Lies

Camille realized that her acceptance of the situation had gradually led her to unwind the mental barriers that designated right from wrong. She had gone from victim to active participant. The more she came, the better she felt about her situation. Things quickly got out of hand. Their encounters got steamier and steamier.

She still disliked Mark and had conflicting emotions every time she lay coiled in bed with her arms and legs around his old, fat body while recovering from another mind-bending orgasm.

Mark slyly confirmed what he already knew by having Camille truthfully admit she enjoyed her orgasms during their post coital conversations. He'd follow this by replying that it was a good thing they were honest to each other unlike like her husband. She knew what he was doing when he called her husband dishonest, but it had become a weak spot for her, and she could not stop his comments from fueling the festering anger inside her that her husband was deceiving. After all, it was Steven's actions and lies that had put her in this situation in the first place.

It was basic procedure for Camille to make lunch for Mark after they'd have sex in the mornings. She generally did not mind cooking, only objecting when he asked for 'seconds'. Seconds, she'd learned, was code for another round in the sack. It didn't matter what she argued. Mark would pester her until she yielded to his wishes. On occasion, her protests became physical. She used all her strength, pushing him away until things escalated and he had to restrain her with his huge mass. Camille could not, or would not, reason with herself why she fought. It wasn't like she believed Mark would just give up and leave.

Since she'd started having regular orgasms, she had been a lot hornier and even fantasized about getting off in weird ways. Rebuffing Mark and fighting him brought out the animal desire in his eyes. He would grab her hourglass frame and pin it against the wall. Face awash with unmasked lust, he'd bear down on her while she squirmed and glared at him crossly. This... Turned her on.

The harder she had to defend herself the hotter she became. Pushing, hair pulling, scratching, kicking, and even punching - her pussy would wet as Mark pegged her down with his superior strength. Her first vertical orgasm came when he forced her thighs apart and fucked her against the wall. It was brutally painful as he held her wrists with a vice grip, but her pussy gluttonously sucked in the girth of cock until he filled it with another sticky load.

Her newfound love for rough sex made it easier for Mark to make her cum. When he took her by force, her sexy body trembled excitedly in his grasp. She would cum multiple times in rapid succession, spasming over his dick like some drug addled whore. She felt so dirty afterwards, tending to her sore muscles and checking for bruises so Steven wouldn't see. Mark suggested she start wearing bulkier clothes around her husband to cover up any love marks. Camille considered it.

There were a few incidents when Steven called from work while his boss was at their apartment. None worse than the Monday afternoon he rang, while Mark was harassing his naked wife in the kitchen. Camille squirmed in the big man's arms as he tried to kiss her. She pushed on his bulbous stomach as her breasts pancaked against his hairy chest. Pulling her auburn hair, Mark tried compelling her to turn her face towards him. The phone sat on the counter when it started to ring. Catching the name on the display, Camille grabbed it and shoved it in front of Mark's eyes so he knew who it was before she answered. She anticipated Mark would cool down, but she was wrong.

She defended herself as well as she could with one arm, held the phone with the other, and tried to sound normal as she greeted her husband. Mark's pudgy hands were all over her boobs and pussy. He leaned in to put his tongue in her mouth while she was talking. She wormed her smooth, sleek body out of his grip, nearly tripping as she scuttled into the living room. Steven was on a tangent about a flat tire he got while driving. Mark was on her in a moment, wrestling her to the floor. She tried her best to keep her legs closed and knees locked as Mark pried his fingers between her thighs. His strength eventually won out and she spread open like a clam. His rock hard erection maneuvered toward her weeping slit. A lake of old sperm and fresh pussy juice seeped onto the carpet. Camille barely managed to suppress a moan as he plowed himself deep into her pussy. It was impossible to understand what Steven was saying. She couldn't follow him while she was being impaled by a mad man. Panic welled inside of her. She seized hold of one of Mark's manboobs and she squeezed as hard as she could, digging her pink, manicured nails into his greasy skin.

