbers in fervor. Carla slowly backed up toward a wall, where lesser energy levels ensured she could finish her drink. She smiled at the wildness of the event. In an another time, these people could have easily been mistaken for Ostrogoths sacking a city. But right now, they too were musical instruments of a sort, enhancing the experience. It wasn't her sort of thing, but she smiled at their participation. It made her feel alive.

"You having fun?" her date wishfully yelled in her ear.

"Yeah!" Carla tried screaming back, unsure of how she actually felt.

"...A GESTURE OF ILLICIT EXCURSIONS..."

They watched for awhile and Carla danced to it best she could, nodded to it more like, wondering about her boyfriend's obsession with the band. Her auburn hair glowed in the local light. She didn't mind the genre, whatever it was, but the experience was taxing for the expense; she spent nearly her entire paycheck for this night for the two of them. She dressed up slutty for the concert, short black skirt with a mesh top and thigh highs. She wished she had a garter belt, because the tight elastic bands were cutting into her legs. Minutes later, he told her he had to go use the bathroom.

"I'll come with you," she yelled, or hope she was heard yelling.

The club bathrooms were unisex with long lines and they waited patiently. When a stall opened, she slipped inside it along with him and he gave her a funny look. She grinned and pushed his back toward the toilet. He hesitated, looking at her. Finally, he shrugged and pissed in it. It was the first time they'd been this intimate. As he finished shaking, Carla got down on her knees and tried to put his limp cock in her mouth.

"Heyyy," he started saying because he'd just pissed, but realized she didn't care.

Carla didn't. This was an intimate moment, she was intoxicated and dressed like a teenage whore just for him, and a few drops of urine weren't going to make a difference in her decision making. She put his limp cock in her mouth and started blowing him as earnestly as she could, warming it up. Pleasing him here felt wild and she got undeniably positive feedback for doing such a good job. She stared at his eyes as she was sucking him, feeding off of his smile. Within a minute, they heard banging on the stall door and the banging got more intense and more frequent minute after minute so they had to stop, despite her protests. It was so juvenile. And fun.

On the group drive back home they stopped by another dude's apartment and wound down over snifters of cognac, listening to mopey songs. Some guys were smoking Chronic on the back deck. Barry, the homeowner, unapologetically stared at Carla and her visible thigh high tops and was sorely disappointed to learn she was both taken and faithful, in reverse order. Lights dimmed and music changed somewhat, experimentally, jumping into funk land. The boyfriend had blue balls and Barry greedily watched her get groped through her fishnet top. She didn't mind.

The after-party fizzed out slowly. Eventually they got driven to her boyfriend's home and passed out naked together in his bed. She was so grateful to take off those constricting thigh highs.

In the morning she was woken up by a quiet noise, a vibration, a shuffling. Sheet rubbing sounds. Seconds later she started recognizing the patterns and realized her boyfriend was jerking off under the sheets. Without signaling having been woken up, she simply reached back and grabbed his cock and guided it toward her pussy. Surprised, he fumbled but stuck it in, providing his own ample lubrication at first. He came within minutes and was amazed she didn't complain about any of it.

After a nap, he started bumping into her again from behind and she helped him, groggily. Carla turned around and they kissed, her neck twisted uncomfortably. But this was so hot, that was alright. This time the fucking was more intense, more intended, more ignited. She was being driven crazy by his need, her very fetish of pleasing her man driving her lust. She put on the constricting thigh highs for him when he asked and the intricate mesh top, lingerie always got him more excited. When he got close, he talked dirty, which she liked.

"Would you ever fuck an older guy for me?" he whispered in her ear.

Carla was startled and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't form a look on her face to show otherwise. Alarmed, she blurted out, "Like how old?" because this weird thing came out of the blue, and she didn't know where it was coming from. Like few years older? Five? Ten? An uncle? Grandpa old? She was so close to cumming. He evaded the answer, shrugging not knowing a ballpark age, but, it was so obvious he had someone particular picked out for his indiscreet question. He didn't answer, just kissed her while they fucked. Carla came twice when he finally shot a load on her stomach.

