Starstruck Pt. 04

Author's note:

You know the drill by now. Plenty of bodily fluids and cuckolding in this one, so don't read if you are easily grossed out.

I got the "shared sickness" idea from "Humiliation Punishment Pt. 03" by Slaveboy82. It's a good story and you should check it out.

After Mari and I had that special night together, when she had come home drunk, hitched up her skirt and fulfilled all my wildest and most depraved dreams, our relationship was much improved. Her attitude towards me, which at the start of the tour had been mercurial and cold, now transformed into something resembling the halcyon days of our early friendship. It seemed her use of me as a "stress reliever" was doing wonders for her everyday mood. The consummation of our relationship into something more tangibly physical, though not intimate in the way of a traditional coupling, hauled us out of whatever transitory slump we had been in and set our feelings for each other back into blossom.

A physical relationship didn't mean an exclusive one. In fact, our unique understanding was really predicated on Mari's extraneous liaisons. She would socialise, network, live the high life of the world's major cities -- and enjoy the perks that came with being a beautiful young woman in such an environment. That is to say, despite her already-obscene wealth, built on the back of her music career, attractive men would fall over themselves to wine, dine. spoil her and generally ensure she didn't pay for a single thing.

That was her role. My role was to be her "personal manager" -- i.e. to deal with the unglamorous side of her itinerant living. I ran errands, picked up tour clothes, dressed her for her nightly excursions and generally made myself useful for any chore she could think of.

And my reward for all that? To be her attendant at the night's end, when whichever young buck had had his way with her, and she needed a loving, trusted presence to get her water, stroke her hair, massage her, and offer a capable tongue.

It became a particular delight of hers to make me lick her clean after another man had fucked her. "Make" is probably too strong a word -- from my perspective the right verb would be "allow", since it is something that I privately craved as least as much as she. But it became a ritual. Wherever he came -- and she almost never used condoms -- I would soothe with my tongue. Most often it was her swollen, slick pussy. But when he came in her mouth, she would make sure to kiss me long and deep, and have me literally lick her mouth clean. I would run my tongue over her teeth, suck her tongue, explore every nook and cranny of the prize behind those full brown lips I desired so much. I think that was probably my favourite. Mari didn't ordinarily allow me to kiss her -- and why would she? After all, I wasn't her boyfriend. Kisses were reserved for boyfriends and lovers only. Unless, of course, we were sharing some of our special time together, after she came home, when the normal rules seemed to be suspended and she would let me explore her defiled, exalted body. So I never knew her lips ordinarily -- fresh with a mint at midday -- for me only were reserved the wet, used lips, tasting of alcohol and semen, her breath heady with the scent of masculine, alien sweat and musk.

I don't mean by that to devalue my most common task, which was to kiss and lick her on quite another set of lips. Then, the raw taste of them combined, the mixture that had mingled and stewed inside her while she sat in the back of a taxi, idly fingering the front of her panties -- that taste was simply divine. But I adapted well to that role. That was my place, kneeling in front of her, and servicing her secret temple. It felt right. But kissing her on the mouth -- it never quite lost its forbidden thrill.

***

So went our lives for the next couple of months. We settled into a nice routine. There was, however, an interruption.

Towards the end of the tour, Mari fell ill. It wasn't serious -- just a mild flu -- but it was enough to stop her singing. Reluctantly, and at my urging, she cancelled a few of the dates and decided to rest up.

"Ugh, this sucks," she said, her head poking out of the bedcovers. I could see her face was puffy and her nose had a rosy hue caused by blowing it so often. The bed was surrounded with used tissues, which I walked around picking up and putting in the bin.

"Why is it just me who's ill?" She complained in a nasal, bunged-up voice. "I'm here suffering and you're just walking around fine."

I smiled. "I guess I'm built different," I joked back.

"I'm so cooooold, I feel so uncomfortable" she moaned.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my hand to her forehead. It was burning hot.

"You don't feel cold to me," I said, "It must be a fever. You should keep wrapped up until it breaks."

"Oh, won't someone come and warm me up?" She said, and shot me a devilish smile.

Sighing theatrically, I lifted up the covers to come in.

