It had all started a few weeks earlier at our
favorite restaurant. I returned from the bathroom to find the new waiter bent
over the booth, talking close to Kindra. I interrupted him by sitting down and
he gave me a cold, calculating glance. Then he aimed a seductive smirk at my
girlfriend before walking away. I raised my eyebrows at Kindra.
“I think he thinks you’re my gay best friend,”
she whispered conspiratorially.
That wasn’t an unusual assumption. As a waifish,
androgynous, and a slightly effeminate guy, people seldom assumed my girlfriend
and I were dating before I said so. Perhaps not even after. It didn’t really
bother me. I had dated boys and sometimes I liked to wear skirts. I had no
shame about such things.
Nothing about the rest of the dinner was
unusual. Maybe the waiter gathered from our affectionate manners that we were a
couple after all.
We went back a few days later. We didn’t get
that waiter, but I saw him bussing tables. He kept glancing over. “Someone has
a crush,” I said to Kindra, teasingly.
“Too bad,” she sighed, “He’s kind of cute.”
“Really, you’d go for a guy like that?” I was
surprised. He was so masculine. Broad shoulders, short hair. Young. Maybe 19 to
my 25.
“If we weren’t dating? I probably would have
given him my number, at least.”
“He asked for your number?!”
“You came back before I had to come up with an
excuse.”
Jealousy burned in my chest. There was no need,
I told myself. Kindra had just expressed that she wasn’t interested in him
since we were dating. Rationality didn’t douse the fiery sensation, though.
I went to the bathroom to wash my hands before
eating. I heard the door open behind me and then a voice was speaking, “Hey,
you’re with Kindra, right?”
I hated talking to people in the bathroom, let
alone this jerk.
“Yeah.”
“I figured. I can’t understand it, but I
figured. Are you two monogamous?”
“Afraid so.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“So there’s doubt?”
“…not really.”
“Tell you what, I’ll do you a favor. Let’s make
a bet.”
“Not interested.”
“I’ll try to hit on her.”
“Not much of a bet.”
“You give me thirty seconds. If I can get her to
laugh, you give me an additional minute. If I can get her to let me put my hand
on her shoulder – without pushing it off – you give me two minutes longer. If I
can get her number, well… I’m in. You can’t try to stop me. You have to look
the other way. Let me do what a man can.”
“…still not much of a bet. What’s in it for
me?”
“Now that’s obvious. If she doesn’t give me her
number, you get the satisfaction of knowing she’s true. A rare certainty. My
gift to you.”
Nothing about this seemed like a good idea. It
was rude to Kindra and put me at risk with no real benefit. Yet something about
the jealousy burning in my chest pushed me on. That and a feeling of
schoolyard, boyish pride I would have assumed long dead. I needed to
prove this asshole wrong.
At some point in the conversation, he had
started using the urinal. So when I turned, I unexpectedly saw him on display.
He was standing back from the urinal, farther than usual, as if daring me to
look at his manhood. My eyes darted down of their own accord. His penis was
thick and large, though flaccid, and his stream was strong. An involuntary
shudder of desire ran through me.
“You’re on,” I said, extending my hand.
He finished up and took my hand in his unwashed
one. His grip was firm – but not in that childishly painful vice-grip way I
would have expected. Just a confident, manly handshake. It was strangely
humiliating and thrilling.
“Give me a head start. You can watch from behind
the potted plant without being seen. I wish you luck; you’ll need it.” He left,
without washing.
The was indeed a plant around the corner from
the bathrooms. I acted the voyeur, feeling foolish. He approached our table.
Kindra smiled brightly at him and they began chatting. This didn’t look good.
Then I realized I wasn’t timing them and scrambled to pull out my phone and
activate the stopwatch app.
Ten seconds later she was still maintaining eye
contact. Another fifteen seconds and she was smiling wider. I was about to walk
out and break it up, but just as I took my first step she was laughing. Not
just her polite laugh, either. It was genuine and full.
