Cherry Heartbreak

"Silence!" The voice was, again, electronically distorted. "You're a worthless, cheating cock!"

The video cut back to his confession, focusing on his reddened face.

"And?" his interrogator continued.

"Y-you suck my cock better than anyone, ever!" he blurted, getting it out quickly in order to avoid further upsetting his Mistress.

The next scene was a profile view of Kenny's huge erection. His cock and balls filled the screen of my laptop, and from my own experience, I knew it was only a slight exaggeration from real-life. But the red mask appeared from the right side of the screen and once again, Kenny's cock completely disappeared. With ease. His big balls twitched by her chin. I couldn't believe it when her nose was in his groomed pubic area, but I legit gasped as her tongue slithered out to wash his scrotum. Kenny's moan of pleasure from offscreen and her soft sucking noises were all I could hear above my heartbeat.

Kenny's face was once again on screen. His eyes looked up, searching for something.

"And?" the voice asked.

"The things you do to me," his voice was barely above a whisper. A jump cut to Kenny, sweating profusely, lying face down and tied to something that looked like a tall footstool. He squealed loudly as the leather-clad mistress was pegging him from behind, wearing a strap-on dildo. Her tool didn't seem overly large, and no where near Kenny's size when he was hard, but she was definitely not gentle. She looked lean and powerful as she controlled him with her hips alone, turning moans to screams with a flex of her round ass cheeks. He thrashed in his restraints as she savaged his rectum. The skin of his ass glowed crimson; no doubt foreplay had consisted of him being paddled savagely.

Thankfully this was only a few seconds before returning to his confession.

"When you crush my balls." The scene jumped to him tied to the floor and held there by ropes through large restraining rings bolted into the floor, his legs spread and those wicked boots slowly grinding down on his balls. Kenny howls filled my room through my computer's speakers.

"When you torture my cock." His groan was heavy with both pain and pleasure.

This scene showed one of the red gloves stroking and teasing Kenny's swollen cock. The other gloved hand held a long, thin metal rod that looked like a single chopstick. Holding his cock, the tip of the metal rod traced around the head of the swollen rod, causing it to twitch. The caressing hand jerked down on the dangling balls, earning a whoosh of breath from Kenny. Again, the metal rod glided around his mushroom, but there was less of a reaction this time. The tip spiraled toward the slit before entering and sliding in. Slowly, almost agonizingly, she pushed the long rod inside Kenny's cock.

I was horrified but completely entranced, almost compelled to watch my boyfriend cheat on me in the most depraved ways.

"The things you make me do..." His eyes were squeezed shut. She was doing something to him offscreen that I couldn't see. He winced.

Gasping, "When you have me lick your asshole." My stomach sank. The corresponding image onscreen was Kenny, tied in ropes in a stress position, straining as he leaned forward into her round, toned bubble butt. His heavy breathing was interrupted with soft licking noises.

"I love it when you fart in my face..."

I thought I misheard. I must have. But then quick series of cuts, one after the other, her laying on her stomach, squatting over his face, or standing in front of a kneeling and restrained Kenny, and her repeatedly farting into his worshipping face only inches away.

I was going to be sick.

"... and in my mouth." Oh lord, no. But there it was. A similar montage of her in different positions and in each one, my love's mouth suckled on her asshole. The mouth I had kissed thousands of times. Only one or two were actually loud enough for me to hear, but his reaction, every time was telling. He was swallowing her farts and enjoying it.

Now when the camera was back on him, his eyes were closed and he had the faintest smile on his lips, a look of remembering something beautiful, when he said, "And I love it when you use me as your toilet." A rapid-fire montage of at least a dozen different scenes of her squatting over him prone on the floor and then pissing and shitting into his open mouth or onto his face. I'd no experience in such disgusting things other than the necessary, but from the huge amounts she produced in each scene, she ate extremely well. But what struck me was the absolutely blissful enjoyment on his face as he chewed and swallowed her waste.

"But mostly, no one makes me cum like you do, Mistress," he whispered. The tears spilling down his face matched those, spilling down mine. And while we were crying over the same actions, his tears were of bliss and sexual contentment, while mine were from the cruelest betrayal and heartbreak.

