Shame the Devil

He gulped and stuttered.

"I c-c-can't. You, you, your ass. It's not clean anymore."

"Of course it is. It's no different than before except for your deposit."

"That's what I mean."

"Don't worry about it. The thought of your long tongue lapping up your hot come from my ass is getting me so excited that it won't take long."

I was only half-lying. It was true that I was getting aroused again, despite the throbbing pain. But I planned to make him tongue my slimy asshole as long as possible.

He didn't reply.

"Do you want to do this the hard way again?"

After waiting a while, I warned him that I was going to start pulling the strings.

When his tongue first touched me, I flinched involuntarily. I think my body thought he was attacking it again. But soon it felt soothing, and the vibrator I pushed into my pussy got me excited again.

He retched and gagged and stopped and started. His revulsion fueled my excitement. The pain inside me was still strong, and his hands pulling my ass open seemed like sandpaper scraping across my bruised butt. Despite this, I could feel myself approaching a climax.

I tried to relax by thinking of what he had just done to me and how I wanted to prolong his debasement. It didn't work. All too soon, I was overwhelmed by pleasure while crying from pain as I spasmed. I had never come like that before, and I don't recommend it to anyone.

I squeezed his tongue during my orgasm, and when I let it go, he pulled out quickly. As soon as I dropped the strings and released his arms from the spreader bar, he jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I heard him retching his guts out, first in the toilet and then in the sink. He gulped water, gargled and spit it out over and over.

I lay flat on the bed for a couple of minutes and then turned onto my side facing the bathroom. When he yanked the door open, he was out of the bedroom so fast that I didn't see his face. I heard the door of the guest room slam. I was drained, and I pulled the covers over myself and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

************

He avoided me and slept in the guest room for more than two weeks. I didn't care because every pain I suffered as I moved my body reminded me how much I still hated him. I thought up terrible ways to get revenge.

With time, my hatred diminished. I understood that the bet was my fault, and I was the one who insisted on paying off my loss when he would have let me off the hook.

That didn't excuse what he did to me, but as my body healed, love slowly returned. It tempered my plans for revenge. I discarded ideas like torturing his body parts or humiliating him in front of our friends and family.

I even euphemized the word "revenge" into "getting even." I had forced him to tongue my ass twice, once when it was full of his come. That was bad, but the physical and mental torture he had inflicted on me was much worse. Getting even was just squaring the books. I didn't share these thoughts with him.

To rekindle our relationship, I apologized. I don't think he caught on that I was only half-sincere because I exaggerated my feelings of guilt.

"All right, I admit it," I said. "I did a terrible thing to you. It was evil. And I won't deny that I enjoyed it."

I started to add that what he did to me was a hundred times worse, but I held back.

"Anyway, I'm really sorry, and I'm trying to make it up to you. Have you noticed?"

"Yes."

"Do you forgive me?"

"Do you realize you are completely nuts."

"I know. It's all on me. I pushed the bet and the payment. You're completely innocent."

Like hell he was! He enjoyed smashing my ass to smithereens in his hate-fuck. I waited to hear his feeble apology, and then he shocked me again because it never came. He never made even a half-assed attempt at one.

I was speechless. Obviously, he didn't think he had done anything wrong. How had I misjudged him for so long? He was a psychopath. What he had done to me meant nothing to him. Some day, he would murder me and our children and not give it a second thought. I needed to get as far from him as I could.

These thoughts ran through my mind. I remember them clearly. Yet, emotionally, I wasn't afraid of him in the least.

His lack of contrition made me more determined to get even. But first I needed the appearance of reconciliation.

"So can we finally get past this?" I asked.

He thought a while.

"I guess so."

"In that case..."

I pushed him back on the couch, unzipped his pants and started to give him one of my special birthday/anniversary blowjobs. It took about a minute, because he was so surprised that he was out of control. After he recovered, he took my hand and led me up the stairs, where we made up for lost time.

******************

The story should end here, because we picked up from where we had left off before this brief, bizarre chapter in our marriage.

We made love, took care of each other, had children, raised them in a loving home and had a great marriage, which continues to this day.

