My Best Friend Regrets It Pt. 07

I sat in the waiting room as Svetlana "handled" her laser treatment without any benefits of pain mitigation. Judging by the anguished howls she let out during the process, it was indeed one of the more painful procedures.

Svetlana's cries of anguish brought me right back to the day of Sara's brutal foot thrashing. At that time, I had pondered whether or not I had the capacity to stand passively without intervention, and allow a woman to experience severe torment.

My curiosity was resurrected when Svetlana opined that male sadistic tendencies were situational, rather than personality traits. I had my answer as I listened to Svetlana's reaction to her pain. Unrestrained as I was by the usual constraints of peer pressure, familial intervention, and the concern of friends, I was free to abuse Svetlana as I saw fit. This seemed like a fitting way to get my revenge, and I felt my rage towards her dissipate, with every pitiful howl.

Kenny had warned me that the laser removal of a tattoo on the labia would be extremely painful, and at some point he decided to enter the waiting room, and take another run at me.

"I am not sure if you can hear anything back here," he began, diplomatically. "However, Svetlana is experiencing an elevated level of discomfort. Can I please give your girlfriend a shot of Lidocaine to numb the pain?" he asked, concern written all over his face.

It must have been obvious to Kenny, that Svetlana had been tested over the years. She bore marks of ownership from at least two guys, "Adrian's Bitch" emblazoned on the back of her neck, "Igor's Cunt," etched on the inside of her labia. In addition, there was the ominous "Black Cock Only" arrow, disappearing into her asshole. Kenny didn't know if it belonged to Adrian, Igor or some other dominant prick who had asserted ownership over this beautiful young Czech girl. All he knew, was that her new owner, me, wanted her to feel the pain of the removal process, as unnecessary as that was.

In truth, it wasn't the pain that turned me on. It was the fact that I could inflict it without any pushback. For this reason, I shook my head impassively, although I did give the technician a way out.

"I am leaving to go to another appointment," I began. "If you want to negotiate some form of pain medication with Svetlana, so be it," I offered magnanimously. "However, under no circumstances is any money to change hands," I said with a smirk. "Call John at San Clemente Tattoos if you need any further clarification. Svetlana worked out some deal with him for her back of the neck tattoo."

Kenny absorbed what I had just shared with him, processed it, and seemed to get my drift. I don't know if he reached out to John, or figured it out on his own, but Svetlana got her much needed pain relief, and Kenny got some relief of his own, in the recovery room, once the procedure was complete.

After that horrible "Igor's Cunt" moniker was burned from her inner labia, Svetlana was out of action for three months. Well, at least vaginally. She offered me her anus as an alternative, almost every day of her recuperation period, but I declined her out of respect, turning to the lovely Stacey for my daily release. I would fuck Stacey, vaginally or anally, as Sara ate my ass, and I was reminded of Svetlana's demeaning "Cunt" designation, every day of the twelve weeks until we were able to make love again.

When we went back to the laser removal franchise two weeks later, for a post procedure check-up, I made sure Svetlana was dressed the part. I made her wear a baby-blue Lycra dress, that was skin tight, and impossibly short. She had her trademark matching garter belt and stockings on, with some sky-high fuck-me pumps. I had booked the first appointment of the morning, so the waiting room was empty, upon our arrival.

Kenny, the technician, greeted us and looked embarrassed to see me. He shuffled around uncomfortably as Svetlana started to disrobe, his erection visible in his jeans. Once she was down to her garter belt, stocking and panties, she climbed onto the examining table, and put her feet in the stirrups. She was still wearing her panties and her sky-high stilettos, and looked phenomenal as she relaxed on the table in her lingerie. He tried to be professional, but Svetlana has a powerful effect on all men, and he was under her spell.

"Can you remove your panties please, Svetlana?" he stammered.

"Be a sweetheart and take them off for me," Svetlana said with her practiced innocence.

The technician's hands were shaking as he reached for the tiny g-string panties, and lowered them over her clean-shaven pussy. He let out an audible gasp when he noticed Svetlana's body modification, in his honor. Just above her clitoris, in the clean shaven pubis area, was a small heart-shaped temporary tattoo. It was very feminine, done as it was in pastel pink in a flowing script. Within the heart the words "Property of Kenny" were inscribed, an invitation to the young laser technician to enjoy Svetlana's recently cleansed pussy. Cleansed, in the sense of being devoid of any humiliating brands of ownership, other than that of Kenny.