"Ah-ah-ah! Wait!" She said, and I froze, wondering what I had done wrong.

"You can't come into bed like that," she continued. "I don't trust you. You men are all the same. I think... you should warm me up, but with your arms and legs restrained. Then I can be certain you won't try anything."

I felt a hot flush of my own rise to my face. Another one of Mari's little games. I felt myself getting excited at the thought of her tying me up.

She clapped her hands together as another idea struck her. "Even better!" She exclaimed. "If you're restrained, I don't need to worry about you touching me up with your perverted hands or trying anything sexual. So that means I can safely have your clothes off, too. It'll help me warm up faster if I can get close to your skin."

Now my penis was rock-hard. I found the idea thrilling but terrifying. It might seem strange that the suggestion scared me, given how much intimate time we had spent together, but although being naked in her presence was by now second nature to me, she virtually never touched me in that state. All of our games and "special" evenings focused on her pleasure exclusively. I would please her with my hands, or tongue, or I would be a piece of furniture for her -- but the focus was on her comfort, not mine. She had never touched my penis before. And I never came in front of her -- only afterwards, in private, would I relieve the aching erections she gave me. So I was worried for two reasons -- what if my penis displeased her, and what if I found the sensation too erotic, and came accidentally?

Of course, I knew by now I didn't have a choice in these matters. What Mari wanted, Mari got. And so, ten minutes later, I found myself naked on the bed, my hands and feet tied to all four bedposts. And Mari, looking simply irresistible in her silk pyjamas despite her illness, snuggled up with me.

I should say more accurately -- "on" me. Mari made the most of the warmth of my body. She lay on top of me, with the thick duvet on top of her -- and I felt so hot I thought I would faint. Mari felt no such discomfort, and settled for lying on her belly, pressing herself into my nude, bound body.

My erection was at the point of throbbing desperately and twitching, as if it wanted to get even harder but was denied only by the laws of physics. It nestled itself in the crevice between Mari's thighs as she lay on me face down, separated from her pussy and buttocks by only a thin layer of silky fabric. To further increase my torment, every time she shifted even a little, her thighs would rub together and against my penis.

Elsewhere, she strove to entwine herself with me as much as possible. I felt her clammy toes wriggling into my calf. Her hands went under my armpits and looped to my shoulders like a backpack (frontpack?). She nestled her face into my neck, and I was excruciatingly aware that my nose was pushing right into her hair. I tried not to make it obvious that I was smelling it. After the amount of time I had spent with my nose pushed into her pussy, it shouldn't have been awkward... and yet smelling her hair still felt taboo, a violation. Perhaps it was another intimate act I had mentally reserved for boyfriends.

She had a runny nose and was sniffing constantly. A few times I felt her wipe her nose on my bare shoulder, leaving a crusty trail on my skin. I didn't mind, of course.

Despite my raging erection and the ropes holding my arms and legs apart, the warm air, feeling of soft pyjamas against my skin, and the rise and fall of Mari's chest had me feeling quite sleepy. I began to slowly drift off, embalmed in the scent of her shampoo, until a sharp tone from her woke me with a start.

"Open your mouth," she said in that commanding tone I knew so well -- this time tempered with the buzz of her blocked nose.

I obeyed without question as she raised herself up a little. She propped herself up with an elbow on my chest, and the force of it digging into my pecs made me wince. We paused like that for a few seconds and I grew a little confused. What did she want? Should I close my mouth, or...?

All of a sudden her face screwed up and she inhaled sharply.

"Ah-choo!" She sneezed all over my face. I felt a hail of droplets cover me, and go into my mouth. They tasted slightly metallic. She followed it up with another two sneezes in quick succession -- but I didn't even think of closing my lips, just made sure I did what she commanded as she expelled her germs all over my face.

Once the sneezing fit stopped, her face returned to its familiar smirk. "Now you'll be sick too, at least," she said triumphantly and reburied her face in my neck with a loud sniff.

I was torn between disgust and arousal. As always when it came to Mari, arousal quickly won out. The fact that she had done something so offputting and unhygienic actually turned me on even more. She really could do whatever she wanted to me, no matter how repulsive, and she knew I would get off on it. That confidence and effortless dominance held me totally in thrall. What was it she had said before, the night she put out her cigarette on my tongue? "You worship whatever I put in your mouth, as long as it comes from me." That I certainly did.