Fine. I looked down at my phone, noting the
time. What he was saying I couldn’t hear, but she kept laughing. The flames in
my chest were consuming me. Fifty seconds later he nonchalantly slipped his
hand down from the back of the booth to Kindra’s shoulder. It was smooth, I had
to admit. She tensed. Her eyes darted around. Looking for me, probably. But I
was apparently well hidden behind a screen of green leaves. Kindra’s shoulders
relaxed. She left his hand there.
My heart fluttered and I felt a stirring, lower
down. What the hell? I glanced at the stopwatch, nervously.
They kept chatting, smiling, giggling. His hand
squeezed her shoulder. She seemed to like it. Blerg. At the minute and a half
mark he pulled out a pen and leaned in toward her, inquiringly. Fuck!
What the hell had I been thinking?! This was crazy.
She took the pen and grabbed his free hand. The
first intimate gesture she had initiated… Kindra put the pen tip to his palm.
But then doubt crept across her face and she pushed his hand away. Giving the
pen back, she frowned and seemed to be apologizing.
Yes!
Confirming that the time had elapsed, I walked
over and sat down in the booth. I gave this busboy/waiter a smug smile. He
returned it, seemingly unperturbed, and walked off.
“He bothering you?” I asked Kindra, innocently
as I could.
“Nah. He’s sweet, actually. Kinda funny.”
“…if you say so.”
“Oh don’t be like that. Just because someone’s
not an obvious member of the queer, hipster elite you think they’re a Nazi.”
“Do not.”
“You totally do.”
“Fine, I’m sure the busboy is a gentle bunny.”
“Dax.”
“Hmm?”
“His name’s Dax.”
“Okay.”
The rest of the meal went without a hitch. I
felt weird, but Kindra seemed as bright and bubbly as ever. Maybe moreso. I
could see Dax lurking around; I tried to block him out.
Dax must have switched with our waiter because
he brought the bill. I usually paid since Kindra didn’t make very much. But
this time she grabbed up the paper with surprising speed. As she did so, I
could swear I saw a handwritten note at the bottom. She put her arm on the
table to write, blocking my view. I watched Kindra’s face instead. She bit her
lip and frowned before jotting down something extra. Then she quickly held her
credit card and the receipt paper aloft. That bastard came by immediately and
grabbed it. He gazed at the bill, smirked, and looked directly at me before
heading to the cash register. Did he just?
I glanced over, catching Dax on
his phone, typing away. Just then Kindra got a text. Reading the message, she
blushed.
That asshole! He’d
done it.
Kindra texted a little more. I confirmed
with my peripheral vision that there was correlation. Not much room for doubt.
He’d gotten her number. He’d won. I felt humiliation. But
also…arousal?
He came back with her card
and processed receipt. She tried to hide with her arm again, but I still saw
her fill in a substantial tip and draw a quick doodle of a winking kissy face
before turning the paper over. Really?! Right under my nose?
“You ready?” Kindra asked me, standing. My legs
were wobbly and nearly didn’t support me. But I managed. As we left, he waved
and said goodbye in the friendliest, most professional way possible. Yet Kindra
blushed even deeper in response. As I walked by, trailing behind my girlfriend,
he leaned in and whispered to me, “Remember, you have to look the other way. Loser.”
It had all started a few weeks earlier at our
favorite restaurant. I returned from the bathroom to find the new waiter bent
over the booth, talking close to Kindra. I interrupted him by sitting down and
he gave me a cold, calculating glance. Then he aimed a seductive smirk at my
girlfriend before walking away. I raised my eyebrows at Kindra.
“I think he thinks you’re my gay best friend,”
she whispered conspiratorially.
That wasn’t an unusual assumption. As a waifish,
androgynous, and a slightly effeminate guy, people seldom assumed my girlfriend
and I were dating before I said so. Perhaps not even after. It didn’t really
bother me. I had dated boys and sometimes I liked to wear skirts. I had no
shame about such things.
Nothing about the rest of the dinner was
unusual. Maybe the waiter gathered from our affectionate manners that we were a
couple after all.
We went back a few days later. We didn’t get
that waiter, but I saw him bussing tables. He kept glancing over. “Someone has
a crush,” I said to Kindra, teasingly.
“Too bad,” she sighed, “He’s kind of cute.”
