Wrong From Right

I know I'm wrong for this. Dead wrong. I know there isn't any mitigating circumstance or proper context that would make what I'm about to do right. I know and I don't care. This isn't me, I'm not this kind of person, but I'm not a saint either; you can only push me so far before I reach my breaking point. My rationale, as thin as it might be, is that Alessandra hurt me. She hurt me, so I want to hurt her in exchange. And I know an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, but like I said before: I don't care. And that's why I'm in an upstairs bedroom with the lights off and the floor thumping to the bass of the party down below. It's also why I'm on my knees and not alone.

But just to be completely clear: Alessandra made a mistake and that's the only reason I'm in this position. I'm not some kind of manipulative evil mastermind; I just saw an opportunity and moved to capitalize on it. Maybe I'll look back on this with shame and regret one day. Maybe I'll be the better person one day.

Today, however, is not that day.

-

She showed up to the party, sans boyfriend, with a few of her friends and already a little bit tipsy from pre-drinking. Alessandra naturally made quite the entrance, shrieking as she ran into other friends, snapping selfies and keeping a tall drink in her hand at all times. I noticed her walk in and ignored her, no reason to cause a scene, right? So she managed to get the first shot in with a snide remark about my weight when she saw me bent over getting a drink. And of course her bitches' coven tittered right along with her while I burned with embarrassment.

I hadn't always hated her, but I'd never actually liked her either. Our relations had started off distantly cordial and had gone downhill like a Jamaican bobsled team, mostly due to her max diva personality not being able to stand the sight of someone... perfectly average...? I didn't understand it. It would have at least made sense if I was some kind of threat to her social position but we moved in wholly different circles; she was the queen bee on campus, the biggest fish in a small pond, whereas I was just a struggling student; juggling full-time classes with part-time work and (almost) no-time for myself.

Still, I knew there was a non-zero chance of seeing Alessandra at the party, but until she actually mentioned my ass I hadn't given any thought to what I might say to her. Instead I stood there and burned with helpless fury; unable to come up with a suitable comeback and unwilling to start a brawl. My face was hot, the back of my teeth hurt and my stomach was churning. It wasn't a very good feeling.

With my buzz thoroughly ruined, I stormed out of the kitchen and sat on the stairs, scrunched up and alone; stewing in my juices for the better part of an hour. It must've shown on my face, because no guys approached me in that whole time - which is probably some kind of record - and even my friends mostly steered clear. As the minutes ticked by though, I slowly regained my composure and stood, stretching a bit before heading back to the kitchen where the coolers were. As I rounded the corner, I saw an intriguing spectacle unfolding before me: a very drunk Alessandra arguing with her positively sober boyfriend, Donnie, about her recent alcohol intake. Donnie was trying to be calm and reasonable, but Alessandra was more interested in breaking noise ordinances with her voice and informing Donnie he was not, in fact, her father.

The show didn't last too long. Donnie realized Alessandra wasn't interested in his concern and Alessandra was quickly pulled away by her gaggle of harpies. As the two partied company, I saw an opportunity and took it, smoothly approaching from side and offering him a (non-alcoholic) drink, "Bad night out, huh?"

He ignored the drink, pursing his lips and shaking his head in reply. I raised the cup a little higher, "It's just a Coke, straight. Don't worry; I know you probably drove here."

Donnie eyed the drink suspiciously before taking it gently and taking a gulp, "Thanks, uh..."

I saw my chance and poured on the charm with a smile, "Jessica, but I prefer Jess. I take a few classes with Alessandra."

One of his eyebrows lifted and he went to take another gulp as he asked, "So you're friends?"

"We talk sometimes," I answered, giving a small shrug. Telling the truth is always the best way to lie.

Donnie took the cup to his lips and drank, non-verbal acknowledgement. I smiled more broadly and let nature take its course from there.

-

Alessandra's boyfriend isn't a horrible guy by any stretch, but he's not especially my type either. And I am definitely not his. The guys I'm into like girls with a little extra meat - and I'm not talking about weight - while Donnie said, somewhat obliquely, he likes his girls extra-girly, hence Alessandra. That's fine with me, everyone is allowed their preferences, but I'm not the type to chase the unobtainable. I actually feel sort of bad for him: he isn't the kind of guy to normally do this sort of thing and I'm pretty sure he's going to regret it. But right now, it doesn't matter one bit. He's just a means to an end.

-

We probably talked for a good two hours, but it honestly didn't take too much convincing to get him upstairs into the darkened bedroom. Most of the time prior I was just in the holding pattern, occasionally running upstairs to use the bathroom and check that things were going to plan, while breaking things up dancing and other flirtatious behavior to put Donnie in the right frame of mind. By time all the pieces were in place, Donnie was practically eating out of my palm and so I leaned in close on the dance floor, whispered in his ear and led him up stairs.

