Hell Hath No Fury pt 2 - When Jen Met Bec

[Gi****]

"You fucked my boyfriend!!"

Okay, that is NOT how this was supposed to go. I can feel the embarrassment burning my face and wish I hadn't sworn. I am entitled to be angry though, right? I loved him! I mean, I love him. Wait, do I? I'm not sure right now but this is not the time to be figuring out my feelings. I probably should have figured this out before knocking, though - what the hell am I doing here!?

This is so not me, rocking up on a stranger's doorstep to confront them about their infidelity in broad daylight. Think Jen, think! What are your talking points? What do I even want to say? And does it matter? Will any of it land after an opening like that or is she just going to slam the door in my face?

God I hate how pretty she is, it makes me feel so much worse. The dark part of my mind tells me to lean into the anger, speaking to me in a gravelled whisper and peaking from beneath a hessian cloak that shadows half its face like that guy from that movie. Yes, I shall maintain the rage. But her face...

It's not pity, her expression. It's not guilt, not anger, I can't quite put my finger on it but it soothes me. I don't want it to soothe me. I want to punch her in her stupid gorgeous face for what she did. I want her to be ***ful of me, embarrassed and ashamed. I want her to cower and grovel, to do exactly what I tell her, something, anything! Anything but stand there like she's modelling loose T-shirts and grey trackies and looking at me with those big dumb sparkly eyes and her stupid full lips, skin so flawless it looks weird and that moronic little head tilt that somehow tells me, even from my contextless outburst, that she understands.

"What a piece of shit," she mutters as she scans my face. "I swear, I didn't know." Her voice is soft like her face, she even sounds pretty. Seeing her, hearing her, I hate myself. I shouldn't have come here. I should leave. Just turn around and drive away. She stands back from the door and gestures for me to come inside. "Wanna cuppa?"

I want to embrace the rage, I want to be a tornado of threat and menace, not a timid little field mouse shuffling down the hallway towards her kitchen but she just, I don't know how to explain it. I want to hate how cute her place is, I want to angrily judge how things clash without a style or a theme, how it's just a hodgepodge mix of colourful artworks and homemade clay flowerpots that are all a bit wonky and out of place gothic looking corner alters of melted candles and piles of books. The whole place is such a strange expression of its owner but like her, I can't fight that I feel comfortable here. It's oddly familiar and I feel weirdly at home. Disarmed. That's it, her place disarms me. She disarms me. And I freaking hate her for it.

Her kitchen is bathed in sunlight and the lace table cloth is giving off major grandma's house vibes. God I hate how easy everything here feels! I look at the two wooden chairs and for a second, I see his ghost eating with her at this table and I find the anger I am so desperate for, like a guide rope in the fog.

"Tea or coffee?" She walks in behind me and opens the pantry.

"Tea." I grumble, mentally stoking the fire to... to do what, exactly? What am I even doing here? This is insane, I'm being crazy. I should leave, but I want to hurt her feelings before I go. I think I deserve that indulgence, to get back at her in some small way for ruining my life. "Actually," I say, consciously omitting the instinctual 'thanks' that is on my tongue, "don't bother. I don't like teabags, I only like tea brewed properly in a - "

"Me too! I fucking *hate* teabags," she says, as if nothing is wrong and there isn't an ounce of tension between us, that the whole place isn't haunted by the sex she had with my boyfriend. "Check out this one, it's my favourite." I look around to see her holding the most grotesque monstrosity I've ever seen in a kitchen, a fat little ceramic number ***ted in swirls of colour that are just dizzying. I want to judge her for her taste and hate that it does have a particular appeal, like a pug dog. Her eyes sparkle as she drinks it in. "Fuck, I would love to make things like this." She muses, sniping the insult I was putting together on the off chance she'd made it herself. Damn, I hate her! She puts the teapot down and clicks the kettle on. "Sit! Sit!" she insists, all sunshine and rainbows, pulling out a chair for me.

I do as I'm instructed, seething with hate, unsure of how to behave because I'm not sure what's going to come out. I had screamed the f-word in this girl's face for heaven's sake! And don't get me wrong, she has it coming, but I'm frightened that if that can come out of me, completely uncontrolled, what else could? As the thought runs through my head, my gazing eyes pass over the knife-block on her bench and I shudder at where my mind goes. I mean, I'm angry but I'm not *that* angry.