Kenny licked his lips and cleared his throat, as he tried to process Svetlana's intention. He continued to lower her panties over her garter belt. When the panties reached her ankles, Svetlana spoke.

"Thank you, Kenny, I have got it from here," she said seductively, as she removed the tiny panties from one of her legs, before allowing them to hang provocatively from the heel of her stiletto.

At her last visit, this young guy had bartered some medical grade pain relief, for a blowjob in the recovery room. Like all of Svetlana's previous sexual partners, he had enjoyed a taste of her sexual delights, and wanted more. As he unwrapped her, and fixated on the feminine tattoo that seemed to dedicate her pussy for his sole enjoyment, he was sweating.

I enjoyed watching Svetlana fuck with his emotions, and after several minutes of observing him trying to deal with the throbbing in his jeans, I excused myself to take a phone call.

"Make sure you thank Kenny for your pain meds, Svetlana," I said authoritatively.

A visibly flushed young man emerged from the treatment room less than five minutes later, breathing heavily, with an obvious wet spot in his jeans. He wouldn't make eye contact with me, but I knew Svetlana had made him come in his pants. His erection was gone, but there was a noticeable bulge in his right jeans pocket.

As we drove home from the laser franchise, Svetlana shared her latest conquest with me.

"You should have seen the poor guy's face, Daddy," she began with a giggle. "After he examined me, I sat up in the chair and thanked him for the Lidocaine. I noticed he was erect again, so I started to rub his cock through his jeans. I told him that I was really disappointed that I couldn't give him another blowjob, but maybe at my next check-up."

"You fucking prick-tease, Svetlana," I said with a chuckle. "How long did it take that poor bastard to shoot his wad in his underwear?"

"Ha," she responded gleefully, "he came quicker this time from an over the clothes handjob, than when I sucked him off."

"No doubt the way you are dressed contributed to his premature ejaculation," I scoffed.

"He couldn't keep his eyes off of my tattoo," she said excitedly. "After he came, I slipped my panties from the heel of my shoe, and handed them to him. He stuffed them straight into the pocket of his jeans, in case I changed my mind."

"I noticed the bulge," I said laughing at his predicament.

That was the last time I gave Svetlana to another man. I was enraptured by the effect she had on men, and it made me realize that she was a very special woman. From that day forward, I kept all of her sexual delights, completely to myself.

I wondered if Svetlana would snap out of the ether and leave me after three months of celibacy, but on the day that she was cleared medically to participate in sexual activity, she was as enthusiastic as ever.

She was also tight, very tight, like a virgin. I assumed it was from abstaining from sexual intercourse for three months but, when pressed, she admitted to having vaginal rejuvenation, to enhance my pleasure.

"I paid for it myself," she assured me. "I was out of commission for twelve weeks anyway, so it seemed like a great idea. Think of it as an early Christmas present for you, Daddy. Sara and Stacey want to get it done, too!"

I did succumb to that temptation, tightening Sara and Stacey up, so that they too felt like teenagers, when they were finally ready to fuck. The gynecologist tightened Sara's anal passage too, her nine month dalliance with Adrian having stretched her sphincter considerably, from the combination of daily anal sex, and his huge black cock. I paid for the vaginal rejuvenation for both girls, but left Sara to figure out payment for her newly tightened asshole.

I used the same gynecologist as Sara used the first time, and Sara is a fairly resourceful individual, so she undoubtedly preyed on his previously stated attraction to her. Her gynecologist had just performed rejuvenation surgery on her vagina and anus, so Sara found herself on her knees, offering her other orifice to him, when it came time to pay the man. Sara tossed her sucky pillow onto the floor in front of the now sixty-eight year old man, signaling her intent to suck his cock, to settle her bill. Sara ended up sucking that old man off twice that afternoon, and they agreed that she could settle her bill by giving him oral sex on each of her follow-up visits.

Sara was not a particularly skilled negotiator, and when she complained to me that the good Doctor had advised her to attend a follow-up consultation every Friday, I laughed at her. Sara, bound by her code of ethics, attended each and every consultation, but they were a joke. The gynecologist would enter the office with a visible hard-on, ask Sara if she had any issues with her bowel movements, and then force her to her knees to extract his weekly payment.

