The Mending of Broken Hearts


Still, Peter loved to suckle. He took one of the nipples into his mouth and sucked on it gently, dragging his teeth over the hardened nub until Hayden's back was arched in pleasure and little moans were escaping her lips.

"Yes!" the woman breathed as he switched nipples. His tongue lapped at the next one for long moments before his lips closed over it. "Please . . . oh god . . . "

Peter tore his mouth away and planted it firmly on her lips again even as his hand tugged her shirt further upward. It was clear what he wanted and they broke the kiss long enough for her to finish stripping the shirt up and off her head. Then, his lips found hers once more.

And that was when he felt her hand slipping down his body. It had one destination and one destination only, and when it arrived the delicate fingers wrapped easily and knowingly around his cock, and she growled.

"For me?" she asked rhetorically.

Her hand latched onto his shaft and began to caress it length with gentle strokes. "So big," she whispered with a grin. "It's such a nice cock." Peter could only grunt as she pumped him with her hand. "You like it, Peter?"

He merely grunted.

Hayden purred sensually and said, "You want to put it in my mouth?"

Peter grunted again, harder and louder this time. "Yes!" he exclaimed breathlessly. It was not often Hayden spoke of blowjobs and even rarely that she actually accomplished the feat, and any opportunity was one to jump on.

"Give it to me, then," she whispered, alluring eyes like daggers.

"With pleasure," Peter growled, and repositioned himself with his knees astride her face and his cock hovering inches away from her mouth. "Take it, slut."

The buxom blonde moaned as the bulging head of his cock slipped past her lips. She was very talented and knew just what to do with her tongue, which was rare in those women who disliked to give head. Peter knew exactly why Hayden disliked it: not for the actual act itself, but because it was an act of subservience and Hayden was a woman in charge, always.

Her eyes were on his as she worshipped his cock, nearly blazing a hole through his head with those beautiful baby blues. There were no words spoken; he did not want to break her momentum and ruin this rare treat.

The bobbing motion of her head and the sucking force of her lips soon became more intense, and the pace quickened and her hands got involved. One hand tickled his balls and the other gripped and pumped at his shaft as she gobbled him, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could.

But there were other things Peter wanted and as wonderful as it was to watch his cock jutting from Hayden's mouth, it was equally wonderful when her luscious fake tits were wrapped around it. He pulled out and pivoted down to her obvious surprise, and slapped his shaft right down into the valley between her breasts, and she grinned.

"Dirty boy," she cooed as she palmed the outer sides of her breasts with both hands and squished them together, trapping his column in a tight corridor of flesh. "Fuck my tits, dirty boy!"

Peter growled as he began to move, sliding his cock through and between the sunken valley of her cleavage, and nearly popped his load at the feel of the friction. It felt like her breasts were trying to squeeze the sperm out of him.

Hayden was a big talker during sex and it was only a matter of time usually before the whore within her emerged, and having her tits fucked had done the trick this time.

"You like my tits, baby?" she hissed with almost a snarl. "Do you? Fuck my tits! Fuck my tits hard! Harder, you pussy! Harder!"

Peter roared a mad rage of desire and churned his hips faster than ever before, leaving nothing back, so fierce he wondered fleetingly if she would be bruised once it was over. Of course, he did not really care at the moment; he was set to explode, and massively.

"Cum on me!" she whispered fiercely, and her smoldering blue eyes sent him over the edge.

"OH FUCK!" he growled as he hunched forward and contorted, and then erupted like a volcano lain dormant for hundreds of years. Three ropes of thick white fluid spurted from the tip of his penis and struck the base of her throat, stringing together like a lovely pearl necklace and oozing down the sides towards the mattress.

"Nice," the young woman said with a grin.

Peter collapsed onto his back next to her. "Wow," was all he could manage.

Hayden sighed and rolled to one side, and reached for a box of tissues strategically placed on the nightstand. She rolled back, and as one hand cleaned up the jizz coating her neck, the other snaked down and took hold of his deflated shaft.

"Don't think you're getting off that easy," she told him. "You've got more work to do, buster."

Peter groaned. It would take a lot to get him hard again quickly after an orgasm like that.