Bec pours the boiled water into the pot and brings it over, setting it down on the table, then collects two cups from a little shelf and sits down with me. This whole thing started out with a plan for me to tell her off, because I hate her. I'm still seething inside but I can't help recognise that part of what's fueling me now is that I hate how much I don't hate her. I need to get things back on track.

"So this is where you had sex with my man, huh?" There we go, nice work Jen, right to the point.

Bec chuckles at the suggestion. "I don't bring guys back here. Well, except for one." She seems unfazed by the whole situation, taking the cup from in front of me to pour the steaming tea and then sliding it back. She pours her own and stirs in a spoonful of sugar from the glass bowl on the table like none of this is weird. How is she so cool about it?

"So where did you - " I almost say the F-word again but catch myself. My mother always said once you swear, you've lost the argument. I'm glaring at her, wanting to stick the landing of my wrath. "y'know, when? Where? How many times?"

She looks at me like she wants to speak and it takes me a second to realise she wants to know my name. "Jen," I mumble, "Jennifer".

"Jen?" Bec says, halting for a moment, "Pretty name," I hate her so much right now. "I'm Bec."

"I know your fucking name!" God, I have to stop swearing so much. "I saw it in my boyfriend's phone along with that - *picture*." I hold my glare despite shrinking inside, my mother would be disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me, for my language but also for not giving into my urge to throw the tea in her face. Hate, hate, hate. My mind is a cauldron of hate.

"Who's your boyfriend?" She asks, and I crumble inside. She doesn't even know. That look of curiosity on her face, I can't take it as anything but genuine. I can't stand how casual she is being about it all, but I explain who he is, how we've been together for years, how we loved each other and trusted each other until that night when I'd caught a glimpse of her disgusting photo on his phone and found out what she'd been doing. Bec just listened. She didn't deny or withdraw, just listened. It's so hard to hate someone while you're admiring them.

"He told me he was single, I promise." Her eyes don't waiver, not the slightest bit. Why do I believe her? "I can't fucking stand cheaters, wouldn't have even talked to him if I'd known. Seriously, I'm sorry."

"I just want to know how it - "

"Listen," she reaches across the table and rests her warm hand on top of mine, the other still cradling her cup. "I've been where you are, okay? Trust me, it's better to not know. He betrayed you - that's enough. Nothing you find out is going to change that he's an arsehole, okay? You tell yourself you need to know to help figure it all out but it's just gonna drive you insane." She ducks her head low, making sure I'm really seeing her, not just looking at her. "He's a lying piece of shit, okay? You're better off without him. Case closed."

No. No I'm not falling for it. I pull my hand away and sit back in the chair. "If he's such a piece of shit, then why did you sleep with him?"

"Oh god, I would never *sleep* with him!" Bec laughs at the thought but quickly sees how wounding it is for me to hear and composes herself. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I just mean it wasn't like that, ya know? I wouldn't let him in my bed, there were no *feelings*."

I feel the core of my being gripped and ***d by anger, enlivened knowing it meant nothing to her despite everything that was at stake. "Then why do it!?"

"He was just..." She ponders, like she's trying to explain the real reasons. "I dunno, he was a Q-Tip."

"What?"

"You know - you stick it in, wiggle it around a bit and then you throw it away. He was easy di- " she cuts herself off, but the damage is already done. I am chilled, horrified.

"And you didn't care at all that you were going to ruin my life?" I should throw hot tea on her, spit in her face. My mind goes back to the bench with the knife-block.

"Jen, I'm so sorry you're going through this but I swear to you, I had no idea he had a girlfriend." I hate that I believe her. I hate how cool she is. I hate her beauty and her Bec-esque cottage-core shithole place and her stupid teacups. "Check my socials, I out those dudes, seriously - I do not fuck with cheaters."

Okay, fine, he wasn't on social media so maybe she didn't know, but she could have checked. I mean, who does that? Just has sex with someone they barely know? It makes me feel sick to think about as does this niggling thought that I might just be feeling jealous. I fight back against all of it, searching myself for emotional bile that I can hurl at her. "You sound like you screw a lot," I say coldly, hoping to cut her soul while acknowledging to myself that I might need therapy.

"Well sure," Bec says, lifting her cup to her mouth like we were in the middle of a normal everyday conversation. "I mean, I like sex, so..."