I later learned that the industry best practice called for a monthly visit after such a procedure, and Sara learned to pay more attention to the details. For his part, the good Doctor extracted his pound of flesh from Sara, without having to take my ex-wife on vacation to the Maldives.

I also paid for Sara to go back to 'C' cups as I know her ridiculous 'E' cups made her very self-conscious. On rent day, I dispensed with the usual blowjob and facial, choosing instead to tit-fuck my ex-wife, enjoying her 'E' cups for the final time. I made her dress up in her usual rent-day Schoolgirl Uniform, although I removed her bra as soon as she knelt before me. I told her to tie her crop-top tightly under her boobs to hold them together, and made her lay on her back.

I propped her head up with a pillow, so that I could see her piercing blue eyes as I fucked her titties. Then, after squeezing a generous helping of lubricant between her oversized breasts, I slipped my cock underneath her crop-top and started to fuck her tits. The plaid crop-top, two sizes too small as it was, did a wonderful job of holding her tits together, leaving her hands free to tickle my stomach and tease my taint. I knew it wouldn't take me long to come, freed as I was from any expectation of reciprocation from any of the triplets.

Sara extended her tongue, licking the tip of my cock-head as it emerged from between her huge mammaries. She maintained eye contact with me, urging me to blow my load on her face or in her mouth. It wasn't lost on me that in the fifteen years of our marriage, she had never allowed me to tit-fuck her, or give her a facial. Now, as the power dynamic between us had been upturned, she was my very own fuck-toy, one of three that I currently owned.

As I approached my orgasm, I didn't even give her the courtesy of advance warning. My new-found power was intoxicating, and I didn't feel I owed any of the triplets any consideration. Sara may have known I was about to ejaculate on her, as she would have felt my nuts and asshole constrict, as she toyed with my taint. However, she didn't exhibit any of the signs of someone who was about to get a facial, most of which I had learned about from watching porn. She wasn't attempting to divert the direction of my imminent cum-shot, she wasn't closing her eyes, she wasn't turning her head to the side, to avoid the blast.

Instead, Sara was smiling and maintaining eye contact, as she continued to implore me to unload on her. A few seconds later, as I thrust deep between her well-lubricated tits, I unloaded my first rope of cum. Landing right on the tip of her beautifully sculpted nose, before splatting onto her eyelashes, it took Sara by surprise. She let out a squeal of delight and continued to egg me on. My second blast hit her lips, open as they were to allow me to enter her mouth, if I so desired. The final two cumshots, weaker in force, coated her neck. Sara lay there submissively as I caught my breath.

After I blew my load over her face and neck, I broke the good news about her upcoming breast reduction surgery. She was ecstatic, until I told her that Dr. Matthews was tasked with her third breast surgery in about a year.

"Please, no," Sara begged. "Please choose a different surgeon, Chris. I can't face him again."

"Quiet, Sara," I growled, silencing my ex-wife. "I decide who works on you, and what cosmetic changes I want. If I want you to go under the knife to Dr. Matthews, that is the end of it. One more word, and I will let Ivan take you to your appointment, and pay the bill."

This shut Sara up. Her objection wasn't so much with Dr. Matthews, even though he had intentionally given her a larger breast enhancement than she had agreed upon. Her principal fear was that the plastic surgeon would know she had been passed around like a joint. I had accompanied her and paid for her original breast enhancement. Several months later, Adrian had footed the bill for her huge 'E' cups. Now, just a few months later, if Ivan accompanied her, and paid for her new tits, it would like she was being modified to suit the tastes of three different men, within about a year.

This mortified Sara and she started to sob quietly at her impossible predicament. I removed my softening cock from her well-oiled tits, and went to take a piss. Sara remained on her back, having been conditioned by Adrian, not to move until instructed to do so. When I returned to her, I decided to soften my stance on her upcoming surgery. I told her that I would allow her to select a different plastic surgeon this time, after the stunt that Dr. Matthews pulled.

She knelt before me full of gratitude, as I explained my plan to return her to a full 'C' cup. I was married to this woman for fifteen years, but as I looked down on her, kneeling before me dressed as a schoolgirl, with my semen coating her neck and face, it wasn't love or benevolence that I felt, but contempt.