And so here we are: me on my knees, him swaying unsteadily with his pants around his ankles. There isn't much to make out much in the darkness, but his manhood is in my hands, thick and warm. I lean forward and lick along the top, sliding my wet tongue all the way back to his stomach while wrapping three fingers around his limp shaft. Listening for his change in breathing and squeezing my fingers tighter, I lick his belly button. But then something really important pops into mind, "Make sure you say something before you cum."

The only sound is a disinterested grunt, so I repeat myself, "For real. Don't cum without telling me."

"Alright," his voice is a whisper, but I hear the excitement behind it and decide to spare him any real teasing. Leaning down and taking his dick between my lips, I enclose his rock-hard length with my wet and willing mouth. At first I focus on the glans - dragging my lips back and forth and bringing a pleased grunt of out him - but after a few seconds his entire flaccid length slides into my mouth. I reach around his waist and cup his butt; kneading his skin while my tongue does all the work. It's nothing to deepthroat a semi-limp dick, but feeling a cock grow inside your mouth?

That's a whole different ballgame.

And Donnie agrees with me, "Oh, yeah, that's good. Hold it right there," as I moan around him, steadily working his dick with my tongue while my lips are pressed up against his stomach and ball sack. He lets out a pent-up sigh and I feel him twitch in the back of my throat. It almost makes me gag, but I relax my muscles and let him get a little harder in my mouth, his cock forced to an unnatural downward curve by the shape of my throat. Still, I keep my mouth pressed up against him, pulling him deeper with my hands as I feel inch after inch slide down past my tongue. A thick slime is falling from my lips, rolling down my chin and wetting his balls. I look up into his eyes - barely visible in the darkness - and press my lips against his skin harder. With every heartbeat, my throat feels fuller, his cock growing bigger in pulses, the constricted muscles of my oral fuckhole massaging his shaft. It isn't long before I take my last gulp of air, his thickness filling my mouth with each passing second.

With my eyes watering, I keep a firm hold of his ass, as much to prevent myself from pulling away as it is for stability, holding my head in place. Tears are running down my cheeks and my vision is blurring, but I want to see this through, to prove to myself I can handle it. Donnie, for his part, does well not to grab my hair or push my head, either of which would give a serious risk of causing me to gag uncontrollably. Instead he goes from holding his hands at his sides, balling his fists spasmodically, to placing them on my shoulders, allowing me to do my thing with minimal interference and the occasional sigh, grunt, moan or word of encouragement. I'm thankful for that and reward him by slathering my tongue all over his goop-coated balls, working them over enthusiastically even as I feel myself running out of air.

Fortunately, he's stopped growing, a full erection crammed awkwardly halfway down my throat tight - like a flower snaking its roots through cracks in the concrete. As my vision tunnels from the lack of oxygen I deliberately let my control of my gag reflex slip, my throat muscles clenching around him severely. As I expected, Donnie gives a stunted cry through gritted teeth and I steadily back off him, letting go of his ass, posting my hands to the floor to keep myself upright. It feels like I swallowed a longsword by time his erection pops from between my lips, bounding upwards and sending a thread of thick throatslime flying onto my face as it goes.

As his member evacuates my throat, I cough a few times, one hand cupped near my mouth, the other reaching out to stroke Donnie's dripping wet dick while I get myself under control. While my strokes are firm but gentle, the coughing is definitely not, briefly rising to a crescendo before I finally hack up enough liquid to satisfy my body's demand for a clear airway. Then I pant loudly, gulping down air as my head clears, "...sorry about that. You're pretty fucking big, you know?"

That's actually a lie; Donnie is around average. But I figure it can't hurt to flatter a guy once you're on your knees for him.

He nods, "It's cool... I didn't think you'd do that. I didn't think you could do that," a note of amazement in his voice.

"There are a lot of things you don't know I can do," I respond, trying to keep my voice husky rather than hoarse.

He puts his hand on the back of my head - not pulling me forward, just holding it - and asks, "Yeah? Like what?"

I smile and put a leg up, getting on one knee and letting my skirt ride higher along my thighs as I stroke his glistening dick. Even in the dim lighting, the wetness reflected off his dick, accentuating the size and curve of his dick. It is a huge turn-on, especially when taken along with my persistent light-headedness and the raw feeling in my throat from deepthroating. All that leads to quite the situation in my panties and I go to solve it by moving my free hand from the floor and under my skirt, yanking the soft material to the side and pulling my own stiff meat free.