"So you're a slut." Whoa! That just slipped out. Not a question, just pure accusation. I don't think I've ever called someone a slut before, certainly not to their face. I am hating myself because despite my rage, if anything I am angry that she seems to have the pieces in herself that I always felt were missing in me. I don't think she should feel bad for liking sex, I just think she should feel bad for liking sex with my boyfriend.

She nods as she sips her tea, then chuckles as she puts the cup down. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Well," I pause, hoping to act natural as I scan my mind for another insult. "Sluts don't have teapots and tablecloths, Bec."

She just shrugs. "This one does."

It isn't like she dodges my harsh words, it's like she doesn't even notice they're harsh to begin with. In any other circumstance it would make me feel small and unheard but with her, I just... God I hate how disarming she is! I want to grab hold of her face and scream at her, I want to scream that she's supposed to be scared of me, that I found out where she lived, that I showed up unannounced at her home. But she's not. At all. If she's not going to see this as a fight, then what is the point in fighting? Damn her and this energy she has.

We sit in silence, both taking the odd sip of tea and waiting for the other to speak as the seconds tick away. It's finally too much, I need to break the tension.

"How can you have sex with someone you barely know?" I mean it as a judgement but it comes out as more of an actual question.

"Same as with someone you know well," she says, lifting her cup again. "Just without all the bullshit."

I want to tell her she's gross, I want to hurt her but I just can't. Not just because I can't find fault in what she's saying but because she won't engage on that level. "So, that *bullshit*? That's connection and it's love. You miss out on all of that." God, am I trying to make myself feel superior? Who am I trying to convince here?

"No, I have girls for that. Boys are useful for dick and that's about it." she sips her tea. "If girls had dicks, I'd be a full time lesbo," she chuckles then stops herself. "Ooh maybe I should keep an eye out for a hot trans girl!"

"Yeah, well," I mumble, "at least then you wouldn't go around breaking up relationships."

"Okay," Bec sets her cup down, not aggressively but like she wants to firmly address the key point directly. "I get that your hurt and you have every right to be, but he is the one who betrayed you. I'm sorry, truly sorry for my part in it but he lied to both of us. Men are pigs."

"He's not a pig." There is absolutely no conviction behind my retort.

"Jen," Bec says, making sure I'm seeing her again. "He cheated on you *multiple times*, and for what? A bit of strange? C'mon!"

I want to speak but my throat is stuck. Something inside me feels like I actually need to hear this about him but I can't shake the knowledge that it was my fault for not being what he wanted. Oh God, I'm who I am really angry at, aren't I?

"Who does that!?" She leans back in her chair, a genuine sense of confusion about her. "Would you ever have done that to him? Even for the hottest guy in the world? It's a total betrayal, a complete disregard for your trust."

I can't even swallow.

"Jen, I'm a raging whore but even I would never cheat." She lifts her cup from the saucer and reflects, "Well, not in a happy relationship. But even then, just say something instead of - "

"I - " Bec stops talking as I struggle to move the words past the lump in my throat. I want to speak clearly but I'm trying desperately not to cry. I feel like all I have done since he left is cry. I don't want her to see it. "I thought we *were* happy."

She rests her warm hand on top of mine again. "So he's either a pig or a coward."

"I just can't stop thinking like, what's wrong with me?" I can feel it coming and knowing that I'm going to cry in front of her just makes it happen faster. I feel so ugly. She doesn't flinch a bit though, just gently strokes my hand for comfort and waits for me to continue. God, this girl, I don't want to talk to her about any of this but this damn energy she has, the words are just spilling out. "I tried so freaking hard, I did so much for him! And like, I know I'm not much to look at but like, I went to the gym, I ate - "

"Fuck Jen, stop!" Bec's mouth is open then she begins to chuckle. "Are you kidding me?" It's like I'd made a joke which made her smile. She's adorable when she smiles, I want to make her smile more and it makes me feel pathetic. She fucked my boyfriend and now I'm sat here dazzled by her. "Look at you, you're gorgeous!"

*Yeah, sure, thanks for trying to cheer me up but the fact is he chose you.*

"To be honest," she continues, "I'm kinda - " Bec trails off and looks away. It's weird but I miss her face when she's not looking at me.

"What?" I ask, wanting to get her back and wiping the tears from my face.

"No, it's nothing." She looks back at me but it's not the same, there's a mask. "So what do you - "

"Don't do that." I'm half disappointment and half frustration, we were doing really well until a second ago and I want that mood back. "Say it."

