The first forty-eight hours after Marcy’s fight with Sara, I was Sara’s toy at the beach house. Her dominant beatdown of Marcy set Sara on fire. She had my cock in her hand, her mouth, her pussy, or her ass, until my balls were as dry and empty as a lunar landscape. And then she grabbed my ears and made me tongue-fuck her. But for Sara it was about the conquest, not the prize. After the weekend, she was gone. When I got home from the beach house, Marcy was gone.
Marcy didn’t come home for a week. She didn’t physically heal for a month. Marcy finally had sex with me about six weeks after Sara. I was gentle, at first, but Marcy didn’t want gentle. She slapped me and fucked me like a tasmanian devil, and cried afterwards.
I don’t know, maybe things could have been different.
First, Marcy had fought a woman she knew I had fucked, with me watching, and she’d lost in brutal, humiliating fashion.
Second, she knew that I’d then fucked that woman again as her prize for winning. Only the fact that Marcy had agreed to that in advance saved me, but the knowledge humiliated her even deeper. I fairly wisely didn’t tell her exactly how many times and how many different ways that winning prize was taken.
Third, I was still fucking Dana about once a month. I just couldn’t quit her.
Fourth, I told Dana about Marcy’s fight with Sara. Every detail of it, in fact, while I was fucking her. When Marcy was forced to quit, Dana came, hard, her pussy like a vise on my cock.
Fifth, and this was the killer, Dana decided to call Marcy, and tell her we’d been fucking behind her back for years. I came home that day to a hurricane of fury.
Pain, humiliation, and betrayal are a bitter cocktail. You might think two women who had taken brutal beatings would shy away from another catfight. You're wrong, my friend. The desire for redemption is a powerful thing. So are jealousy and lust and hate. They all added up to a long-burning fuse, to a big fucking powder keg in the beach house. Marcy and Dana.
After tearing up blood-stained carpet twice, I just didn’t replace it. The sunken pit living room in the beach house was all hardwood now. Unyielding oak. I sat in a chair drawn up to the edge, naked. They’d both insisted on having my balls and cock on display.
They were both naked too. Marcy’s left nipple was thickened with scar tissue from her fight with Sara. Because I knew where to look, I could pick out the line on Dana’s neck where Holly had choked her out with her bikini top.
“You’ve been fucking my husband for years,” Marcy’s voice was flat. “Pretending to be my friend.”
“Save it,” Dana said. “You knew it, deep down. And I wasn’t the only one fucking Nick, I know.”
That was news. Dana and Holly had fought over Nick, Dana’s on-and-off lover and long-time member of our friend group. Marcy and Nick? The tension between the two women was not just over me?
“Hold on,” I said.
“Shut up, Ron,” they said in unison.
Dana ran her hands over her breasts. Dana was a dark-haired slender beauty, but her boobs were her best assets, big solid 34Ds. “Remember when I busted Holly’s tits with my tits?” She was looking at Marcy’s 34Cs, but I didn’t know if she was talking to me or to Marcy. “Looks like your little girls got beat pretty bad too, Marce.”
“I remember when Holly choked you out, bitch,” Marcy spat back. “While Nick came on your half-dead face and fat fucking tits.”
“At least I didn’t quit!” Dana snapped. “I didn’t beg her to suck his cock because I couldn’t take any more!” Marcy flinched like Dana had slapped her.
Only the sound of their heavy breathing hung in the air. I just held my breath.
At last Marcy spoke. “I won’t quit tonight. Not even after you do.”
They started toward each other.
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