by Hazel Parker
And what was more, I would not only try them on in front of my gentlemen callers, but I would ask them to come up with some comment upon whatever I happened to put on. Generally, I could see it in their eyes- the fact that they seriously had no opinion on the matter, and that whatever happened to pass from their lips had just been yanked from their ass in order to satisfy me.
I knew this full and well, of course, but that didn't at all stop me from asking a series of ridiculous follow up questions. Like, I would ask them to elaborate on what they'd said or what they'd meant by it, and they would have to further articulate an opinion which they didn't genuinely even harbor to begin with. And what I'm sure got their goat the most was the fact that, once they'd come up with that elaborate dissertation on their own fabricated opinions, it was anyone's guess as to how the hell I would respond to it.
If it was a negative opinion, which it rarely ever was, I would get into a huff until they ended up having to pacify me by pouring on compliments. Or, conversely, if what they said was encouraging, there was still very little likelihood whatsoever of me taking their advice. Instead putting the item back on the shelf as though I had never actually had any intention of purchasing it to begin with. I mean, I didn't intentionally get under guys' craws like this, it was just sort of something I had a habit of doing.
And at any rate, if they proved themselves able to put up with this sort of bullshit, I considered it a promising sign that they were precisely the sort of boyfriend material I was looking for in a prospective mate. I'm sure they wouldn't have minded so much if it had been lingerie shopping we were doing instead of gawking around the store for dresses and things like that. The fact that they were willing to indulge me in this way spoke volumes to the degree to which they would bend in order to be with me.
And so, accordingly, I tried to conduct myself in a similar nature, knowing that any sort of successful relationship would involve me doing some things I wasn't necessarily crazy about doing, and, if I could help it, keeping the number of complaints I might have had about it to myself. But, the thing was, I generally expected this sort of reciprocation to be analogous to that which I was requesting of the men in the first place.
Like, easy things, spending time together and doing things that they wanted to do rather than just myself. Maybe that would entail the two of us like going to sporting events together, athletics holding very little if any interest for me, personally, but the sacrifice being worth it in order to maintain the excitement of the relationship. Or maybe, otherwise, I would go to whatever new empty-headed action movie happened to be in theaters that given week.
Perhaps in compensation for a chick flick they'd gone and seen with me at some point in time. Or hell, maybe I would even go hunting with my boyfriend if he was someone I really liked, and the so-called sport of murdering animals was that important to him. I wouldn't shoot anything, of course, so much as just sit and watch him, and although at one point a guy I was seeing let me shoot his gun a single time. I decided that that lone shot was more than enough for me, and never cared all that much to lay hands on a gun again.
But the point was, I didn't mind doing things for my boyfriends as long as there was an even trade of sacrifice. Yet there were, naturally, limits as to what I was willing to sacrifice for them, as should be the case for any self-respecting woman in a relationship. Or man in a relationship, for that matter.
And as far as those sorts of limitations went, Philip was a man who tended to push said boundaries very, very far...
By the time the two of us had originally met, I'd gotten pretty damn weary of the dating game. In my mid-twenties and finding nothing but unserious douchebags who only wanted good times, or else conversely hyper-serious maniacs who seemed eager to settle down and start a family with me by the time the goddamn third date rolled around.
Philip, though, seemed to me, upon first glance, at least, to be the exception to the rule. I don't know if I was just swimming in the wrong dating pool or what, but Philip was so far removed from any of that crap that I found myself falling for him almost instantly. The two of us had met at a party and hit it off quite swimmingly. Our interaction one that didn't at all seem as though he was angling for something.
Like, it was just completely organic, a genuine conversation, the sort where I didn't even have to pretend when I laughed at what he said or feign interest in any way. I decided I quite liked this gentleman, very, very much in fact, and when he gave me his number at the end of the night I somehow felt inwardly certain that things were progressing in the right direction between the two of us.
And indeed, after a few dates, he and I very quickly did become “a thing.” It was almost startling, really, how quickly he managed to penetrate my own defenses and wriggle his way into my heart. The two of us moving in together only after a couple of months, and things, for the most part, seeming great. He just had so many redeeming qualities and, so far as I could tell, no particular character flaws to detract from the relationship. He was handsome, intelligent, funny, and charming, and he seemed legitimately concerned about my needs and desires, in a manner to which I was not especially accustomed with the sorts of men I tended to date.
And without mincing words, well... He was also pretty fucking dynamite in the sack...
Little did I know at the time, however, that this last fact about himself would be the one to lead to some degree of friction between the two of us...
See, sex was important to me, but I wasn't any sort of nymphomaniac or anything. From the get-go, I could appreciate the fact that my new boyfriend was well-endowed, and so far as I could tell he had an almost inherent, effortless expertise in the bedroom. His timing, his rhythm, his technique all verged on immaculate, and he never failed at touching me in such splendid ways that it nearly made my eyes cross with pleasure.