"It was a stupid joke, I do that when I'm - "

"Stop deflecting," I say bluntly, cutting her off again. God, I just want to tell her to look at me, but obviously I can't say that. But supressing it has my patience running thin, on top of everything else, and she's a perfect lightning rod for my temper. I mean, who can forget that she screwed my boyfriend? I glare at her, trying to maintain my authority over the situation without melting into her eyes. Bec is suddenly really still and I am transfixed on her, imaging how pretty she must look when she cries and hating her for it. In any other situation, this would be awkward, I'd run from it but here, in this surreal experience of sitting opposite my homewrecker, I don't want to miss a second. Still, the tension is insufferable. "You fucked my boyfriend, you blew up my life." I've never been more serious in my life, I'm alive looking at her. Present. "Tell me the joke."

Bec doesn't so much as blink. She starts slow. "I um," she swallows, "I was gonna say that I'm embarrassed I fucked the loser that would cheat on a girl as stunning as you."

I don't know what to say. It isn't meant like a throwaway compliment, she really means it. Why do I trust her so easily? My whole time here, I've never felt the slightest pang of unease and she is looking at me like she thinks *I'm* the pretty one. And sure, I'm flattered, but how am I supposed to respond? *No way, you're so much prettier*? It feels so hollow, even if it is true. God, she is so much prettier. I can't even focus on how to play this, staring into her eyes is suddenly making my mind go all fuzzy. God, I'm obsessed with her! I can see why he...

My mind bubbles over at that thought. I stand, sending the chair scraping on the floor behind me as I lift her from hers by the throat. Woah! Jen, calm down, where did this come from? Get it together, I have a right to be upset but this is... Just let her go, apologise to her and then leave.

"You fucking cunt!" JENNIFER!! *STOP!!*

My jaw hurts from pressing my teeth together so hard but I can't help myself. As beautiful as she is, those shining lips slightly apart even though she hasn't breathed, her sparkling eyes completely alert and scanning mine, this just feels too good. I pull her face to mine so that we almost touch. "You blew up my life!"

Her lids lower ever so slightly and the corners of her mouth imagine a curl. The gesture would be imperceptible to anyone not staring at her an inch from her face after attacking her in her own home like a goddamned psycho. Her eyes jump between mine and her lips part. "We should have blown up his," she whispers. I am frozen in shock as the reality of my own behaviour collides with the utter confusion of hers and my mind divides by zero trying decipher what she means. And then she kisses me. It's a peck. We barely connect, but I feel like I've been hit by a train.

She hadn't resisted me grabbing her, never tried to fight back, just titled her head a touch then leaned forward and... I can still feel her there, like she's left a burn on my skin, slow motion echoes of her gentle lips ***ling away from mine. I can't tell if my mouth is hanging open and the way she looks at up me with her face dropped forward. Okay, my whole grip on reality has gone, like my loosened hand slipping from her throat. What just happened?

"I'm sorry," Bec says, and again I trust her completely. "I probably shouldn't have - "

"I have to go." I am freaking the flip out and head quickly for the front door.

My racing mind is a wash of static and questions without answers as I throw her front door open and hurry down the path to my car. Something just happened, something big and I am terrified at the prospect that I might be gay. The hugeness of the possibility is overwhelming. Days ago, I lost my boyfriend and now I am faced with the notion that I could be about to lose my whole life, everything I've ever known about myself, everything everyone I love has ever known about me, expects of me.

I want to wake up and for this all to have been a nightmare. All of it. I want to go back to before, have it never happen. I don't want to see the picture on his phone, I don't want to kick him out of my house and my life, I don't want to track her down and to come over here for tea and I do *not* want her to have kissed me. Except that I do, and that is what's really terrifying. I don't want the hurt but I want everything else.

Why do I want her to have kissed me? No boy has ever made my body react like she did and she barely touched me. I try to convince myself it was the rush of letting out my anger, of shouting out my side of everything that happened, but I know it's more than that. Maybe I'm resisting it, like I didn't want to have enjoyed it because I'm so angry, because it was her, the homewrecker. God, I want so badly to maintain my anger at her but I know it's unfair. Even now, every line I try to come up with, every horrible thing I could have said to her just comes back to *how could you do this to us?* But the truth is she didn't. *He* did. I'm angry at him, hurt and apoplectic, and lashing out at her. I tried so hard to be the perfect partner, I made myself so small for him and still, he betrayed me. I remind myself that he betrayed me *with her*, trying to regain the fury but it's no good. She was just a prop, he is villain in this play.