How aroused I had felt just minutes ago, when I thought my cock would burst, now seemed like nothing in comparison to this moment. My hardness strained against her covered pussy and I bucked slightly against her and my restraints.

Instantly she ground her elbow into my chest again and gave me a hard slap across the face. "None of that!" she said sternly, and settled back down.

I felt myself whimper involuntarily. This was torturous. I was bound to the bed while a gorgeous goddess writhed on top of me, and even if I managed to withstand that and doze off, it seemed she would wake me up to abuse me in some way and get me hot and bothered again. What's more, any movement towards getting myself relief would be met with a slap. What a predicament I found myself in.

Minutes passed. They felt like hours to me. I was hyper-responsive to any shift in position she made. The soles of her feet sliding against my shins and down to my restraints. The hot, raggedly breaths and sniffs she made right next to my ear. Those small wiggles of her perfect pubic mound against the base of my cock.

"Mouth again," I heard, and instinctively opened up just in time for her to cough directly into it. She didn't hold back; I felt the blast of hot, stale breath and droplets of saliva on my tongue as she did it. What's more, before sinking back down she spat a long line of drool directly into my mouth.

"I don't think you've done enough to get sick yet," she said, "clean my mouth out like you know I like."

Immediately I leant in and set my tongue to work licking every corner of her lips and tongue, like I did on our "special" nights. But this time was somehow even more filthy. The thought that she was actually deliberately giving me a disease was hot beyond words. I made sure to do my job well, even licking between her teeth to make sure there was nothing stuck there.

Suddenly she pulled away. "Ugh," she said, a note of real frustration creeping in her voice. "I can hardly breathe through my nose. I have to keep stopping my fun with you. For fuck's sake!"

She reared up a little more and pulled a tissue from her sleeve. She gave her nose a good hard blow and I heard the snot clear a little.

"I'm going to get some sleep," she said, "chew on this and think about how lucky you are while I do."

And with nothing further, she popped the used tissue in my mouth and settled back down on me.

This really broke new heights for disgusting behaviour. The thought of ingesting her mucus was absolutely revolting, and I think on any other day I might have rejected it. This time, though? She had worked me up to a frenzy. I went against all my normal behaviour, all my self-respect, and chewed and swallowed her tissue.

The sheer degradation of it was too much for me. My body gave a response without even consulting my brain. My penis began twitching, and with horror I realised I was about to ejaculate, right between Mari's upper thighs.

I stiffened and froze as it happened, the half-eaten tissue muffling a small moan escaping from my lips. An overwhelming throbbing, verging on pain, centred itself on the head of my cock. I felt a warm spurt, and then a hot flood, all over my cock and dripping down to my balls. The most intense pleasure in the world coursed up and down my abdomen, and I tried to contain my shaking. I could already feel that it had gone all over Mari's pyjamas, and probably soaked through to her skin, such was the volume of cum.

Mari gave no sign that she had noticed. I was paralysed with fear as the orgasm subsided, but she didn't move an inch. Her breath just kept rising and falling as before.

I swallowed thickly, the tissue clinging to my cheeks and drying against my lips. I licked them, at least wanting to complete the task she had set me before she noticed and got angry with me.

The anger, however, never came. She simply nuzzled into me and said, in a dozy voice -- "you can make it up to me later."

***

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Mari rested in bed, sweaty, clammy, and runny-nosed -- but looking to me like the most beautiful sight in the world. Already on the second day after the evening she had tied me to the bed, I started to feel the flu coming on for me too. Pathetically, at my first sneeze, I found myself getting aroused once again at the thought that I was sharing something intimate with Mari -- even if that thing was a virus. Somehow it made me feel closer to her to know that an illness that had invaded and incubated in her body was now spreading from her into me. If that sounds strange and slightly sick to read on the page, I can assure you it seemed so to me too -- or at least to the withered, vestigial part of my brain that could still imagine a life outside the all-encompassing hegemony of Queen Mari.