"How do I want it?" Hayden mused playfully as she stroked his cock. "From behind? On top? Flat on my back with my legs in the air? So many choices, it's hard to decide." Then she giggled, a decidedly un-Hayden-like sound. "There is one thing we could do. We haven't done it in a while, but I know how much you like it, dirty boy."

Peter was instantly alert, hoping against hope. "What's that?" he asked.

"My ass," the gorgeous blonde said with a smirk. "Oh my, that might be just the right thing for me right now. Ok, baby, you can fuck my ass. A little ass-fucking sounds like just the thing."

Hayden rolled over again and wiggled out of her remaining clothes, and rose to her hands and knees. "Will you fuck my little ass, dirty boy?" she inquired sweetly.

And Peter noticed suddenly that he was already rock hard once again. He practically vaulted to her knees and positing himself behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her baby blue eyes wide with apprehension and glazed with arousal.

"Your ass is mine, bitch," Peter spat. It was something Andrea had never let him do and he was always eager for the opportunity with Hayden.

"Take it, then, you fucking pussy!" she hissed back.

Peter grunted as he pushed the mushroom head of his cock into the puckered pink anus of the buxom blonde beneath him. Hayden tensed, then sighed leisurely as the crown popped past her sphincter and the shaft slid into her rectum, tickling the depths of her bowels.

"Oh my god," she whimpered in a low voice, "that feels so fucking GOOD!"

And so Peter withdrew and began the process of fucking her ass, pushing in and pulling out of her backside again and again, squinting as the heat and compression worked incredible wonders on her weary cock. Even having come only minutes before, another blast was impending.

"Oh fuck," Hayden breathed as his force of motion increased. "You're in my fucking ass!"

"Right where you want me, slut," he snarled.

"Dirty fucking pervert!" she shouted back. "Now fill me up, bitch!"

Holding onto her hips with both hands, Peter began to hump and fuck the sweet ass of Hayden Cross as hard and as forcefully as he possibly could, punishing her asshole with every last ounce of his strength, her rectum clutching at his shaft like an oven-hot vice, and the woman unleashed a thunderous scream as her entire body began to quiver and quake.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Hayden screamed as her eyes fluttered shut from pleasure and pain and her body rocked wildly about.

Peter had not noticed at first, but one of the woman's hands was busy strumming away between her legs; it was clear she was hurtling towards an orgasm of epic proportions. He, too, was not long from climax, and what few strokes he had left within him, he made them count.

And then he was finished, knowing there was no time left, and he buried his bone deep inside her butt one final time, and in the darkness and heat of her bowels he exploded once more, filling her rear recesses with his creamy seed.

She squealed and quaked violently, and it pleased him to know she was coming, too, and both of them grunted harshly, gutturally as glob after juicy glob of sperm was deposited straight from his testicles to her anus.

They screamed and rocked together for several long moments, and when all was said and done the two collapsed next to each other in a heap on the bed, panting heavily, eyes closed, reveling in the glorious afterglow of their adulterous coupling.

* * *

In the end, it came down to simple logistics and unfortunate circumstance: Peter and Hayden, who by random chance had identical black iPhones, switched those phones by accident when they left the hotel. Both phones were equipped with voice activation and both Hayden and Peter employed Bluetooth technology, which meant that neither Hayden nor Peter would pay much attention to the actual screens of the phones themselves.

Peter called Andrea not long after the illicit rendezvous in Las Vegas ended, but it was nearing five o'clock and Andrea was coaching soccer practice, and so missed the call. Peter left her a message, not knowing her caller identification would log a missed call from Hayden.

Shortly thereafter, just before she boarded her own separate plane in Las Vegas en route to Los Angeles, Hayden dialed Mike; he was also coaching a soccer practice at the time and did not answer. Hayden left a message, not knowing his phone would log a missed call from Peter.

When Mike checked his phone after practice, he noticed the missed call from Peter, but was surprised to discover a voicemail from Hayden, instead. He assumed there had been a glitch in his phone and did not think of the matter again.

That is, until Hayden called again some thirty minutes later. This time Mike was available and did pick up, thinking Peter was the caller due again to the caller identification, and the confusion experienced by himself and Hayden paved the way for further discussion later that night, which led in the end to discovery (inevitable, some would say) of the affair.