I'm at my car when I realise that I've left my phone and keys on Bec's table inside and my will to keep going flees from me. I just want to bawl, it's too much. The panic that prompted me to storm out has only gotten worse and now I need to go back in? I'm a good person, I don't deserve this!

I look back to the open front door and she is standing in the doorway, holding my things out for me. The look on her face, a mixture of guilt and apology, seems like a safe harbour compared to the hectic squall my mind is lost in and I just want to leave. I know it's what I should do but her eyes embolden that small voice in the back of my mind which calmly tells me to talk to her, to not run from this. God, I hate that she can do that to me, but my defiance isn't quite spent yet. I still have my pride.

I trudge back up the path feeling utterly defeated by everything. I snatch my stuff from her hand without a word, trying to avoid looking at her as I turn back to my car.

"Jen, wait - " Bec pleads and that voice in my head tells me to listen, to hear her out and I stop, turning to look at her feet. "I am sorry I kissed you, I am. As much as I really wanted to, I should have checked first - " What!? *That's* what she's focusing on, that she kissed me without asking? She thinks the *not asking* is my problem? My mind snaps into a singular focus of angst as my gaze moves up and over her body and comes ro rest on those lips that have just shattered my understanding of myself. "It was wrong of me to do that and I'm sorry."

I can't tell if it's a feeling she's introduced that is rising up in me or if I am just tapping into a feeling that's always been there, but that something about her which empowers that something in me is working it's chaotic magic again. I take a step towards her without thinking, still staring at those lips as my despair gives way to a fierce sensation.

Her face shifts slightly, like she's excited, pensive, frightened of what might happen but eager to find out. I wanted her frightened of me before but that feels like a lifetime ago. This is different, so much different.

Another step towards her and a smile breaks out on her pretty little whore mouth. She looks around, like she's checking to make sure it's really happening. I take another step and she moves backwards so I take another and another and another until she has her back to the wall and I am in her space, practically pressed against her.

"Jen, I just need check - " she breathes like she's giddy as my hand goes for her throat. I don't know what I'm supposed to do but I don't care, this feels like home. All of my questions silenced, all of the betrayal washed away, it's just me and her, locked in this gaze. She lets out a single giggle like she's nervous but then refocuses. "Jen, if you're getting off on this then I'm in to it, but if you're just an angry ***r then you need - "

"Do it again." I say flatly, leaning close to her face.

"Wha- "

"Did I stutter, slut? I said kiss me again."

She leans forward, pressing her throat against my hand before I pull her the last few inches to plant my mouth against those delicious lips. All the doubts and ***s dominating my mind a moment ago now just whizz by me in the peripheral, like I am paddling my way down white water rapids while they watch from the shoreline. I'm trusting pure instinct over sight, feeling over strategy, lust over restraint. No matter what happens after this is done, right now it feels right. We are a mess of tongues and heavy breathing, she tastes of citrus fruit and smells like berries. I want to breathe her in forever.

"Just, hang on - " Bec interrupts me, grabbing my wrist and adjusting my hand slightly to left, "there, like that." I can feel her pulse beneath my thumb and fingers now, driving fast and hard like my own. Her soft body feels so warm, so enticing as I lean harder and push her against the wall, letting my free hand explore her body as she does to me. I want more, so much more of this sensation, this torrent of desire that's been unleashed inside me. I pull back and stare into her burning eyes, my grip firmly pinning her in place.

"So you're sorry, huh?" I ask. She nods. "You're sorry." I confirm, wanting to keep the momentum. I'm unsure of what to do next but I am desperate not to let her know that. "How are you going to prove it to me?"

Her eyes dart between mine, so eager, urging me to keep going. "You could spank me?" her voice is timid, begging me to stay in this mental place of total power. "Please?"

I look up the hallway to her loungeroom and I decide exactly how this will go, relishing the feeling of being in charge of her, knowing she is lost in this same space with me and loving every second of it.

"Get the fuck over here," I spit through gritted teeth as I take a fistful of her flowing hair and drag her roughly to the couch. I pull her over my knees as I sit down and scold her to get into the right position.

She is compliant and willing, her round bum pulling tight against her fleece pants and I can't help pressing my thighs together tightly at the sight. This is all new to me, I know I will have lots of unpacking to do later but for now I have an overwhelming urge to slap it.