She was familiar with Mark's body. Probably even more than Stevens. Though repulsive, it provided her pleasure and she'd grown comfortable, even somewhat fascinated, by his large, flabby frame. There were times when she was undulating her hips and riding him that she would utilize his manboobs as handles to steady herself. Objectively, the sagging flesh was gross, but the heat of their bodies when they molded together as one made her forget such shallow thoughts. She liked melting into him like butter; his hands caressing her breasts and hers on his. They would mirror each other. She would squeeze his boobs, and he would squeeze hers. Sometimes she squeezed so hard that she got tears in her eyes from the pain of him squeezing equally hard.

Mark reeled back in pain and rubbed his nipple. Camille used her foot as leverage to push off from him. His cock squirted out of her pussy with an obscene wet pop. Sliding out from beneath him, she ran to the bathroom. Steven was in the middle of asking her a question. Camille could hear Mark's heavy footsteps thundering closer. Interrupting her husband, Camille told him that someone was ringing the doorbell. She hung up before hearing a response.

Mark stomped angrily down the hall, nearly stripping the bathroom door off its hinges as he flung it open. He seized her narrow frame, scrunching it within his bulky arms and half carried, half dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward the master bedroom. He huffed and wheezed while she wailed and swore at him. Her limbs flailed, fists and feet kicking the wall, knocking over photos of her and Steven on their honeymoon and sending them shattering to the floor.

Obscenities poured from her mouth as he threw her down onto the bed. He was a bloody idiot, a reckless moron, a stupid jerk... She called him every foul thing she could think of, but remained on her back and spread her long legs wide as he crawled on top of her.

Later, she sighed contentedly while nuzzling into the sheets and watching Mark get dressed. He was chubby and ancient with an unattractive body. His balding, ugly mug and unpleasant character was completely devoid of sympathy. He had no sense of decency or morale. Yet, the sex was so strong with him. Even her husband couldn't compete with the wild intensity. They'd formed a connection. While Camille had been holding back secrets from her husband about the adultery, she was keeping it an even deeper dark secret from Mark. He made her excited in a way no taken woman should ever feel except by their significant other. And sometimes - absentmindedly, she would find herself missing him.

As Mark set to leave, she whispered in a sullen voice that he had to be more careful with her. She turned her hand to display a bruise on her wrist, then pointed to one on the underside of her boob and one on her inner thigh. On her hips or legs, she could assert that she had bumped into something, but anywhere else was difficult to explain and an unnecessary risk. Mark, who normally dismissed Camille's concerns, nodded. They might disagree about a lot of things, but they were on the same page about keeping her husband in the dark.

*****

Weeks and months piled up and steadily she got more accustomed to Mark even if she had so conflicting emotions. Camille opposed all that Mark stood for. By ingratiating himself in her life, coercing her into infidelity, and manipulatively disparaging her husband, it was clear he was evil. Her rational mind hated him. No sane woman would ever willingly be with such a beast. These thoughts echoed in her head as she primped herself in the mirror. Her hand fidgeted while she fixed her makeup. She was nervous, and her eyes were a bit bloodshot from lack of sleep. Still, her wavy copper locks, piercing blue eyes, glossed lips, and bright white smile, had her looking as beautiful as ever. She furrowed her eyebrows. She was a walking contradiction. Why dress up for such a rotten bastard?

Mark had invited Steven to a gathering at his house. Camille was obligated to accompany her husband, but inwardly fretted what Mark had planned.

They arrived midafternoon. There were a lot of people around, mostly men and women from the company. Camille scanned the room for her vile abuser. When she saw him, she blushed unintentionally. It was mortifying, but he had become such a familiar presence in her private life that her body automatically associated him with sex. Her pussy twitched and dampened beneath her figure-hugging, mini skirt. She squeezed her thighs as he sauntered over, aware of her hardening nipples. He'd conditioned her well.

Steven nudged her elbow to ask if she was feeling ok. Mark was only a few steps away and ogling her greedily.