“Really, you’d go for a guy like that?” I was
surprised. He was so masculine. Broad shoulders, short hair. Young. Maybe 19 to
my 25.
“If we weren’t dating? I probably would have
given him my number, at least.”
“He asked for your number?!”
“You came back before I had to come up with an
excuse.”
Jealousy burned in my chest. There was no need,
I told myself. Kindra had just expressed that she wasn’t interested in him
since we were dating. Rationality didn’t douse the fiery sensation, though.
I went to the bathroom to wash my hands before
eating. I heard the door open behind me and then a voice was speaking, “Hey,
you’re with Kindra, right?”
I hated talking to people in the bathroom, let
alone this jerk.
“Yeah.”
“I figured. I can’t understand it, but I
figured. Are you two monogamous?”
“Afraid so.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“So there’s doubt?”
“…not really.”
“Tell you what, I’ll do you a favor. Let’s make
a bet.”
“Not interested.”
“I’ll try to hit on her.”
“Not much of a bet.”
“You give me thirty seconds. If I can get her to
laugh, you give me an additional minute. If I can get her to let me put my hand
on her shoulder – without pushing it off – you give me two minutes longer. If I
can get her number, well… I’m in. You can’t try to stop me. You have to look
the other way. Let me do what a man can.”
“…still not much of a bet. What’s in it for
me?”
“Now that’s obvious. If she doesn’t give me her
number, you get the satisfaction of knowing she’s true. A rare certainty. My
gift to you.”
Nothing about this seemed like a good idea. It
was rude to Kindra and put me at risk with no real benefit. Yet something about
the jealousy burning in my chest pushed me on. That and a feeling of
schoolyard, boyish pride I would have assumed long dead. I needed to
prove this asshole wrong.
At some point in the conversation, he had
started using the urinal. So when I turned, I unexpectedly saw him on display.
He was standing back from the urinal, farther than usual, as if daring me to
look at his manhood. My eyes darted down of their own accord. His penis was
thick and large, though flaccid, and his stream was strong. An involuntary
shudder of desire ran through me.
“You’re on,” I said, extending my hand.
He finished up and took my hand in his unwashed
one. His grip was firm – but not in that childishly painful vice-grip way I
would have expected. Just a confident, manly handshake. It was strangely
humiliating and thrilling.
“Give me a head start. You can watch from behind
the potted plant without being seen. I wish you luck; you’ll need it.” He left,
without washing.
The was indeed a plant around the corner from
the bathrooms. I acted the voyeur, feeling foolish. He approached our table.
Kindra smiled brightly at him and they began chatting. This didn’t look good.
Then I realized I wasn’t timing them and scrambled to pull out my phone and
activate the stopwatch app.
Ten seconds later she was still maintaining eye
contact. Another fifteen seconds and she was smiling wider. I was about to walk
out and break it up, but just as I took my first step she was laughing. Not
just her polite laugh, either. It was genuine and full.
Fine. I looked down at my phone, noting the
time. What he was saying I couldn’t hear, but she kept laughing. The flames in
my chest were consuming me. Fifty seconds later he nonchalantly slipped his
hand down from the back of the booth to Kindra’s shoulder. It was smooth, I had
to admit. She tensed. Her eyes darted around. Looking for me, probably. But I
was apparently well hidden behind a screen of green leaves. Kindra’s shoulders
relaxed. She left his hand there.
My heart fluttered and I felt a stirring, lower
down. What the hell? I glanced at the stopwatch, nervously.
They kept chatting, smiling, giggling. His hand
squeezed her shoulder. She seemed to like it. Blerg. At the minute and a half
mark he pulled out a pen and leaned in toward her, inquiringly. Fuck!
What the hell had I been thinking?! This was crazy.
She took the pen and grabbed his free hand. The
first intimate gesture she had initiated… Kindra put the pen tip to his palm.
But then doubt crept across her face and she pushed his hand away. Giving the
pen back, she frowned and seemed to be apologizing.
Yes!
Confirming that the time had elapsed, I walked
over and sat down in the booth. I gave this busboy/waiter a smug smile. He
returned it, seemingly unperturbed, and walked off.