So what about getting even?

Although I thought of Brandon as a monster for a while because of his brutality as he ripped apart my ass, I couldn't hold onto that idea for long. I don't know what came over him that night, but nothing like it ever happened again. He's never raised a hand to me or the children.

The only real monster I know is the one I discovered inside of me when I was getting off on degrading him. She's the one who made me think of getting even.

I looked at it as balancing the score on a scale. The left side would look like the right side. It would be like the scores were facing each other on each side of a mirror. Instead of a consequence, revenge would be a reflection.

A mirror reflects the exact opposite of what's in front of it, and I worked on making my revenge scenario as close as I could to the opposite of what he did to me. As before, I rehearsed and polished it.

The biggest problem was the trigger. Since Brandon never uttered his catch-phrase again, I had to trap him rather than trick him.

It didn't take me long to think up the trap. While making love, I began working on his ass with a finger. First, I gently stroked it. Then, I rubbed it harder. He seemed to like it.

The next step was to stick a finger into some lube and insert the tip. He enjoyed that, too. As I progressed to pushing the finger deeper and then working it slowly in and out, he got excited. I discovered that if I heard his special sound that told me he was almost there, I could insert my finger quickly, and he would come fast and hard.

I added narration to go with the finger business. One night I told him that his reaction to my finger made me think of the time he fucked my ass with his tongue. Did he ever wonder how it would feel if I did that to him?

He said he never did, and I stopped there. But I brought up the ideas whenever I could so he would make the connection. If my finger in his ass felt good, wouldn't my tongue in there feel even better?

I threw everything I could think of into the mix, even the "getting even" idea. I had forced him to do it to me, so doing it to him would make us even. He didn't respond, but I remained focused. I was sure that persistence would prevail.

One night, the monster inside me must have fallen asleep. As I was starting to talk to Brandon about how great my tongue would feel in his ass, I suddenly heard myself and stopped. I jumped out of bed so fast it startled him.

I ran down the stairs to the kitchen and held onto the sink as I shivered in the dark. My heart felt like it was freezing and icicles were spreading from it all over my body. In a few minutes, I was going to be white and brittle. I would shatter into a thousand shards, melt on the floor and evaporate into nothing.

I felt Brandon's big, warm hands on me.

"You're cold! Are you sick?"

"Hold me!" I managed to gasp. He put his arms around me and enveloped me in his warmth. I began weeping.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied.

He knew something was wrong, but he could never have imagined the depths of depravity that his beloved Kayla had sunk to, and I was never going to tell him.

*********

That should have killed the monster inside me, but like a zombie, she got up and came after me again a few months later. She didn't stop until I found a way to satisfy her.

This is how it plays out:

I use all my female wiles to attune Brandon to the delights of "rimming." That's the least offensive thing it's called on the Internet. I explain that it can't be exactly the same as when he tongued my ass while I used the vibrator on my clitoris. So I've worked out something equivalent.

I tell him I'll give him one of my amazing handjobs with one hand while with the other I'll play with his balls. He goes wild when I do that. At the same time, my tongue will play tag with his prostate.

If talking like this while we're making love doesn't do the job, I know where to go for help. Hundreds, maybe thousands of girls, are glad to lick assholes in front of a camera for the right price, and they're easy to find online.

I search for videos of women asslickers who look a lot like me and send the links to Brandon. I also send him girls who look a lot better than me. Best of all are those who look like they hate every second, gagging and pulling away with horrible expressions on their faces before they force themselves to finish. There's even a horrible video of a girl throwing up after a few seconds of licking a guy's hairy asshole. Maybe Brandon would like that one, but I won't show it to him because he might react the same way I did, and it would ruin my plan.

As before, I'm patient. I listen closely to his reactions for anything that remotely sounds like willingness. I don't care if it's barely acknowledged or ambivalent or reluctant. As long as I can interpret it my way, it will be enough. He may not even realize he's agreed since I won't bring it up again until my preparations are complete.

On the big day, I have him lie naked on his back. I tell him he's going to lift his legs back, spread them and hold them with his hands around his knees while I kneel between them and do my thing.