The thing was, though, that I had never imagined these many sexual assets to have resulted from vigorous study and practice, rather than just naturally acquired skills over the course of the years.
While I may not have been a nympho myself, I began to realize that the same could not be particularly said of Philip...
It didn't really sink in until the two of us moved in together what an absolutely kinky bastard that son-of-a-bitch was, and the opportunity to observe his many depraved habits up close was quite a bit of an eye-opener for me, to say the least of it... Like, just for instance, that man consumed one hell of a lot of porn on his laptop.
Like, I am talking absurd quantities, so that any time I rounded a corner and he happened to be in there by himself, I could readily expect him to have his wang out and pumping between his fingers, and the laptop opened up and resting on his thighs with sounds of moaning and wet smacking echoing forth from the speakers.
A taste for porn, in itself, was not something to be surprised about, however. It was a pretty normal thing for guys in this day and age, I thought, and though I have to admit it did spark just a hint of jealousy in me, I really didn't see it as all that big of a deal. What became problematic, however, was the fact that Philip began to want to incorporate the sort of lascivious activities unfolding onscreen there before him into our very real sex life on a regular basis. And I quite honestly wasn't sure how the hell I should feel about this...
Prior to our cohabitation, our sex life had been, by and large, fairly safe and vanilla in nature. Nothing too perverse or too kinky, with exchanges of oral sex and being bent over doggy style being about the most extreme acts of carnal pleasure that we ever really progressed to. But once Philip's inner gimp was revealed to me it seemed as though he was requesting we introduce something new and forbidden into our love life every day, and though I began to try to accommodate him upon his repeated asking, I found myself having to remind him fairly routinely that I was not some professional porn actress, and my body was therefore not quite as up for the many extreme contortions and penetrations that he loved so much to behold onscreen.
The variety of his tastes and requests reall
y tended to run the gamut, quite frankly... Like on an easier day, he might ask something fairly simple of me. He might get a kick out of watching me use a dildo on myself in front of him- which, I had to say, was rather arousing for myself as well, and not that drastic of a request. But, then there would be the days like the first time he asked to butt fuck me- anal sex not being something with which I had had positive experiences in the past, but which for his sake, I indulged nonetheless. It hurt like hell as he rammed that cock of his into the tight pink tunnel of my rectum, grinding in and out of me so fiercely that I'm not entirely certain what it was that kept me from leaving him that first time it happened.
Then, after it was over, he made a similar request of me a few days later, except this time around he wanted to me to cram two long, vibrating dildos into my pussy while he ass-fucked me. It was his idea of a triple penetration of sorts, I supposed, as he at least had the foresight to know that if he'd asked for a real life gangbang of this nature I would most definitely have thrown him out on his ass without a moment's hesitation.
That one, actually, felt pretty damn wonderful for me, the sensations coursing through my body as they did from both orifices, and in some ways I felt tempted to request the real thing after a few days at first... I decided against this, however, and suffice it to say that I had plenty else to keep me occupied with him otherwise.
Like, okay, then there was the time he wanted me to handcuff him to the bed and smack at him with a leather whip while dressed up in a dominatrix outfit... That one was far and away beyond the realm of that with which I was comfortable. Submitting to his painful demands was one thing, but I had never been the dominant type, and even playfully inflicting pain on someone else was just not my cup of tea.
I did it all the same, though, feeling like a complete jackass all the while, and my efforts lacking any genuine sort of motivation as I wimpily brought the whip down upon his skin, the experience more uncomfortable for me than it was for him, I think, and my relief when it was all over perhaps too great for words.
And if that hadn't been bad enough, you can only imagine how I felt when he asked me to slide into a leather harness and anally penetrate him with a strap-on dildo...
I was not especially fucking nuts about this plan by any means whatsoever, and as I mounted him and began to thrust to his moans of perverse enjoyment, I seriously began to wonder just what the hell I had allowed this relationship to become.
But, through all of it, I never quite gave up on the notion that this could all just be a passing phase, that he would either start to tone down his many requests once all of this intense fucking was out of his system, or perhaps I would be the one to adjust and get used to his various kinks. I mean, I knew it wasn't especially unusual for couples to play around like this in the bedroom. I just thought it was unusual for the variety and intensity of such kinkiness to be quite this severe, or as one-sided as ours was to say the very fucking least.
Still though, our weird sex life aside, I just couldn't help but find myself emotionally attached to Philip as a lover, sex being an anomaly in terms of the otherwise wonderful and harmonious life the two of us shared together. It all came back around to compromise, I decided, and I tried to still my resolve in such a manner that reflected that. No couple's dynamic is absolutely perfect, and I shouldn't have reasonably expected that from what Philip and I shared either.
I could live with this part of the deal if it was absolutely necessary, grateful as I was to have a man like him in my life at all, and deciding that, as rare as a connection as was that the two of us shared, a little bit of stretching my comfort zone in the bedroom was not all that much of a compromise.