Like the crescendo of a fireworks display, my tormentor had pieced together at least three dozen different clips of Kenny's magnificent cock absolutely erupting in great gouts of semen. I never knew he could produce so much, since it was always in a rubber when he was with me. But whether the cause was her hand, her mouth, her boot or even his big cock sliding wetly from her vagina, she was clearly an artist in milking him. The amount. The distance. His roar during his seed's release. Scene after scene of her complete and total mastery of my man.

It was all true. I had never once come close to giving him that kind of pleasure. Never once had he cum and made that noise as we fucked. And that was probably the most hurtful thing. The cheating and the way he cheated was burned into my brain, but the fact that he so clearly loved all of her degradation more than he ever showed me was what made this pain so exquisite and awful.

"I see," said the distorted voice. "So why are you here?"

"To cum Mistress. Please allow this worthless pig to cum."

The camera shook as it was pulled away from its close-up on my soon-to-be-ex's face. He was hog tied, with his hands in front of him and his legs secured on the ground. She entered the scene, gloriously nude except for gloves, boots and hood and pushed him down to the ground before securing the top half to the floor restraints. His cock was swollen and almost purple, standing up straight and proud. His need to cum was palpable, even through the small screen. His swollen balls looked like they would burst, no doubt due to her offscreen ministrations.

She simply straddled his head, facing the camera and squatted. In seconds, she unleashed a forceful jet of piss into his now open mouth; the hollow glissando signaled how quickly she was filling his mouth. Kenny strained against his bonds, while his cock bobbed.

Meanwhile, a dark rope dropped from her anus, coiling around his face. The turd touching his face was enough to set Kenny off, his body convulsed and he came. And came. And came. The first spurt went straight up in the air, probably four feet. It and the rest following, spraying like a public fountain, landed on the floor or Kenny himself with wet splatters. Meanwhile, her shit just piled up in a sludgy, toxic mask.

She just stared at the camera from her hood, at me directly and seemingly impassionate to the volcanic reaction she had triggered. The jutting, spectacular breasts, the small tattoos and hairless pussy; she was epically sexy, I had to admit, even if I wanted to claw her eyes out. Her hands rested lightly on the knees of her boots. She looked comfortable, as if using cheating lovers as toilets was an every day thing. Who knows? Maybe, for this twisted bitch, it was?

In just seconds, she smothered my former lover under a pile of shit which would take me three days to equal. She bounced and stood gracefully, apparently done. Kenny wasn't done; his sperm still oozing, and his body spasming in the restraints. In a few steps, she reached the camera, and that horrible, inhuman voice said:

"He asked for this. This was his choice."

The screen went to black, and a stylized script graphic like a fuse ignited against the black spelling out "Your relationship has been destroyed by Mistress Cherry Heartbreak".

My gorge finally hit and I ran for the shared bathroom. I retched while my head swam. So many questions. Who was she? When had this happened? Why? Why now? Was I so bad a lover to force him into this? I sobbed noisily and was distantly thankful my roommates were gone to class already. I was obviously not going to make my next class.

It took me a good twenty minutes between crying hysterically and puking my guts out before I left the bathroom. It was then I realized that someone was in the apartment. I went into embarrassed mode that they may have heard me. But then I realized that no one came to check on me. That wasn't like them. They were my friends, and good ones; they would've looked in on me to be sure I was OK. Not as good as Clara but ...

Oh, God, I'd need to call Clara. A new wave of humiliation swept over me as I went to my room. How would I explain this? I'd have to tell her, she'd insist! And she was always so good at getting the details out of me.

I pushed open the door to my room, and as if the morning hadn't been traumatic enough, what greeted me was maybe the last thing I expected to see.

Kenny was standing in my room, with bags at his feet containing what looked like the stuff I kept at his place. All of the emotions, the rage, the betrayal, the horror, the disgust flooded into me. I admit it, I took a step towards him, intending to do him all the violence I felt I could muster, which at that point was just shy of his death, by my reckoning.