It also hadn't escaped the notice of that sadly pensioned part of my mind that I was getting aroused far more easily than I used to. My frequency of erections under Mari's reign far exceeded that of my previous life as an autonomous citizen. Everything about her turned me on; the smell of her breath in the morning, the damp warmth she left behind on the bedsheets, the sound of her bare feet as they stuck and unstuck from the bathroom tiles. Her imperfections even more so; armpit stubble, dirt under a fingernail, heat spots on her hand. I was in something beyond love with her -- more like a kind of religious obsession.

Perhaps that explained my elevated eagerness to accept her sickness, her mucus, her coughs and sneezes into my mouth. I was at the point where virtually nothing about Mari was disgusting to me. The things that would have repulsed another person became just another conduit for my all-consuming lust for her.

She made sure to keep up her coughing and spitting on me, "just in case I wasn't sick yet". But I assuredly was. And as she began to recover, I hit my nadir.

I felt simply terrible -- my throat was sore and scratchy, my muscles ached and I had chills. But I didn't want to stop serving Mari. In fact, pushing myself through an illness to prove my devotion to her gave me a perverse please.

She forced me to relax in the end.

"You're no use to me if you collapse and die," she said with sunny radiance. "Who would organise my life if you were dead?"

While I languished in Mari's bed (she had kindly allowed me to rest there) she crept around and put some clothes and makeup on. I was astonished.

"Surely you still aren't well enough to go out?" I croaked.

"I'm feeling much better!" she stage-whispered in the gloom of the dimly-lit room. "I feel so cooped up, I need to get out. And besides," - here her voice adopted a slightly whining tone -- "I feel kind of dissatisfied... It's no fun to be locked away in the house like a nun... You know I get antsy if I don't have anyone to fuck me once in a while."

I could fuck you, I thought plaintively, but instead I simply agreed that she deserved the best, and urged her not to party too hard while she was still recovering. The fact that despite everything we had shared, she still didn't even consider me a fuck of last resort - that bruised my ego in the most delicious way possible.

"And besides," she continued, "I need to get you some cough medicine from the 24-hour shop. That's my excuse!" She winked and blew me a kiss.

***

I dozed while Mari was out. I felt feverish and delirious. A number of times I imagined, or perhaps dreamed, her return.

Firstly, my dream-Mari came back in a flood of morning sunlight. She wore a long, flowing dress. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of me and she rushed to my bedside, whispering sweet, comforting words in my ear and stroking my sweat-slicked hair with a concerned hand.

"I love you," she whispered, "I'm sorry I treat you so badly. I want you to be mine."

Dream-Mari dissolved into a haze and was replaced by a desperate need for water on my parched throat.

I drank a pint of water in one go and shivered my way back into another dream.

This time, Mari returned totally naked. I kept trying to touch her, but she slapped my hands away and looked at me with disdain.

"You don't deserve me," sneered the second dream-Mari. "You could never hope to get a girl like me through normal means. Imagine you being my boyfriend? Pah! You're a nerd, a skinny little nerd, and boys like you don't get girls like me."

Even in the dream my cock strained even as the tears pooled in my eyes. It was true. I didn't deserve her.

"Forever and always, you will be beneath me. You are nothing compared to me, you are nothing without me. You will never get your dream of a loving wife from me. I will abuse you forever, and you will like it, because you're not even human! You're nothing!"

I nodded and my tears floated away from my face, floated away through the air like dandelion seeds. I knelt and pressed my face to the swirling carpet; the walls stretched out above my head to infinity and the naked, cruel Mari grew with them, growing taller and taller, looming over me,, staring me down with her grotesque sneer...

I woke again in a cold sweat. This time there was a better reason to be awake. The door handle clanked and a rush of cool air swept into the room.

The real Mari walked in, tottering a little, unsteady on her feet but not blind drunk like usual, and she headed straight for the bathroom to get a glass of water without even a greeting. Perhaps she thought I was still asleep. Oh, how self-obsessed I was, to dream she would come in and immediately focus all her love or cruelty on me! And yet somehow, this was the worst of all. Whether love or degradation, I craved her attention, her approval. And so I lay in bed, in my delirium, silently pining for her.