The question came up again weeks later, under similar circumstances. He only brought up dirty things while they were fucking, which Carla thought annoying. It was so obvious that he was angling for something very specific and it was so frustrating how evasive he was about it. "Baby, I'm trying to work with you here," she pleaded with him. She was open-minded. If only he'd bring it up out in the open, she'd be open to all sorts of things, but it took some serious leveling first and he didn't talk. That's all she asked for. Finally, Carla just vaguely agreed to it, thinking he'd finally open up.

"Yeah."

That loose one-word agreement got him so excited to where she was genuinely concerned about how much hornier it made him, like scary eyes horny. Normally, he couldn't keep up with her needs, and here he was ultra-hard, reaming her, making her pussy froth. She just stared in his eyes while he tugged her nipple ring, bewildered and watched herself get fucked. How much older, she worried? And why? He kept asking fucked up questions.

"Would you lick his balls?"

"How deep would you suck it?"

"Would you swallow his cum?"

"Would you let him cum on your face?"

"Would you dress up like Dorothy from your birthday costume ball, with the white thigh highs?"

Carla was sure his questions were way too focused on cock but he was so hard already and getting harder, so she just gently moaned yesses into him, encouraging him. Honestly, the idea of having sex with someone age-inappropriate just on her boyfriend's whim repulsed her, but she lived to make her boyfriend happy. She came several times and he kept going, barrage of questions still unfolding, she was sure she could fit one more orgasm in before his, and so she did. He was so hard. She squirted a little in the sheets, fucking had been that intense. He pulled out and blew a load on the small of her back.

They cuddled after the fuck and afterwards she stared at him intently for awhile before deciding to set things straight, soothing her irritated nipple. Carla was a straight-talker, she read between the lines and confronted obstacles head-on, whether or not they cracked.

"Honey, you know I love you, but you're sending me some very mixed messages," she opened. "No judgment here, but I'll be honest with you, it sounds like you want to suck an old guy's dick."

He immediately went on the defensive, "What, no, that's not what I said at all," he feigned being insulted, "I was just saying if it was a kink of yours I'd be okay with it, why do you have to twist my words around." It was true she had far more experience in the sack and he was self-conscious about it, but this recent set of ideas didn't come from her. She never asked for anything. He was so unconvincing.

She meant it because she was supportive, "No judgment here, do you want to borrow my Dorothy costume?" Whatever her boyfriend wanted, she'd make it happen because she loved him and she wasn't insecure. If that's what would get him off, ...

He definitely blew up after that.

"You totally took that out of context!" he screamed defensively while putting his pants on, "you always do this!"

"Baby, don't get upset. I was just saying it's totally cool if you want to ..." she tried gently but it didn't stick. He stormed off angrily and that meant she was being kicked out. "...experiment," she finished her sentence. It was getting close to work time anyway, so she sighed and put on her humiliatingly slutty outfit from the night before and started on the walk of shame toward her car. There was just enough time to go home, shower and change. She'd said the wrong thing, whatever is it he wanted, it would be circumspect.

Next week she accidentally snuck up on him while he was on the phone. She wasn't skulking but he didn't hear her, leaned against the wall holding his phone to his ear. The tone was sickening, the quiet secretive kind. He was tugging his cock and talking dirty to someone. Carla felt ill about it. She was more open minded than he gave her credit for and yet he cut her out of it, it really hurt. She listened quietly and tried to make sense of it.

"Yes daddy, she's gonna suck your big fat cock," he whispered, his voice unnaturally flat, "yes, I asked her,..." he trailed off.

Carla totally called this one, and she felt nothing good about being right. She didn't mind that he'd experiment like this, that he was bi or bi curious, but she minded being left out of the loop.

"... please fuck her for me daddy ... show her how a real man fucks..."