But I stopped. Kenny's pants were undone and he was masturbating. He had rewound the clip still open on my computer, to Cherry Heartbreak smothering him under a huge pile of her shit. When the closing graphic came, so did he, exploding in orgasm across my room splashing on my bed sheets and across the dirty clothes on the floor.

It was then that he realized I was there. He was so into what was on the screen and his own pleasure that he had ignored me. He was like waking from a dream.

He tucked himself in, still dripping, and closed his pants as if jerking off in his ex-girlfriend's bedroom to a video of him getting shit on by some whore was the most normal thing ever. I couldn't believe it! But I began to feel lightheaded.

That fuckhead just walked past me and out of my room. My mouth worked like a goldfish, opening and closing with nothing coming out, so I just followed him.

He stopped at the front door to face me.

I don't know what I expected. Him in tears? A groveling apology begging for my forgiveness? Any level of regret? What I got was ... nothing. In fact, he looked ... happy?

"I'm sorry, Betsy," he said, clearly not sorry. "Mistress Cherry gave me the choice that she'd either send you all the videos of my time with her, or she'd cut me off and she wouldn't make me cum anymore. She's listening in now."

And that fucking asshole held up his phone. It was on video call! With that bitch in the red leather hood! In my fucking apartment!

"It's done, Mistress Cherry," he said to the phone in his hand. I gasped at the audacity of him. Of them.

"Well done, pig," came that horrible, distorted voice. "Come get your reward." And she disconnected. His smile was immediate and genuine. That was it? That was the end of my relationship? Years of my time?

"I had to agree to let her send you all those videos and then bring you your things. She makes me cum so hard." As if that explained everything?!? But as my mouth worked, and my thoughts tripped over each other in the hurry to be spoken aloud first, he opened the door and left, leaving me standing there, speechless.

I spun to the floor and the darkness took me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fifteen months later, I was unpacking my bags in Clara's beautiful Las Vegas apartment.

To say the time in between had been life-changing would be an understatement. Not only was there my own break-up, but my parents had separated after almost twenty-five years together. This was surprising and frustrating as not only did I miss the signs of their issues, but they were both frustratingly tight-lipped about the causes and Dad had moved out. I did my best to support them both, but I struggled with my own issues. God knows I couldn't even begin to explain what had happened in my own life to my parents. It was best to keep it to the absolute bare minimum for all involved.

After the scene with Kenny, I had to call Clara. I couldn't tell her the details (God! How embarrassing!), but it turns out it was unnecessary. My best friend heard the pain and upset in my voice and tears and told me she was on the way to see me. Sure enough, later that night she on my doorstep, in baggy sweats and hair pulled back looking worried. It was great to see her, but she looked so thin! She immediately hugged me. I had to tell her to stop squeezing me so hard. Not only was she strong, but her tits just about knocked the breath out of me. I didn't remember her being so big! I started to say something but she just shushed me and dragged me and her bag inside.

She met my roommates, but didn't waste much time on pleasantries. My roommates knew the basics as well. They came back from class and found that I was a wreck while doing my laundry. Top of the laundry basket was a pile of my clothes drenched in Kenny's cum. I never knew he could spray so much!

Clara then dragged me into my room and demanded to know what happened. At first, I was barely able to cover the basics. I couldn't go into details about Cherry Heartbreak and what she and my ex did; it was just beyond me. So, I just pointed her to the email link.

Bless her, she spent over an hour going through it and the rest of the videos, all that I didn't have the stomach to go through while I cried in a ball on my bed. She spared me the details of what she had discovered but told me it looked like Kenny's activities went back a while. She was so supportive of me and what I was going through. The only thing she said about Kenny was a freak and that he wasn't worth the tears no matter how great a fuck was.

"He wasn't great," I said. "Not like that. He was big, though."

"Oh, cuz he really pounded ..." she started, then stopped, realizing that voicing an appreciation of Kenny's sexual prowess on the video was not exactly supportive of me. "Yeah. Big." She concluded looking a little chagrined.

I had to remember that this was Clara. She would've been the first to share videos of anything that struck her fancy. She was just that down to earth.

My computer dinged, indicating a new email.