"Get on all fours, Sara," I ordered her, the control I had over her causing my cock to slowly stiffen.

Once she was in my desired position, I knelt behind her. Her plaid skirt, shortened at my request in order to further sexualize her, barely covered her ass-cheeks. Her plaid panties were the only thing between me and her tight wet pussy, and I ripped them off to make her available to me. I positioned the tip of my cock against the entrance of her vagina, which was slick with her juices. Being used by me had caused her to self-lubricate, and she was ready to be taken. I inserted my cock just inside the entrance of her pussy, and she started to perform her Kegel exercises to entice me to enter her.

I remained motionless as she continued to self-lubricate, and once my cock-head was slick with her vaginal secretions, I withdrew from her pussy and forced my way inside her anus. Fuck, that felt tight! It hadn't been that long since Sara underwent her rectal rejuvenation, and even though I had never butt-fucked her before Adrian stretched out her sphincter, I imagined that my wife probably would have felt like this on our wedding night, had she been inclined to offer me the delights of anal sex.

Of course, she had denied me that privilege on that night, and for the fifteen years that followed. In fact, she ended up keeping her anal cherry intact, until Adrian dressed her up in her bridal ensemble and ass-fucked her over my desk, using her bridal panties as a makeshift gag. It was this image that took me over the edge, and I came deep inside of Sara's recently tightened anus. After I came, I admired her taut little butt-cheeks, returned to her natural flesh tones, after the removal of Adrian's demeaning tattoos, overt symbols of his ownership of my wife, that they were. I was glad to have his markings removed from the triplets, and even though I reserved the right to brand them as my own, my thoughts were of designating Adrian as my bitch, by way of inking him up.

I still have my markings on the back of my neck as a reminder of what I endured. I know I went through hell for six months, but it made me a better person, and more appreciative of the simple things in life.

Occasionally, if I am feeling too entitled or proud of myself, I will look at my tattoos in the mirror. I find myself immediately grounded, the overt symbolism of the "Queen of Spades" tattoo reminding me of my diminished status within the multi-level hierarchy of Adrian's house. I was a black man's toy, I am forced to remind myself. The tattoo of the women's lips with a copious load of semen overflowing them, is a stark reminder of how many guys I ended up blowing, during my time as Adrian's house-boy. I was Adrian's bitch, I am forced to remind myself, as the label he forced me to wear mocks me in the mirror.

The tattoos will remain forever on the back of my neck, as they serve the purpose of grounding me. I achieved considerable financial success living in Southern California, but when I return to the humble roots of my small hometown, I am grounded by the poverty that surrounds me, in the same way that the tattoos bring me back to earth. It serves as a major reality check, something that I need occasionally in my new fantasy life. One day I may take one or more of the triplets to my home town, although they would be totally out of place, amongst the church-centric social calendar, and the myriad of charity shops on Main Street.

What would my childhood friends make of my markings, I occasionally contemplate? The ethnic make-up of my home-town was almost completely white. There was a Chinese family that ran the Dragon Pearl Restaurant, but no black people lived there. How would they take the news that a Black man had physically, mentally and sexually subjugated me for several months, whilst simultaneously owning my wife? What if I passed away unexpectedly, and my parents were called upon to identify my body? How would they react to my symbols of ownership, once the true meanings were explained to them? My mom probably had no idea what the "Queen of Spades" tattoo signified. And why on earth did I have a tattoo of some glossed female lips overflowing with semen, on my neck?

Today, similar to every other day that I took stock of my markings, reminded me that I wasn't ready to go and visit my home-town. I needed to stay safely ensconced in my fantasy life, with almost three million dollars in the bank, and three platinum blondes to take care of my every sexual desire.

For their part, the triplets are set for life. My will divides my estate equally between the three girls in my life, and at my age, I don't envision any of them bailing on me. The four of us get what we need out of the relationship, and none of us have to work, so life is pretty good.

Adrian's company went bankrupt shortly after the US stock market crash. The only bad thing about a Ponzi scheme is that the last guys out, end up getting fucked. Most of Adrian's clients were current or past NFL players. The minimum point of entry into Adrian's fund was two million dollars, although he had let me in with a much smaller investment. Nearly everybody in the fund could stomach a loss if it happened.