Camille ducked away, excusing herself in order to find a bathroom. She didn't want Mark to realize just how turned on she was by just being in his proximity. It was disconcerting enough that she would get so horny in a public setting. She roamed the long hallways for a couple minutes, unable to find a restroom. It was like a maze there were so many doors. She was just about to head back to the party when someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

Mark cornered her and smiled viciously. He roughly tugged her into an empty room and closed the door behind them. She struggled as he held her, knowing full well it was pointless against his superior strength. She swore in frustration and squirmed as he pinned her against the wall, a routine position for them. Her body was slippery. She had applied lotion to her arms and legs early that morning, so Mark used his beefy chest to keep her caught against the drywall. He managed to slip his large hand under her short skirt and grip onto the thin fabric of her panties, before casually sliding them to her knees. She wriggled, redoubling her efforts to get away. Strands of hair wildly whipped out from her formal updo as she tried smacking his hand away from her crotch. She whimpered in powerless frustration as his thumb found her soaked opening and slipped past her labia. He chuckled at how effortless his thick fingers breached her womanhood. He wheezed that it was a pity he didn't have time to fuck her given how wet she was. And that it would be fun and naughty to cheat with so many people around.

Camille's hormone satiated mind reeled. Her pussy became a lake of juices as he strummed her clitoris.

He used multiple fingers, priming her body to give in to the pleasure. He played with her mind, asking if she wanted him to come by Monday morning as early as possible. She was on the brink of ecstasy, primed for cock, and had stopped struggling. In a last ditch attempt, she whined for him to stop. He let go of her arm, squeezing her boob lightly. She stood frozen, incapable of doing anything but glare at him with an open mouth. The gleeful expression on his face widened. He leaned forward and sealed his mouth to hers, letting his tongue worm deep into her oral cavity. He did not let her go until she told him repeatedly, between deep tongue wrestling kisses, that she wanted him to come to her house as soon as her husband left on Monday morning and fuck her at least twice.

Camille felt dizzy a short while later as she stood next to her husband, his arm wrapped around her slim waist. She tried to focus on what he was saying and appear normal but was acutely aware of Mark sly movements. A couple of times she spied him sniffing the same fingers he'd tormented her pussy with. She had really drenched them in juices while they made out.

On more than one occasion, he remarked that her pussy was the sweetest he'd ever tasted. She begrudgingly took this as a compliment, and even felt a little pride watching him intoxicate himself with her fragrance. Steven prattled on as she nursed her champagne and absentmindedly drifted her gaze to the bulge in Mark's pants.

She didn't like comparing her husband with Mark, but there was a distinct difference between their cum. Mark's ejaculate gave off a heady, musky smell and tasted of Mark in a way that was somehow more male than her husband. Also, her husband's sperm had a metallic tanginess that did not really agree with her. She would usually pull away when sucking him off so the bitterness of his gunk wouldn't hit her taste buds. Mark's sperm was sweeter, and she did not mind when he unloaded in her mouth. He would also make out with her even when she'd just finished swallowing, something her husband would never dream of doing.

Camille finished her drink and placed it down. There was no imprint of lipstick on the brim of the glass and she realized it must have smeared off when kissing Mark. She excused herself again, this time to actually find a bathroom and refresh her makeup.

Mark showed up so early on Monday morning that Camille suspected he had been lingering outside until Steven left for work. Still in her sleepwear, she felt self-conscious that Mark was seeing her before she'd even had time to shower. She felt guilty, and made a point of not complaining or resisting once they began making out as soon as the front door closed.

While undressing in the bedroom, however, Camille scolded her husband's boss for the stunt he pulled at the house party. He had been reckless and dangerous. Anyone could have seen. Mark dismissed her worrying, rolling his eyes and contending that she was basically asking for it after getting all hot and bothered.

He did not apologize or accept what he did was wrong. In fact, he never apologized for anything, regardless of the issue. Whether it be using her, making her unfaithful to her husband, or finger fucking her at a social event... He was never sorry. His stubbornness was annoying, but somehow made her feel less responsible for complying with his wishes. She was dealing with a man who wouldn't back down and took what he wanted. A man with no regrets. There was this confident energy surrounding him, which made her weak in the knees. She could not explain how, but it contributed into her acceptance of him as a lover.