While I'm explaining, I'm taking off my negligee so it doesn't get in the way. I also do other things. He doesn't realize until it's too late that I've fastened his wrists to strong straps tied to the bedposts.

He begins protesting, but I explain that it's just like before. I need to be in control and work up to eating his ass out without interference. I tell him I'm afraid he might lose control and pull my head or grab my hair like the brutes he's seen in the videos. He swallows my lie.

I show him the straps are slack and once he lifts his legs up, his hands can easily reach his knees to hold them. He just can't move his hands as far down as my head will be.

He stops complaining as I slowly push his legs back. He grabs them, and I go down on his asshole.

Though I've spent countless hours watching rimming videos to get over my aversion, the next part will still be horrible. No matter how much I watch, I always feel sick as the girls stick their tongues into those dark, usually hairy, openings.

Brandon is prepped and clean, and all I smell is aftershave fumes coming from his ass, but that doesn't help much. I gag and gasp and try to keep from throwing up.

"This isn't working well," I tell him. "I have to reach above my head to grab your cock and balls while I'm tonguing you. It will be easier from behind. Roll over and get on your knees."

When he rolls over, it twists the straps holding his arms above him, but they're loose, so this just tightens them a little.

In the new position, I have no trouble tonguing his ass and reaching between his legs at the same time. I dip my hands into the jar of lube I put on the night stand and rub some over his cock to make it nice and slippery.

I push my tongue in and out of his asshole at the same pace as I pump his cock and stroke his balls. He starts to make familiar sounds, and I slow down. I speed up and slow down several times to tease him. When I hear that he's desperate for release, I make him come like an earthquake.

Once he does, he slumps forward in exhaustion like he always does. He's lifeless for a couple of minutes, like he always is.

In spite of my need to throw up, I hold it together long enough to quickly pull his right leg closer to the edge of the bed, where I've hidden the leg cuff attached to the bed frame. I wrap it around his thigh and fasten it tight with the Velcro. I pull his left leg toward the other side and repeat the process. After that I run to the bathroom, throw up, rinse my mouth out and wash my face.

I return to the bedroom and wait until he realizes what I've done. Will he demand I free him? Will he ask me what's going on?

Whatever he says, I know it's going to get me as excited as last time, so I savor the moment and don't answer right away. The degradation and humiliation I felt while I tongued his ass is forgotten. Love juices start pouring from my pussy.

I explain that today is going to be the mirror image of what we did before. Doing his ass with my tongue was just the first part.

The reason I restrained his legs is that now we're going to mirror the other two parts -- when he came in my ass and then tongued me to orgasm a second time. I have no cock or come to put into his ass. That's why I've hired a stud to fuck him and fill him with come before I rim him again.

When I tell him this, I'm sitting in a chair that I've placed by the side of the bed so I can get a good look at his face. His shocked expression gives me my first orgasm of the day, and it's huge.

My cruel joke ends quickly as I break into rehearsed laughter and reassure him that no one else is going to touch him.

He watches as I waltz over to my dresser, open a drawer, pull out a few panties and throw them in the air. Then I reach for my special purchase and thrust it toward him with a flourish. It's a strap-on harness with a cock almost the same size as his. Maybe a little wider and just a little longer.

"After all, you're a lot bigger than me, so your asshole must be bigger, too."

That was something I meant to research. Does a person's body size have any connection with the size of the asshole? I never got around to it.

I show him the other end of the dildo, behind the harness.

"It fits into my pussy. When I push into you, it pushes my clitoris. See these two buttons on the harness? One turns on a powerful vibrator on my end. You'll probably feel it a little, too. The second button is a surprise."

I begin to push lube into him with one finger, reminding him that it's the same thing he did to me. When it seems like no more will go in, I connect the strap-on and work it slowly into him.

I narrate what I'm doing, so that he understands that everything I'm doing is a mirror of what he did. It's hard for me to control the excitement in my voice.

At last, I've got it all the way in. I slowly pull it back out and then push it in again. He shifts and squirms trying to deal with it. Like me, he doesn't succeed. Involuntary sounds start coming from his mouth, low grunting sounds. Then I surprise him with something new.