She springs up happily, tenting the hemline of my skirt as she pokes out from underneath. I quickly enclose my hand around her, grabbing the base tight enough to expand her head and cause her sisters to tighten up in anticipation. My heartbeat pulses through her and I slowly crank downward while looking at Donnie's wet package. She appreciates the view: the sight of a heavy, glistening dick is just as exciting to her as it is to me. I lick my lips and lean forward to satisfy my desire to be orally tested.

Unfortunately, not all things mean the same to all people. Donnie catches a glance of what I am doing and pulls back, hand on my shoulder holding me only a few inches away from sucking his juicy prick, "Hey, uh-uh-uhhh... Jennifer?"

"Jessica," I say, correcting him as gently as possible.

"Right, Jess... uh, I'm not really into that whole dickgirl thing... y'know?"

Oh right, I'd forgotten, Donnie likes 'em real girly and hold the extra meat. Slightly disappointed, I slip her back up under my skirt and tuck her into my waistband to keep her nice and discreet. She protests mightily, creating a wet spot by spitting precum on my skirt, but there is no way Donnie can see that. I ignore her neediness and insistence and get back to Donnie.

To distract myself, I lean forward and run my tongue along his skin, from the bottom of his balls, stopping to swirl it around the hyper-sensitive base of his cock before running up and down, getting up to the crown and then going back down to his balls again, repeating the act over and over. He twitches under my tongue. Donnie starts breathing heavy and I take his balls in my hand, gently juggling them as I trail my tongue up his length one last time and start making out with his cock.

"Ho-hoooo-oooh shit, OK Jenn, I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum!"

My lips tighten around the head of his dick, smearing my tongue all over as I acknowledge him, "Mmmm-hmmm!"

His hands grip my shoulders like they are hanging from a rock-face five hundred feet above the ground, but I ignore the pain and give one last bob of the head, slurping half his length and stroking him into my mouth with both hands. Predictably enough, he cums as my lips back off his length. His hot, bitter load coats my tongue and flies to the back of my throat. I gag and sputter it back up, just in time for another shot to hit the back of my throat and induce an even more powerful sputter, one that causes cum to shoot out of one of my nostrils.

That's a bit more than I'm prepared to handle and provides the perfect segue for the next part of my plan: getting up off my knees and running into the bathroom. I clamp my mouth shut, riding out the coughing fit without spitting, then turning on the water and gently splashing my face. I look horrible: red-faced, mascara running down my cheeks, bloodshot eyes.

After a few minutes, I return to the darkened bedroom, looking around for any sign of Donnie. But there's nothing, not even a pair of indents in the carpet to mark where he stood. Poor guy: he's probably wracked with guilt right now, regretting cheating on his girlfriend, no matter how bitchy, with some chick he just met; an unfortunate bystander in my war against Alessandra. It briefly tugs at my conscience, but I've already crossed the salty and bitter Rubicon, it's too late to turn back.

I walk over to the bed, standing by the side for a few seconds before I take the lumpy sheets and blanket in my hand the throw them back. Underneath is Alessandra, deep in stupor's sleep on her back, with one strap of her top fallen down to her elbow, her face on its side. I knew she wouldn't stay upright with all the booze she was sucking down earlier and it was only a matter of waiting for her concerned friends to stash her somewhere to sleep it off before I would have an opportunity to humiliate her.

I watch her silently for a few minutes; her boyfriend's cum becoming clammy and cool in my mouth. Already tomorrow's guilt is gestating for what I'm about to do.

But that doesn't stop me.

I lean over her and open my mouth, letting his cum fall from my lips and onto her face. It lands with a gentle splatter on her cheek and rolls down her jaw, making a small puddle on her neck before running down and onto the bed. I keep watching her for a bit then hike up my skirt and untuck my girlcock from my waistband. She's still eager as a beaver and I stroke her, deliberately, sneering at the bitch under me, watching her boyfriend's load drying in the dim ambient light, music thumping under my feet. I bite my lip and jack her faster while fantasizing about hateful things I could do to Alessandra. It doesn't take long before my dick expands in my hand, my own fat load pumping up from my balls, and I spray my kids all over her chest, taking care to hit her half-exposed tit before letting the rest stain her top.

"Bitch," my voice is loud enough to be heard and Alessandra murmurs and stirs, her head flopping over to the other side. Surprisingly, it doesn't startle me in the slightest and I take my time, shaking the last drops from my cock and getting my skirt back into place before I turn around and walk out of the room.

I'm not even through the door before shame comes flooding into my hardened heart, making my stomach churn for a second time tonight. I feel remorse, contrition and self-reproach all at once and it nearly overwhelms me as I close the door. But I straighten myself up, take a deep breath and walk down the stairs.

There will be plenty of time tomorrow for becoming a better person.