About two months after the reception Camille sat and prepared herself in front of her vanity desk, running the naughty red waxy tube of lipstick over her sensual lips. Mark was in an unusually good mood, and their sex had become much more intimate of late. They had been having really slow, tender intercourse. It was a brand-new experience, and a welcome respite for her vagina, which had received a pummeling ever since Mark entered her life. The change in approach also led to a revelation for Camille. She liked cock as much as the next straight girl, but she had a new appreciation for how perfect one could feel when having gentle, passionate sex. Mark's thick penis did things to her that Steven's never could. From its bulbous mushroom head to each veiny ridge of the shaft, she melted like butter every time he impaled her.

Mark sprawled out on the bed propped up against the headboard, dick in hand. During the lunch that Camille prepared, he requested that she let him watch as she makes herself as sexy as she could. Being warm and content from earlier, she readily agreed. She sat by her vanity desk and carefully applying makeup to her face. She wore a white lace bra with a matching garter belt, and thong. Her red stockings rode up her fine legs and cut off at the thighs. A pair of frisky black five-inch heels stressed her seductive appearance. Mark slowly jacked his hard cock while watching the fallen housewife.

Puckering her lips and listening to Mark grunt, Camille realized her resentment for him was gone. He had forced and coerced her into sleeping with him, but her resistance and reluctance to be with him had yielded into more than just submission. The resentment had faded with time and now she was giving herself to him without any reservations or hesitation. She could not recall the last time he had threatened to expose their affair. He didn't need to anymore. She looked at him through the mirror, while putting down her mascara. He was the same fat, old and ugly person. Though she had tried to change him in the hopes that he would leave her alone, she had ultimately been the one to change. Her body quivered with anticipation.

Satisfied with her looks, she stood up and turned around. Mark devoured her beauty with a lustful glare, slowly jacking his hard meat. Her pussy throbbed and spasmed as she licked her lips. She ached for him. Strolling slowly to the bed, Camille let her hips sway provocatively as the heels pierced the carpet. She knew she looked gorgeous. Hair flowing lusciously over one shoulder, she smiled and leaned forward, boobs practically bursting out of her thin bra.

Mark groped her boobs with his free hand. She giggled, and squealed happily as he pulled her down into bed. In a very girly high-pitch voice, she teased and called him a messy boy while striking a few sexy poses. Bending from the waist to pick up some discarded clothes, Mark drooled at the outline of her heart shaped ass and masturbated quicker. She tossed most the clothes in a jumbled pile on a chair. Mark's shirt was a double XL. Camille held it to her nostrils and inhaled deeply. The scent was so strong and masculine, she couldn't help but moan.

Mark's tongue hung out of his mouth as she slipped on his sweat stained shirt and jumped onto the bed. The room was humid with sexual energy. Straddling his thighs, Camille felt her heels dig into her bubble butt. She had never worn pumps in bed, not even during her honeymoon. It felt freeing and empowering to be so content with a lover. She snaked her slim arms around Mark's neck and pressed her cleavage to his scruffy face.

*****

Steven continued splurging with his ill-gotten gains, cashing in to buy a new laptop and television for the apartment, as well as a few random pieces of jewelry for her. Camille wanted to roll her eyes, but she'd honed the role of naive wife and would simply smile and thank him. She suspected he didn't even realize he was lying to her anymore.

Mark showed up, unsurprisingly, on the anniversary of the first time they mated. He came bearing a gift. It was a large, soft cozy blanket. The apartment would often get chilly at night, and he knew she might enjoy lounging with it on the couch during the evenings.

It was a strangely thoughtful and caring gift, unlike the expensive items her husband bought with unearned money. She felt embarrassed telling him she had no gift for him in return. He smirked at her and said not to worry, that being together was gift enough. Reassured, she fell into his embrace. The blanket was on her shoulders and she felt warm and soft with his arms around her as they necked. After a while, she began undoing the buttons in his shirt. She knew he liked it when she undressed him.

His big hands pushed up and caressed the underside of her succulent breasts, where they were extra sensitive. She stopped thinking about anything but undoing his shirt buttons. She raised her arms over her head for Mark to pull off her blouse. The soft blanket fell to the floor along with her top. His shirt followed, then her bra, his pants and belt, and so on until they were naked. They made love for a couple hours in silence, only breaking the quietness when letting out a guttural groan of pleasure or moaning into each other's mouths.