“He bothering you?” I asked Kindra, innocently
as I could.
“Nah. He’s sweet, actually. Kinda funny.”
“…if you say so.”
“Oh don’t be like that. Just because someone’s
not an obvious member of the queer, hipster elite you think they’re a Nazi.”
“Do not.”
“You totally do.”
“Fine, I’m sure the busboy is a gentle bunny.”
“Dax.”
“Hmm?”
“His name’s Dax.”
“Okay.”
The rest of the meal went without a hitch. I
felt weird, but Kindra seemed as bright and bubbly as ever. Maybe moreso. I
could see Dax lurking around; I tried to block him out.
Dax must have switched with our waiter because
he brought the bill. I usually paid since Kindra didn’t make very much. But
this time she grabbed up the paper with surprising speed. As she did so, I
could swear I saw a handwritten note at the bottom. She put her arm on the
table to write, blocking my view. I watched Kindra’s face instead. She bit her
lip and frowned before jotting down something extra. Then she quickly held her
credit card and the receipt paper aloft. That bastard came by immediately and
grabbed it. He gazed at the bill, smirked, and looked directly at me before
heading to the cash register. Did he just?
I glanced over, catching Dax on
his phone, typing away. Just then Kindra got a text. Reading the message, she
blushed.
That asshole! He’d
done it.
Kindra texted a little more. I confirmed
with my peripheral vision that there was correlation. Not much room for doubt.
He’d gotten her number. He’d won. I felt humiliation. But
also…arousal?
He came back with her card
and processed receipt. She tried to hide with her arm again, but I still saw
her fill in a substantial tip and draw a quick doodle of a winking kissy face
before turning the paper over. Really?! Right under my nose?
“You ready?” Kindra asked me, standing. My legs
were wobbly and nearly didn’t support me. But I managed. As we left, he waved
and said goodbye in the friendliest, most professional way possible. Yet Kindra
blushed even deeper in response. As I walked by, trailing behind my girlfriend,
he leaned in and whispered to me, “Remember, you have to look the other way. Loser.”
I burned.
At first you were happy when your girlfriend hit it off so well with your sister. In the past, your sibling had acted strangely toward your girlfriends and scared them off. Your sister made them uncomfortable, they’d say, and then clam up, embarrassed. So you’d warned your GF delicately, but she just seemed intrigued. Whatever the reason, they got along, and by the end of the night your girlfriend and sister had gone off to a different room and talked for hours.
This left you with your weird brother in law, who always tried to talk to you about how hot your sister was. “Admit it, you’d tap that, right?” You could only manage to distract him by talking about your girlfriend. “Would you mind if I borrowed her some time?” Eugh. That guy.
When she started hanging out with the two of them, you were afraid you’d have to be exposed to your brother in law more often, but you never seemed to be invited. Which was fine. But when she needed a new place to live, you really began to worry when she announced she was moving into their spare room. “It’s such a good deal,” she said. Nevermind you’d been hinting she should move in with you.
You started seeing your girlfriend less. She called your concerns “jealous nonsense”. Yet photos of the three of them looking very cozy kept popping up on instagram. That’s when she told you she’d agreed to be their surrogate. You tried to hide your concern and asked when the implantation would be happening. “Oh, we don’t want it to be so clinical. The whole process will be very natural.”
I wanted to be a good wife, so I slipped your wedding ring from your finger while you slept. When he came by, I put the ring on him, making this stranger my husband for the day. I told him he needed to consummate. That he could do whatever he wanted with his new bride. He said he wanted to knock me up and I nearly came right then. I didn’t exactly want to get pregnant… but, well, I did promise him whatever he wanted.
Oh god, he’s defiling me, I thought.
I felt so turned on and so wrong. I tried to close my mouth, to spit it out. I never considered moving out of range. Then I gasped and more came flooding in. Yes! I opened my mouth wider. I needed him to desecrate me.
Piss all over me! Mark me! my mind shouted. I was his. Here, on my knees, naked, in my boyfriend’s apartment, while he was away.
Your wife was disgusted at your inability to protect her.. So she told your bully, “why don’t you fuck me and find out?” to see if you would do anything..