I pull the strike at the last instant, hesitating as I come down on her and it is unsatisfying when it lands against the her pants.

"Get this fucking shit off," I grunt, wrestling with her waistband. No sooner have I said that than she is thumbing the hem and pulling her pants down herself, exposing her beautiful soft cheeks with her underwear ***king out from between, but it prickles me. I feel like she has unwrapped my Christmas present for me, robbing me of the ritual. "All of it, cunt!" I shout, yanking her panties down aggressively before she can help, trying to wedgie her at first and then straining the band against her smooth skin as I pull them down, hoping I'm making it hurt.

My second attempt at smacking her lands exactly as I was hoping. Something sparks inside me as the piercing crack fills the room, the way her sexily thick bum jiggles when my hand collides with her soft flesh, the yelping "ow" she makes. I feel activated. I can feel my wetness in my jeans as I rub the spot where I hit her, as much to sneak a feel of her as to soothe her. Hell, to soothe myself! My hand is stinging but I can't help lifting it high to bring it back down against her once more, harder than before.

Her whimper is delicious, like a drug that I am happy to become addicted to. I want more, I want her screaming for me. I grab her hair with my left hand and pull her head back, fighting the instinct to really yank at her because as much as I want to hurt her, I don't want to injure her. With that said, I don't want her to sense my softness either. "Shut your whore mouth," I want a more degrading insult but it's all that comes to mind. "You don't make a fucking sound or else I'm going to give you more."

"It, it just - " She stumbles on her words and I am so happy that it's because of me. "I'll be quiet, I'm sorry." I feel energised like never before.

"I'll show you sorry," I've never spoken like this but it feels natural, like slipping into a side of myself I didn't know I was always supposed to inhabit. "Fucking cunt!" I don't show my own shock at the words coming out of my mouth, I just hit her again. She doesn't make a ***p so I spank her once more, and again until she finally yelps for me and it's like another hit of my favourite new stimulant. I pull her up and off me by the hair, drinking in the sight of her curvaceous body as she shuffles herself to a position where I can look at her. "That stupid fucking face of yours," she stares back at me, blinking ***ly. God she is gorgeous. "Didn't I tell you to keep that cock hole shut?"

She presses her lips tightly together and nods, a soft throated hum affirming her understanding. I run my stinging hand along her soft cheek, feeling like I would very much like to slap her. "You fucking whore, you disgust me." It takes everything in me not to smile at her.

She looks at me with apologetic eyes but I sense she is struggling with the same dilemma. "I am a disgusting whore, I'm sorry."

I slap her face lightly, a test for both our reactions. The fire in her eyes rages in response. "What did I just fucking say?" I slap her again, harder this time.

"Careful not get me on the ear," she says to me, breaking the mood for a second.

"Shit, sorry!" I am terrified that I might have hurt her for real.

"No, no," her expression lights up, "you're doing great!"

"Then stick out your whore tongue." I command her and she complies, her face settling back into her timid state. I pull her close to me and lick it, sucking it into my mouth and melting into a passionate kiss that intoxicates me until the room spins. The sensation of her mouth against mine, the softness of her slippery lips, the way she moans for me, God I just want her breath, to inhale her forever, to know nothing but the taste of her.

An idea almost as delicious as her kiss hits and I grab her away from me, feigning furious anger. "Why did you kiss me? What makes you think you're worthy of kissing a queen?" I hold her jaw, her glistening lips smooshed by my grip as she tells me it's because she is attracted to me. God she makes me giddy and I want to giggle and lick those delicious words from her lips but I am determined to stay the course I have chosen. I slap her face again.

"I told you to shut your fucking whore mouth, you useless whore!" God Jen, that was awkward. I quickly think of how to regain my authoritative momentum and I spit in her face. I'm as stunned as she is but she doesn't make a sound. I scan her face, her eyes staring intensely at mine, the thread of foam slowly dribbling down her cheek. Her look tells me everything, the inferno of lust only intensified by the *** and I pull her back to me by her neck and lick myself off her. "Fucking disgusting cunt." I really need to expand my vocabulary, I only know so many insults and I just feel like *hussy* would be a backwards step at this point. Bec doesn't seem to mind, just looks at me hungrily, ready to take whatever I give her next.

