- Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:02 am
#105364
Chris had indeed teased the crap out of Rick. Until one day, just after Rick’s divorce, they had both polished off a bottle of wine mid-afternoon and shortly before I returned home she had pulled him into her and he had squirted his cum into her. Yes, she had made certain that he fully enjoyed the sensation of sliding into her oh, so tight blonde cunt! On that occasion, she had kindled a flame of passion in him that had consumed him. Never the ladies’ man, he had never had the chance to be with a woman like Chris. He had never had a woman like Chris whose perfect body and tight blonde cunt could not only milk out a man’s cum, but bend him to her will. He was smitten, mad with lust.
But, Chris, was never again interested. She left him despairing, broken-hearted. Aside from that one drunken tryst, leaving the trace of sandalwood scent that had later haunted me, Rick and Chris had never been lovers. I could forgive Rick’s moment of weakness because I knew him. And I knew Chris. He was powerless in the face of Chris’ gravitational well of sexuality.
Rick may have thought of getting a hidden cam of her to catch her in the act so as to “blackmail” her into sex as Chris had suggested. I didn’t think so. More likely, it was just as Rick had said to me: however “pathetic,” he just wanted to see Chris and enjoy watching the perfect body that he had had only once. Consumed by passion for his friend’s wife – something so foreign to his nature and against his core values – he had been tormented into silence. This Chris knew and she took advantage of their secret by parading before him with all her slut goddess powers. She had, indeed, announced how he was “not into gingers.” She had indeed let him glimpse her half clothed, asking him how he liked her undergarments as she paraded before him before seeing a lover. “It’s just like a bathing suit,” she had said. She had teased him to madness. That is what she does.
She had indeed, before his eyes, let strangers in a bar hook their fingers into her blonde tight cunt, knowing all the while that he could not report back to me lest his own betrayal be revealed. Chris had set up, with her low cunning, a situation of “mutually assured destruction” and correctly concluded that, in the end, at the time, she would prevail in the exchange and my friendship with Rick would be lost. It was Rick’s commitment to our friendship that tormented him far worse than anything I could ever do and it was that friendship that Chris held hostage against his complicity in her infidelities.
My heart went out to Rick, so hapless, so foolhardy in love, so enmeshed. He was my friend, but he had slipped, and understandably so. At the low point in his life post-divorce a beautiful Siren had bewitched him – as she had me in her time – he had done something that he longed for, but deeply regretted. He was ashamed, but also had the moral fiber to be ashamed. And, poor fellow, he was in love. He was not wrong when he said that Chris left a trail of wreckage behind her. He was part of that wreckage.
He was, I knew, not the first man who has schemed to get the woman of his dreams. It was not Rick or Rick’s connection with Chris that had ended our marriage. It was Chris’ serial infidelities: with her boss, her co-worker, her clients and who knows who else. And, to be fair, it was because I, too, had been blinded to her true nature and ignorant of her history.
Rick had been celibate for a long while and filled his dance card with nice women for whom he had no passion. Following my divorce, he remained hopeless. He was still scorned by Chris who continued her rampant sexual liaisons, while attempting to manipulate me into an ongoing connection to gain my financial support – which she did, for a time. Rick was still burning with an unconsummated passion until that fateful night when he played the hero.
I had wondered about that evening. I had wondered why Rick suggested we leave our dinner early and swing by Chris’ apartment so early when in all likelihood she should have been out for hours longer. Yet we did indeed pass by her apartment. And wasn’t it just too much of a chance that we would see her pull up with Karl in his Corvette and the scene of the near “date rape” unfold literally before our eyes? A situation for which he was prepared by his vocation? A situation that showed him in a new light – that of a hero? A situation where he would be amazing.
A situation which he had staged. I knew that now. I was certain.
But, Chris, was never again interested. She left him despairing, broken-hearted. Aside from that one drunken tryst, leaving the trace of sandalwood scent that had later haunted me, Rick and Chris had never been lovers. I could forgive Rick’s moment of weakness because I knew him. And I knew Chris. He was powerless in the face of Chris’ gravitational well of sexuality.
Rick may have thought of getting a hidden cam of her to catch her in the act so as to “blackmail” her into sex as Chris had suggested. I didn’t think so. More likely, it was just as Rick had said to me: however “pathetic,” he just wanted to see Chris and enjoy watching the perfect body that he had had only once. Consumed by passion for his friend’s wife – something so foreign to his nature and against his core values – he had been tormented into silence. This Chris knew and she took advantage of their secret by parading before him with all her slut goddess powers. She had, indeed, announced how he was “not into gingers.” She had indeed let him glimpse her half clothed, asking him how he liked her undergarments as she paraded before him before seeing a lover. “It’s just like a bathing suit,” she had said. She had teased him to madness. That is what she does.
She had indeed, before his eyes, let strangers in a bar hook their fingers into her blonde tight cunt, knowing all the while that he could not report back to me lest his own betrayal be revealed. Chris had set up, with her low cunning, a situation of “mutually assured destruction” and correctly concluded that, in the end, at the time, she would prevail in the exchange and my friendship with Rick would be lost. It was Rick’s commitment to our friendship that tormented him far worse than anything I could ever do and it was that friendship that Chris held hostage against his complicity in her infidelities.
My heart went out to Rick, so hapless, so foolhardy in love, so enmeshed. He was my friend, but he had slipped, and understandably so. At the low point in his life post-divorce a beautiful Siren had bewitched him – as she had me in her time – he had done something that he longed for, but deeply regretted. He was ashamed, but also had the moral fiber to be ashamed. And, poor fellow, he was in love. He was not wrong when he said that Chris left a trail of wreckage behind her. He was part of that wreckage.
He was, I knew, not the first man who has schemed to get the woman of his dreams. It was not Rick or Rick’s connection with Chris that had ended our marriage. It was Chris’ serial infidelities: with her boss, her co-worker, her clients and who knows who else. And, to be fair, it was because I, too, had been blinded to her true nature and ignorant of her history.
Rick had been celibate for a long while and filled his dance card with nice women for whom he had no passion. Following my divorce, he remained hopeless. He was still scorned by Chris who continued her rampant sexual liaisons, while attempting to manipulate me into an ongoing connection to gain my financial support – which she did, for a time. Rick was still burning with an unconsummated passion until that fateful night when he played the hero.
I had wondered about that evening. I had wondered why Rick suggested we leave our dinner early and swing by Chris’ apartment so early when in all likelihood she should have been out for hours longer. Yet we did indeed pass by her apartment. And wasn’t it just too much of a chance that we would see her pull up with Karl in his Corvette and the scene of the near “date rape” unfold literally before our eyes? A situation for which he was prepared by his vocation? A situation that showed him in a new light – that of a hero? A situation where he would be amazing.
A situation which he had staged. I knew that now. I was certain.