To say that night was one of the worst in Mike Gregory's life is a bit of an understatement: his experiences with loss and heartache and betrayal had been, thankfully, limited up to that point. It was difficult for him to comprehend what had happened and realization came painfully slow. It was not until another unfortunate event occurred that the hard truth of the matter crystallized in his mind, and he realized his relationships with Hayden and Peter were over.

Hayden was out of the room when the call came into her phone (which was Peter's phone) from the caller identification of her own phone (which was in Peter's possession). Having put two and two together at this point, but not yet having made the final devastating connections, Mike answered without speaking and waited for the caller to speak.

At which point Peter whispered into the phone, "You have my phone. We have to switch back."

And so Mike, who was a stand-up guy and always believed the best of people, did what any man of similar qualities would do when confronted with others at their worst, and shocked near to stupor by it: he set the phone down without speaking and rose to his feet, and walked out to the balcony of his condo, which overlooked the calm blue waters of the Pacific ocean (lit by the light of the crescent moon). He would stand there, thinking and trying not to think by turns, until Hayden returned to the room and noticed the phone on the bed, and after a quick look at the screen realized what had happened.

Events snowballed from there.

Andrea and Peter shared a similarly wrenching experience, also originating with a phone call, although this phone call was not mistakenly answered. Peter received the call from Hayden, who informed him of Mike's knowledge of the affair and its likely consequences.

In an attempt to save some face and salvage his relationship, Peter confessed. He begged and pleaded for forgiveness; Andrea, though shocked and devastated, was kind and compassionate, and therefore had great difficulty handling the rage suddenly welling within her. Peter knew this, of course, and played to it, and in the end she told him (before he left, for she would at the very least not have him stay the night) that she had to think about things and left it at that.

It might have been possible, knowing Andrea and her forgiving nature, for Peter to have gotten back into her good graces had he not omitted, which she realized later was deliberate, the name of the woman with whom he had had the affair. In her daze directly after the confession, she had not asked and he had not ventured the information, which was a significant oversight since she would quite obviously find out.

When Andrea learned Hayden was the other woman, as well as the length and depth of the affair and several of the methods of deception employed, she realized there would be no returning to the way things were.

Her relationship was over.

* * *

Neither Mike nor Andrea handled the next few weeks particularly well: both shut themselves off from their friends and family, and each other, and threw themselves into work and coaching. There seemed to be little time to sit still and think about anything, which was likely the plan: no thinking meant no reflecting, which in turn meant no sadness.

And several weeks passed as autumn came to its close.

Part Two: Letting Loose

"I don't care what you say. You're coming."

Andrea Tinsley sat on the black leather couch in the middle of her sister's apartment and sighed deeply. She did not want to have to get ready, she did not want to have to primp herself, she did not want to have to go to a party and socialize with people she hardly knew at all: she just did not want to have to deal. On top of all that, her costume made her feel very much under-dressed and uncomfortable.

"I'm not," Andrea insisted stubbornly with her arms crossed.

It was six o'clock in the evening on Saturday, October 29, which meant it was only a few hours before the city of Los Angeles exploded with a swarm of decadent Halloween parties. The day itself (October 31, when all the little kids would go out trick-or-treating) was the coming Monday, which limited the potential for parties on that actual night, and so everyone looking to have a good Halloween time was hitting the streets the Saturday before.

Except Andrea, who did not want to go.

Not that her feelings were stopping her sister from pestering her. "Yes, you are," said sister threatened with a determined look in her eye. "I need my big sis there to protect me. If something happens and you're not there, you're responsible for it. In fact, if you don't go, I'll fuck the first three guys I see at the party, hot or not, hitched or not. I swear!"

Andrea sighed again.

Audrey Tinsley was two years younger than Andrea, two inches taller, twice as confident, twice as naughty and almost as uninhibited as they come. They looked very nearly like twins, but where Andrea's blonde hair was a golden strawberry hue, Audrey's was platinum, and where the eyes of the older sister were sea-green slashed with yellow (a very intriguing color, or so it was often said), the eyes of the younger were deepest blue. Audrey was tall and beautiful with long athletic legs and large breasts that fit perfectly her willowy five-foot-eleven-inch frame.