I close my legs up, pressing them back together more firmly than is necessary and I tell her to kick her pants all the way off before I drag her back over my knees again, intent to find out how many spanks my hand can endure before I have to stop. I hit her over and over, rubbing and groping her backside between strikes and spreading her open. If I'm gay, so be it, I'll figure the rest out later but in this space and time all I want to is destroy this pretty doll, to make her cry and then kiss her all better again. She does well to keep silent for as long as she does but I quickly learn that hitting the same spot without caressing her in between elicits shrieks of *** that have me squirming in my seat beneath her.

The sting in my hand becomes a throb and my fingertips feel swollen, as if they will pop like bubbles if I keep going much longer. I brush my hand up and down her welted cheeks, admiring the dark redness and burst *** vessels I've caused on her perfect skin. I want to keep spanking her, to bruise her, but my hand can't take it. I don't want to this stop, either and so I rattle around inside my imagination, groping her harshly and twisting at her skin while I do so.

My hand creeps between her thighs incidentally and my fingers instantly slip on her. Bec is utterly soaked. The confirmation of what I have done - that I had been turned on doing this all to her and it has had the same effect on her - is more than I can process. I am so shaken that I almost ask her politely to get off me so I can star jump in triumph but I catch myself before it's too late.

I'm rough with her, putting all of that time spent spent in the gym to use in pushing her off my knees and sending her sprawling to the floor. She rolls to look up at me, her face pure surprise and desire. I go to stand but notice a wet spot near the right knee of my jeans and I can't help but stare at it in total awe.

That is her slick. That is *Bec's* slick. This captivating woman, so gorgeous she can use men like tissues, has been so aroused by me bullying her that she has literally dripped on my leg. I want to squeal like those ***age girls seeing the Beatles in those black and white videos, I want to tear my jeans off to show her that she's had the same effect on me but expressing the joy would just feel wrong, it's the wrong tone. I take a deep breath, straightening up my figurative mask and I slowly raise my eyes to glare at her.

"You soiled me with your putrid slick." I growl and step towards her. "Get on your knees, cunt." *Really? the C-bomb again Jen?* I take another step towards her as she gets up onto her knees and puts her hands behind her back. I decide "Cunt" will be her name, not just an insult, then I can use it over and over without getting in my head about it. I move slow, thinking of how I can best defile her further.

I squat down so that I'm next to her face and I tell her to look straight ahead and to open her mouth. She obeys, holding out her tongue as I put my finger on it. "Suck it." She closes those pretty wet lips around me and massages me with her tongue. "Suck it like a cock. Suck it like all those cocks you've sucked, you wretched, greedy whore."

I look down over her half naked body. She is still kneeling obediently with her legs slightly apart and I take my finger from her mouth and reach beneath her. I can feel the heat of her before I make contact, but the sensation of sinking a finger between her drenched lips has me gushing. Bec groans softly, almost losing her balance for a moment as I drown in her profile and drag my fingertip over her entrance up to her clitoris, buried between her smooth puffy mounds. I rub her gently, teasing. Her breathing falters then picks up s***d and she grinds against me in time with my movements.

"Did I say you were allowed to enjoy this?" I can hardly keep the grin from my face, seeing her reactions to my touch and my words. Her pussy feels different to mine, like I'm in someone else's car, but similar enough that I'm driving confidently.

"No my Queen." Bec says, her face flushed as she withholds a stifled moan. Her Queen. She called me her *Queen*. I like it. I like it a lot.

"And how do you think your Queen feels about you defiling her clothes with your scummy cunt juice?" *Scummy cunt juice*? My God, way to go Jen!

Bec holds her breath to quell her moan and looks down in shame. "Displeased."

I lean in close to her face, still rubbing my finger against her slippery bud and I press my mouth to her ear. "You are a fucking degenerate," I grumble. She lets out a ***d cry and flinches forward. I feel like I am as wet as she is, this is the hottest thing I've ever experienced. "Hm, maybe one day you can work your way up to being a useful servant for your Queen's, until then you're just Cunt. Do you understand me? You are just miserable, fucking worthless Cunt!"

"I understand, Queen." She shudders, trying her best to obey me and not show that she enjoys my touch. "I am just a worthless Cunt." I am overdosing on this power, this pleasure that I am both giving and denying her.

I pull my hand away and hold it in front of her mouth. "Lick me clean, Cunt." No sooner have I said the words than she is literally gagging on my finger, trying her best to suck every last drop of her slick from me. "That's it, lick your filthy whore juice off your Queen."