I came around to look at the screen as Clara opened it. I burst into a fresh round of tears as a video auto-played. Suffice to say, it appeared Kenny, wearing the same clothes from earlier in the day, had been fed a big messy pile of his reward from his tattooed friend squatting over his face and was spraying his appreciation for her everywhere. Clara apologized for the video playing, but it wasn't her fault, was it?

Needless to say, after blocking several email addresses, I had another good cry, to Clara's reassurances that it wasn't me, that it was Kenny. She stayed a few more days before returning, or until I wasn't such a complete wreck.

The rest of the school year was a blur. I told my parents the barest minimum I could get away with. Mom was typical, she defended me and called him a 'loser'. Dad was a bit more perceptive, while still being super supportive. I remember him once saying "he didn't think Kenny was the type".

Even Clara's folks reached out and let me know I could count on them.

I avoided Kenny and the places we used to hang out together. I don't remember if I even saw him. Truth be told, I didn't hear from him at all. Which pissed me off even more, I guess? After the years together and a serious talk about our future together (initiated by him, remember), parts of me wanted him groveling at my feet. Ha! Like Miss Cherry What's-her-name, kissing my ass and begging my forgiveness. Yeah, I could've done with some real begging. I'd pass on the rest of that other stuff though. What kind of person enjoys that? How do you even find that out? Disgusting.

Clara reached out to me more often after her return back to Vegas. She was really my rock and I tried not to abuse it, but I may have been a bit selfish. She was understanding and reminded me that I could always join her after school.

A year later, after graduation, I did just that.

She told me I could stay at home for the summer and then move out in the fall, but I needed the fresh start.

Clara's place was huge. It was a ways off the strip but had great views of the main sights through floor to ceiling windows. Three bedrooms (hers was really huge), an office located on the far side of the place (which was locked most of the time) and a really nice kitchen. She kept the place frigid, with the air conditioning blasting, regardless of the weather outside. She just padded around in baggy sweats most of the time with her hair up. She usually went to work like that, saying she hated getting to the office in the heat. Well, it's not like she walked, either. She had a current Mercedes coupe which she used for the office, but rarely drove it outside of work. I didn't know cars but it seemed really expensive. She Uber'd almost everywhere else, saying that the sun was murder on the paint, so she wanted to keep the car in good shape.

I will admit; I moved there right at the start of the summer and in the following months, there were more than a few days where that summer sun was so damn hot that I ran back to her apartment, grateful for the polar air inside. Well, maybe not 'ran'; it's hard to move fast in that kind of heat, but let's say I was 'highly motivated' to get inside where it was cool.

The scale of Vegas was more than a bit much for me. I swear, crossing this street seemed to take fifteen minutes in some parts of town. The whole strip was just over the top.

But Clara just swam through it like a mermaid. She set me up with some great job interviews during the day (boy, was she well connected! Her hotel group hosted everybody...) and at night, she knew a bunch of great clubs to hit.

Clara herself was fine. She worked a lot, like sometimes really late. But she seemed to be around the apartment a lot, working in her office. She asked that I not go in there while she was working. I mean, that was the least I could do, right? I did hear her raise her voice sometimes in there, but it wasn't my place to ask. She had succeeded in a tough industry at a young age, so I wasn't gonna get in the way of my best friend.

She seemed to go to the gym a lot, and ate smart, but she was hardly a fanatic. She still had that skinny-lean look in her face but she was always bundled up when at home, hair up in a lazy ponytail and mostly make-up free. Sure, she seemed a bit more glamorous, with expensive mani-pedis, and even though she was in sweats, they weren't ratty rags. It was glam stuff, but she wore it all low key. She was living the life and at such a young age! I was probably a bit jealous, if I was honest.

After having almost no social life for my whole senior year at university (Thanks Kenny!), it turned out I was ready to cut loose. Well, at least for me. I was never a real clubkid, so more than three nights out a week was really active for me. But in those first weeks, I was out at least five nights a week. Not always really late, but just getting dressed up and out the door was great. It was really therapeutic to get over ... Kenny. I was already starting to put him behind me. And it was about time, too.