The straw that broke the camel's back, however, eventually came when Philip made a very specific and, frankly, quite unreasonable request. It actually stunned me when the words passed forth from his lips, leaving me astonished and thinking that, perhaps, I had misheard him upon his saying it. I asked him to repeat it, and sure enough, it was precisely what I had thought he said. I felt myself completely devoid of the language necessary to respond to such a request.
Predictably enough, it was something he had cooked up with some inspiration from his copious consumption of porn, although it wasn't really something I would have expected him to ask of me in a million fucking years... Quite simply put, Philip wanted me to cuckold him- to watch another man have sex with me on our own shared bed, and in front of his very eyes. I was floored by it, my mind boggled by the fact that he'd even had the gull to make such a request.
I closed my eyes, a migraine suddenly overtaking me quite thoroughly as I tried to formulate some sort of response that could even begin to verge on adequate. Yet, for the very life of me, I couldn't even seem to decipher what the hell would have even turned him on about the idea of having another man fuck me, given that seeing another woman having sex with the man I loved would have caused me to snap and want to claw her eyes out in a heartbeat.
I must have remained silent and unresponsive for ten fucking minutes upon his making of the request. Sitting with my eyes closed and keeping my breathing as measured as I could make it as I struggled to maintain some semblance of composure. I could feel my hands balling up into fists of their own involuntary accord, and I was only too aware of the fact of my nostrils flaring like a damn lizard as the anger pumped readily through my body.
And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure what it was that changed things for me. I don't know what sort of switch was flipped in my brain or what sudden realization washed over me, or whether it was simple resignation that led to the unknotting of my insides. The massive exhalation of breath and the gentle fluttering open of my miserable eyelids.
I just didn't care anymore. I was done resisting, done putting up any front of sexual propriety or sane intimate conduct... Objectively, I supposed there was no moral right or wrong to it, and as fucking uncomfortable as I was at the notion of his proposal, I was just too tired of trying to talk sense into him. It was either give into his requests or walk out of the relationship. I thought for some reason, and at the present point in time I didn't have any sort of willpower to start anew with someone else.
I tried to rationalize it to myself as best I could, and as I actually began to visualize it, the kinkiness of it did begin to arouse me just the least bit. I mean, it had seemed like ages since I'd introduced my naked body to a new and unknown man. If nothing else, it would shake things up to some degree, add a dash of spice and danger to my existence, even if I did still harbor quite the bit of reservation about the prospect all the while.
Sighing heavily, I agreed to allow Philip to begin looking for his cuckold, with me, of course, holding the final say as far as the candidate selected was concerned.
And in no time at all, there he was, a stranger coming into our apartment like it was nothing at all. Mark was his name, and in my present anger with Philip at the time, I had to say he was looking pretty damn good to me... I mean, in general, I couldn't begin to deny that he was a handsome little fucker. He had dark hair and a positively stunning face, masculine but delicate, with penetrating eyes and a smile that could practically melt the panties damn clean off of me with one glance.
His body, meanwhile, was a glorious sight to behold, his physique indicative of an almost obsessively healthy lifestyle, with muscular features and a wide frame, the overall package something any straight woman in her right mind would surely crave.
It did, admittedly, take a bit of warming up before things could really get underway between the two of us- or three of us, if you counted Philip cheering us on from the sidelines. The three of us came into the bedroom, a surreal feeling as any, you can bet your sweet ass, and Mark and I each sat down on the bed. The creaking of the springs beneath our weight was incredibly awkward for some reason, and I found myself looking away, gasping for a moment.
The weirdness of the situation really hitting home for me in an undeniable way as the stillness of the room settled in around us. My eyes then fell
to the corner of the room, in which Philip was seated on a chair set up for his monitoring of the situation, fully dressed but, I could tell from the crotch of his jeans, sporting quite the bulge of erection before the two of us had even begun.
I shuddered, and then turned back to Mark, testing myself by staring into his eyes for as long as possible before feeling the overwhelming urge to turn away. I then cleared my throat, my cheeks beet red I could tell, and asked him if he'd like something to drink before we got started.
For my part, I was certain that I would need a generous shot of alcohol in me before things could get underway, and indeed my hands trembled as I poured out two generous glasses of wine. Mark and I clinked our glasses together in an awkward toast, and I downed the contents of my own glass in almost a single gulp, practically choking myself on the stuff, and my heart pounding in my ears as I watched Mark finish up his own.
Finally, it felt impossible to delay the proceedings any longer, and the two of us set our glasses aside. It started very gently at first, almost sweetly so- or rather, it may have felt sweet if the circumstances had been different, but still I couldn't help but be charmed by Mark's consideration for me in what was clearly a tense situation. He began to touch me, very, very lightly at first, though not in any way that might have seemed overtly sexual to the untrained eye. It was bizarrely erotic as the warmth of his fingers burned through my skin and lit up my every nerve, sending shivers down my spine and causing goosebumps to erupt across my flesh.