Carla was mostly shocked by him speaking for her, she was convinced he was referring to her anyway. Her boyfriend dry swallowed and picked up the pace stroking his cock, his voice cracking, "... put your big hard meat right in her pussy, yes... please daddy... yes she'll dress up like a dirty little slut for you."

Keeping secrets from her stung, after all she'd done for her boyfriend. Not to mention the sting of being referred to like a piece of meat to be used by anyone. If he'd only talk to her, she'd be down for some serious roleplay, cuckolding, threeways, submission for his pleasure, whatever he wanted. But she realized he never could because an unexplored kink could be a very private thing.

She felt a great amount of empathy toward his shame, the obvious reason he kept something like this from her. It was tough to come out and be judged. She quietly slipped away and decided if he wanted to bring it up, she'd talk about it. But for now she'll swallow her pride and try to be supportive. Maybe this was just a fantasy, a passing phase. Nothing was written in stone.

Next time they fucked, he asked her again, "would you let an older guy fuck you for me?"

"Is that what you want me to do?" she replied.

He waited a dozen pumps and then hesitantly whispered a confused "yeah..." Carla sighed inwardly but if this is what her boyfriend really wanted, she loved him, and she was showing him how much. She put her hands on his ass and pulled him into her, wanting him. He buried his head in her neck and the bed squeaked for the next few minutes. As she bounced under him, Carla brooded about the upcoming days. She thought she put her wild past behind years ago. He pulled out and straddled her chest, barely making it in time. She held them up, and he shot his load over her tits.

One late Tuesday night shift he texted her asking what time she was getting off. Could she leave earlier? He implied there was a party, then he sent her an address she didn't recognize off Kuykendahl road, in the new development. It was not even mid-week, but she felt like having some fun. Some music, dancing, drinks. It would be fun. But after his next text she wasn't so sure about the party because it turned porny.

"can u wear the blu dorothy outfit w thigh highs?"

Carla sighed, so that moment finally came to pass. She wondered now if he'd already experimented, cheated on her with an older guy, and now got talked into pimping his girlfriend out for some kink. She felt betrayed because he did things behind her back. But she still loved him and wanted to please him. Always. Grudgingly she agreed to go to the "party" but she wasn't going to humiliate herself with that whorish Halloween outfit. For one, there was no time to go home and change after work.

She pulled into the new subdivision and nearly whistled when she saw the sizes of homes there. This was a wealthy area. She parked her old beat up car next to a Jaguar at the address and before she could shut her engine off, an older guy came out of the house. She leaned over and rolled her passenger window down to hear what he was saying and realized he was embarrassed to have her car be seen at his house. Great. So this asshole was her boyfriend's daddy.

He motioned to a street over, "...just down the road a bit, neighbors might be asking questions." He looked to be in his late 40s or early 50s, maybe. Carla's second impression is that he was definitely an asshole. She felt regret that there was definitely no party - at least the kind she thought of - and a feeling of foreboding came to her, her boyfriend's sick fantasies. The nerve. Was that asshole that ashamed of someone seeing Carla's car at his house? She parked and walked back to the front door and it opened before she could ring the bell.

He was older, gray haired with metal rimmed glasses. Out of shape. Rapist mustache. Definitely way older than she'd be comfortable hanging out with alone. He leered at her body and seemed disappointed, "You didn't wear the blue dress your boyfriend showed me."

Carla was surprised and her face showed it, "He's been showing you pictures of me?"

"Oh yeah, he was so proud of how hot you are."

She didn't know what to think of that. The older man was sipping from a glass of dark liquor, a snifter of cognac perhaps, and yet he didn't offer her any. Rich bald fuck.

"He also told me about some of the wild things you did back in your past," he said.

"He did, did he?" Carla asked, ambushed. She was getting angry. Oh, this guy was a royal asshole for sure.

He grinned. "You know your boyfriend wants to be my little sissy slut, right?"

She didn't, but she suspected he might have wanted to try something kinky. Just, ... she had no idea how far along in his thing he was. And now there was definite confirmation.