And she was not afraid to show herself off: she had been working for several months (much to Andrea's dismay) at the Red Velvet Gentleman's Club as a weekend night-shift stripper. The interesting and exasperating thing, however, was that Audrey did not do it for the money, she did it because she loved the thrill of dancing for strange men; she already had a well-paying day-job as a fashion consultant.

Andrea did not really think her sister would have sex with three random guys just to spite her for not going to the party, but there was enough daring audacity in the girl to plant just the littlest seed of doubt. It was clear by her tone and the stance of her posture and the look in her eye that Audrey was not going to accept Andrea not going.

"Fine," Andrea agreed finally in a pouty little voice.

Audrey harrumphed. "Thank god," she stated flatly with much enthusiasm. Her voice had that relieved-but-pissed-it-took-so-long kind of ring to it. Then she grinned and added in her usual sweetly girlish way, "It'll be so much fun!"

Andrea arched an eyebrow. "I doubt it," she said, "and I'm not wearing that ridiculous outfit."

Andrea did not know when Halloween parties transitioned from fun-loving costume parties to approved (and even encouraged) contests of displayed scandalousness, but she was not the biggest fan of the whole thing. Of course, her sister loved it, and the costumes she secured for them both to wear were very much of the risqué variety: Audrey was going to dress as a slutty referee and Andrea was going to dress as a slutty football player.

While the actual costumes themselves did not sound slutty, Audrey had gone to great lengths to ensure they would be. Her ref costume consisted of a zebra-striped bikini top that left little to the imagination, tiny black mini-shorts that barely covered her butt with a little yellow flag sticking out of one of her back pockets, knee-high socks and black sneakers, a black baseball cap, eye-black in two thick lines beneath her eyes and a whistle nestled in the valley of her cleavage. If referees looked like that, football teams would not need cheerleaders.

And the costume she put together for Andrea was almost worse: similar black sneakers, the same knee-high socks, tight black spandex that ran from her mid-thigh to just above her ass, an insanely short-cropped athletic shirt (it ended just barely below her breasts) so tight across her chest it forced her not to wear a bra (which was probably Audrey's intention) and football shoulder pads that covered very little but looked authentic.

They were excellent outfits assuming you wanted to be the center of attention. They would also go a long way ensuring the two girls were hit on constantly all night long, which was exactly what Andrea did not want at the present time.

Audrey fixed her bright blue eyes on her sister again. "You have nothing else to wear," she said simply. "You have to wear the outfit I've chosen for you. Besides, it matches mine. We'll be cute together."

Andrea groaned. "Audrey, I can't show my face wearing this!"

Audrey grinned and Andrea knew instantly she was toast. She had seen that wicked I've-got-you grin many times before. "Which is why I've bought you a surprise," she declared as she pulled a white full-size football helmet out of a bag on the chair by the door. It had one of those black-tinted face guards, which meant it would be impossible to see the face of the one beneath.

Andrea studied the helmet for a long moment before she finally let loose with a smile. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" she asked.

"Every single little thing," her sister replied with a laugh. "Well, except the man, of course."

Andrea waved her hands in front of her. "No way, Aud," she stated emphatically, "no men. I'm only the wingman tonight, okay? None of that matchmaker baloney."

It was Audrey's turn to sigh. "Alright, fine," she pouted, "but just promise me you'll try to have fun and go with the flow, okay?"

"Fine," Andrea replied, and gathered her things to get into her costume.

The party was in full swing when they arrived and bigger than Andrea had imagined it would be. It was an affluent area of town on a long cul-de-sac street named Wilder Place, where all the houses were huge and lovely and traditional in look. The street was lined with cars and the driveway of the house one lot down from the southwest corner was crawling with people, so Andrea and Audrey, who knew the street but not the address, had no trouble discerning where the party actually was.

There must have been more than one hundred people at the party, but the house easily accommodated: two stories with a long driveway, spacious interiors and a big backyard meant lots of room for people to roam about. There was a table of shot glasses (red and orange jello shots) right inside the front door as they walked through and Andrea downed one of them quickly; it would require significant courage for her to walk around dressed as she was, even with the opaque helmet.

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