You didn’t react.. And so that night, your bully used your wife like a whore..
Not that he paid her. Far from it. A month later she still looked at you with disgust. She wouldn’t let you near her. That’s when she told you that she was horny and ordered you to text him and ask him to fuck her again. You didn’t know why you did it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself. He said he’d do it… for a price.
“Do it,” your wife said, “pay the man to fuck me.”
“That’s it, kitten. Enjoy hubby’s big cock. That’s it. I love hearing you moan.”
“So good. So deep.”
“That’s right. Hubby is going in deep. He’s going paint your womb with his seed.”
“No! Can’t. Not protected.”
“Oh yes he is, sweetie. He’s going to plant his seed inside your fertile cunt.”
“Oh god! He’s going faster. Can feel him swelling. Need to get off.”
“Oh no you don’t. I am going to hold you here so he can finish off inside of you, my sweet kitten. You’re going to have a beautiful baby bump.”
Your girlfriend had stopped having sex with you shortly after she started hanging out with that married couple down the street. Not that she denied you outright; she was just always with them so late into the night. And she seemed so exhausted. She said they were training for a triathlon, and you believed her, for the most part. But some things didn’t add up. Who trains so late at night all the time? And you never saw them running or biking around the neighborhood. When she declared she was pregnant, the dates really didn’t add up…
“That’s it, Maple, now let’s cleanup the mess you made with my husband’s cock..Good job. Swallow it all.”
—————————————————————————-
Maple’s boyfriend Preston had had to leave the club early due to an early morning shift, but Maple’s boss and her boss’s husband had offered to keep her company a while longer. Preston thanked them and left.
Veronique and Jason danced Maple into exhaustion. None of them drank alcohol, but Maple felt loopy with endorphins. Her boss and Jason had always been a little flirtatious, but now they were both grinding on her and touching her suggestively. Maple hadn’t ever really danced like this before. She looked around; their behavior didn’t seem out of line compared to other folks on the dance floor. It was just harmless fun, she guessed. She felt good, after all. Very good.
They took a break to drink water and sit at a booth. V and Jason sandwiched Maple, one on either side. Her boss laid her head on Maple’s shoulder, and took her hand, amiably. It was nice. Then Jason put his arm over Maple’s shoulder and ruffled Veronique’s hair. Maple leaned into Jason. It was nicer. She felt titillated by the intimacy, but it was comfortable, too.
The trio made it back onto the dance floor, and Maple found herself sandwiched again. Jason would grind on her from behind. Veronique faced her, dancing close, touching her hips or wrapping her arms around Maple’s neck and staring deep into her eyes. Maple was incredibly aroused and she felt ashamed of herself. She was taking things the wrong way. There were several other triplets and quartets around doing the same things. It didn’t mean anything.
As the night wore on, Maple felt herself grow warn and wet between her legs. What would her boss think? What would Preston think?! She was so perverted, she chided herself. Then she noticed many of the other dancers starting to make out with one another on the dance floor. Her lips tingled. She wanted that. One other trio nearby was groping each other more overtly, hands were placed under clothes, a man’s shirt removed entirely, a woman’s cleavage licked and kissed, the shirt pulled down to reveal bare breasts. Oh my! Maybe this style of dancing wasn’t so innocent. What was this club? It was exclusive was all she knew. V and Jason, had gotten them in… Maple was incredibly horny, though, and watched the show, transfixed.
Maple felt her boss lean in closer, and it snapped her out of her fixation. Was her boss about to kiss her? She wanted it, needed it. Her rational concerns were somewhere else, deeply submerged.
Veronique leaned over Maple’s shoulder and kissed Jason. Oh, of course. They made out passionately; Maple could feel their warmth and hear their lips. Her cheeks burned, she felt silly and envious. She started to pull away from the two in shame.
Veronique reached down a hand and restrained her employee. “Don’t worry, my sweet,” she purred into Maple’s ear before licking it lightly and biting the earlobe. Maple was hot and tingly, dazed. Veronique put her hand under the girl’s chin and angled her face up to her own. Maple pursed her lips and leaned into the kiss. Fireworks exploded all over her body. The kiss began gently and then degraded into something feverish, intense.