Some months ago, we watched a television series that featured pigs in a prominent role. The villains tossed the people they killed into a large pigpen, and the pigs destroyed the evidence. Evidently pigs eat anything.

Many scenes showed huge hogs wallowing in mud and filth and making loud grunting sounds. The first time I heard them, I felt a twinge in my ass, and a shortness of breath. The pig grunts reminded me too much of the sounds I had made as Brandon was working his cock into my ass.

Sometimes when the pigs were fed, they began squealing in delight. They moved around the pen but could only take a few steps before sliding down into thick, dark slop. Their sounds were now at a much higher pitch.

I thought about the high-pitched sounds I made while Brandon was pounding me. They weren't the same as the pig squeals, but sort of reminiscent.

I didn't erase the TV series after we watched it, and I played certain scenes a dozen times when Brandon wasn't home. I practiced mimicking.

When I fill him with my fake cock and he begins making guttural sounds, I make the pig sounds in unison. As he shifts and grunts trying to cope with the thing in his ass, he hears me mocking him. After a while, I stop and speak to him.

"Now we're at the point where I let go of the strings. I don't know if you remember what you did then, but I'll try my best to duplicate it."

I gradually increase my speed, and soon I'm slamming into his ass as hard as I can. I'm not as powerful as he is, so I can't assault his butt as violently as he did mine, but I try my best.

As I bump him, the vibrator rubs my clitoris. I press the button to turn it on.

He begins making high-pitched noises. That cues me to start matching each shriek with the pig squeals I've been practicing.

I try to pound him as long as he pounded me. I want to devastate his intestines and bruise his butt so he walks funny for a month and all his friends ask him what's wrong. Let him try to come up with answers like I had to!

My only problem is I can't fuck his ass in cold blood like he did mine. When I start bumping the buzzing vibrator into me, it's hard to focus on anything but my pleasure. Once he starts squealing, it's not long before I explode like dynamite. It's over much too soon. As the orgasm takes me, I press the second button.

"Did you feel that? This thing just flooded your intestines with your jizz. I've been collecting and saving it up for weeks."

I collapse on top of him like he did to me. I relish my orgasm as long as I can. When the afterglow dissipates, I carefully pull the dildo out of him and tell him what happens next.

"I'm going to eat out your ass again just like you did mine, and I'll give you another hand job at the same time. Do you think you can come again?"

I wait. I'm in no hurry to start.

Finally, he replies, "No."

"You're wrong, Brandon. That's what I thought, too. You're in a lot of pain and probably overwhelmed by anger and humiliation. That's how I felt. But your tongue made me come again, and I know I can do the same to you."

Brandon's a considerate lover, so when I give him a blowjob for a special celebration, he always lets me know when he's close and I finish him with my hands. To prepare for this day, I've tasted and smelled his come, hoping to make it easier.

Despite my best efforts, I still gag and feel like vomiting as the white slime goes into my nose and mouth. Brandon doesn't respond at first, maybe on purpose, but I know how to play him, and it doesn't take too long to make him come despite his pain. Then I run to the bathroom and barf.

That's it. The second scenario, the mirror revenge. You can connect me to a lie detector, read the details back to me and ask me if I'm telling the truth. I will say yes, and the needle will show I'm not lying.

It's totally real to me, yet it never happened. And I don't feel one shred of guilt about coming each time I imagine it -- because of Mark Twain!

I remembered something I heard my mother say when I was a kid: "We all have thoughts that would shame the devil." How wise she was! Mark Twain must have been thinking of me when he wrote that. I consider it his stamp of approval.

My monster is almost dead, but she's still gasping.

One night Brandon and I were in bed and he was eating me out. He knows how to drive me wild, and I was about to yell that I needed his cock immediately. But my fantasy occurred to me, and I didn't say a word.

Instead, I gently pushed his head away from my pussy, turned over and got on my knees. Over the years, we have tried every position at least once. We don't do doggy often because I love to watch Brandon's excitement when he makes love to me. It's not fair when he can watch his cock going in and out of my pussy while I'm stuck looking at sheets and pillows.