"I guess,..." she sighed. This conversation sucked.

The man said, "He texted me said he was running late but to get started."

Carla asked, "Partying you mean? Where do I get a drink?"

"Oh, sorry I don't have enough for two, this is a very rare vintage," the man said and sat down on the couch. He offered nothing else as an alternative. He patted the seat cushion next to his but Carla remained standing right where she was.

The man started stroking the bulge in his pants right in front of her and started talking, "He's not ready for this, you know that right," and looked at Carla's feet, "he's just too innocent, too sweet, too inexperienced." Carla agreed with him. She wasn't startled by him or surprised that he started touching his cock in front of her, because it would take a fucking carnival to surprise her.

"I'd hurt him and tell him how he was inadequate, how nothing he did felt good, and he'd cry. He'd regret ever trying it out. He'd never forgive himself. I'd tell him how ugly he was."

What he said actually tracked right. When fantasies met reality, usually there was a nasty collision. She didn't want her boyfriend to experience bi-curiousity with someone like this asshole.

"Do you want me to break him?" he asked Carla and grabbed his bulge firmly.

"No," she answered.

"You don't want me to fuck him up, do you?" he asked.

"No."

The old man kept painting a worse and worse picture, "He doesn't want it either. He's so afraid of it, but he wants it so bad. So he sent you instead, to be used like a little whore."

Carla wanted to cry because it was true.

"And he knows you used to be a little whore, he knows you're worthless. You're tainted. You're beautiful outside and ugly inside. And he hates you for it."

Carla now did cry, or at least fought off a tear. Her eyes moistened. This asshole was right, no matter how sweet she was to her boyfriend, he knew she was damaged goods and she'd never overcome that. The fact that she had to find out how he truly felt from this asshole was miserable enough.

"But he's still sweet, still innocent. He's a good kid," the man said, "and we don't have to make him regret his past, do we?" His stroking picked up a pace. "He doesn't have to be tainted, right?"

"No," she agreed.

"So that's easy. We'll let him watch a little, satisfy his curiosity. He said to get started. I think he wants to walk in on us. But you do this and I won't talk to him after tonight and he'll forget all about it, and you can have your prince sweet just the way he is, untouched, unhurt. All you have to do is go to the bedroom on the left and change into the outfit I left on the bed."

"You understand, right?" he asked. She did, but she wasn't going to say it.

Carla just stared at him, hurt. Hesitant. She regretted ever coming over here, and yet he offered her an easy out. Just walk into that room and you don't have to say anything. If her boyfriend hadn't spent weeks talking to her about fucking an older guy, it would have been an instant walkout. She loved him so much unconditionally and wanted him to love her back so desperately. It was true that she was damaged goods, the kind of things she did before, long ago, ... she wouldn't want anyone else to spoil like she was. She quietly walked into the bedroom and intuitively found the light switch.

The only things on the crisply made bed were tan pantyhose, a tiara and a belt.

She stared at the items and wrestled with her conscience. Her boyfriend was bi-curious, but he couldn't go through with it. So he offered her, remotely at that, to be used as a substitute. The things he asked about before just sounded like he wanted to watch, the drab fantasy of being a little girl fucked by an older guy. He could never be her, never be the sexy beautiful Carla with that striking red hair. He could just fantasize and that got him off. But the threat the asshole described was real. If she didn't go with this little charade, he might tempt and hurt Erich. Maybe physically, certainly psychologically. Either way, he'd be compromised irreversibly. She sighed and touched the pantyhose and realized they were used. It had a run through it. His wife's? This was so dirty, so filthy. What was it with guys and nylon? Always with the hosiery.

She texted her boyfriend, "r u coming soon?" still holding the worn pantyhose. After a minute with no reply, she resigned herself to her fate. She stripped naked fast, put the pantyhose on and the tiara, adjusting it in the mirror. She didn't know what to do with the belt, so she just walked back carrying it. She was detached, it wasn't like this was the first time in her life that she was passed around. It was just the first time it was done remotely.