She became aware of lips kissing down her neck, pulling aside her collar, biting her where her shoulder and neck met. All the while she continued to make out with Veronique. Jason’s hands gripped her waist and then began wandering up her torso. They found her breasts, nipples poking through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, not bound by bra. He teased her sensitive nipples, driving her wild. He ground his crotch into her butt; she could feel his hard bulge. V started brazenly rubbing between Maple’s skinny jeans clad legs with a free hand. Maple was over-stimulated. Between kisses she let out loud moans that no one else could hear, though they might have noticed her O shaped mouth, eyes rolling up beneath fluttering lids, and wanton hip gyrations between a man’s crotch and a woman’s hand.
She was now so far gone that she couldn’t even keep kissing V. “Yes, yes, yes,” she panted. Jason rolled up Maple’s shirt, revealing her breasts. It felt right to her. Veronique slipped her hand into Maple’s pants and massaged the girl’s clitoral hood. It was finally too much. With a shudder and a high-pitched gasp, Maple came. She slumped onto V.
“Good girl, Maple. Good girl. We’re going to have such fun.”
———————————————————————
Maple was coming down from her high, but she still felt so good, so right. She let the couple lead her back to their place.
“Text your boyfriend and tell him you’re tired and are crashing at our place.”
She did so. The sun was just starting to rise when they got there. Right in the doorway the two began taking turns kissing her while the other caressed. Bliss was approaching again fast.
“You’re our little pet now, Maple,” Veronique cooed. “Would you like that, to be ours?”
Maple nodded, numbly. She would do anything to keep being with them, like this. “Yes, please, master.”
Master?! Where the hell had that come from. It just slipped out.
“Mmmm, very good girl. You’ll take to training nicely. First I’m going to teach you how to suck my husband’s cock, okay?”
That’s right, jealous little whore. Play with that cute pussy while my boyfriend fucks my tight hole.
You wish this was you, don’t you? You’d give anything to be in my place. You’re not good enough though, he doesn’t want you, he just keeps you around out of pity. Be grateful we let you watch. Be thankful you can hear my moans as my cunt clenches around his cock, the way yours never will. Pathetic bitch, destined to spend your days looking on and thinking about what you could have had.
You had been so jealous of that cute blonde who was dating your high school best friend and long-time secret crush. She could tell, too, and used to tease you relentlessly. What was such a nice guy doing with someone so cruel? When they broke up and he asked you out, it seemed like a dream come true. But it had all been a lie. The two of them hadn’t broken up. He strung you along long enough until you fell for him absolutely. Then the trap was sprung. They just wanted you as their pathetic cuckold girl. You were incensed but somehow couldn’t bring yourself to leave. You still loved him. And watching him fuck her burned you up but made you unbelievably horny. Maybe the worst part was that all your friends seemed to have known what those two had been doing. They hadn’t said anything to warn you, and now they just laughed at you openly, always asking about how you and your “boyfriend” were. You’re pathetic.
The hot new couple in the apartment down the hall kept inviting your girlfriend to dinner with them. She deferred at first but eventually ran out of excuses and conceded. “I’m sure they meant both of us,” she assured you, but you weren’t so certain. They had pointedly invited only her, right in front of you, repeatedly.
You weren’t too upset since, like you girlfriend, they were both mathematicians. Another night of math talk would drive you mad. You were spared the social awkwardness when you got called in to work that night.
You got home late, but your girlfriend still wasn’t back. You could see light through their peephole, but knocking on the door gave no answer. Pressing your ear to the door, you clearly heard the grunts and moans of exuberant intercourse. “H’okay, don’t want t interrupt that,” you thought, walking away. Your girlfriend must have gone out for something, you reasoned. Strange that she didn’t respond to text, though.
She returned an hour later, waking you up with a kiss. “Sorry, honey, I stayed up late with them, drinking and talking.”
“Is that…all?”
“Yeah, you really dodged a bullet. They would have bored you to tears. But I think we’re gonna be great friends! We have a standard date-uh-dinner night planned each week now. Don’t worry, I said you’d be busy.”
ProblemCollectionLove 