I take my fingers back and pull her face to me to kiss her. "You taste like whore," I lie. She tastes like beauty, a delectable mix of obedience and sexiness that I can't help wondering might be even better directly from the source. I imagine how it might be to kiss her there, to feel her lips against my tongue, to taste her. I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet but I'm still not finished with her. She has done so well to hold back while I've denied her, I want to give her a reward.

I grab her hair and drag her violently across the floor, telling her to sit there like with her legs spread like the useless sack of shit she is. She is perfectly compliant and I want to thank her for this experience, to tell her how much all of this means to me, but not with words. I sit behind her, wrapping my legs around and hooking my feet over her knees to hold her open, spread for me. I wrap my arm beneath hers and go straight for her dripping hole and reach the other over her to take her throat in my hand, pulling her face back towards mine. "Do you want me to make you feel good?" I ask, my hoarse voice low and threatening.

"Yes my Queen." She replies quickly.

"Is that how you think you should address me?"

"Please my Queen," she blurts, "Please I want you to make me feel good."

"This wretched little hole of yours, you're a slave to it, aren't you?" I rub her fast and hard and her hands go for my wrists so I press my fingers down against her pulse. "Don't you fucking touch me, Cunt. You aren't worthy of touching a Queen, just sit there, take what I give you and be grateful for it." I don't know where this is coming from but it's working for me just as much as it's working for her. "Greedy Cunt, always overstepping, always chasing pleasure, always chasing cocks to jam up this worn out hole."

"Yes Queen," she admits. "I am a greedy cunt."

"I didn't say you're *A* greedy cunt," I growl in her heat, "I told you are greedy and then said your name. What is your name?"

"Cunt, Queen."

"Say it again."

"My name is Cunt."

"Again."

"My name is Cunt."

"Say *my name is Cunt and I'm a useless whore*"

"My name is Cunt and I'm a useless whore"

"This slut hole is wasted on me"

"This slut hole", she stammers, trying so hard to hold it back, "is wasted on me."

"Say *I am a vessel for the use of strangers.*"

"I'm a vessel ahhhhh fuck," I work her harder, testing how well she can hold on. "for the use, of strangers."

I can feel her pulsing beneath the rapid movements of my hand, surprised that she can control herself. "Did you want to climax, Cunt?" I ask, as if I hadn't noticed.

"Please Queen, yes Queen." Bec pleads.

"Do you deserve to?"

"Only - " she struggles to get the words out, "only if you think I do, Queen."

"I don't think you do," my hand is a blur and I am gorging myself on the control. "But I am merciful, so will allow it just - " I can't even manage to get *this once* out of my mouth before Bec twitches forward and then throws herself back, narrowly avoiding headbutting in the face and she pulls her right leg free as her scream fills the room. "Give me that fucking leg back, Cunt" I say, trying to regain control of her, rubbing all the while, but I don't think she even hears me at this point. Pressed against her, I can feel every spasm and writhe of her glorious body, knowing I have rewarded this beautiful girl's obedience with such a powerful orgasm. It just feels right.

I can feel as it passes and I slow down, easing up on her and eventually bringing myself to rest with my palm pressed firmly against her mound, feeling her hot slick on my hand and her sweat on my face. She breathes heavy and whispers "thankyou my Queen, that was very generous of you."

"You are welcome - " I want to call her something mean but it doesn't seem fitting right now, like the mood to bully her has gone. She rests a while, leaning back against me to catch her breath as my hands gently explore her soft body and my mind is full of happy thoughts, uncaring about how much I am enjoying being with a woman. The identity crisis can wait.

She turns her face to me. "I want to pleasure you now, my Queen." I'm not sure what to say to her. It's as if playing the bully came naturally but without it, I'm terrified again and silent. "Let me kiss you."

Bec scooches herself around and kisses me deeply, softly, moving her hands down body to rub me through my jeans. I am unbelievably wet and suddenly crippled by shyness. She gently pushes my chest backwards, guiding me to lay back on the floor and I feel like I'm going to fall through it. Bec's pussy is shaved glassy smooth, probably waxed or lasered and so well maintained, all of her is hairless while I am... not.

"I haven't, um, I haven't *shaved* my um - "

She shushes me softly, not to dismiss but to reassure me. I wish it was enough.

"And I, my um, I've been told the um, the taste of, um - "

She pulls at my unbuckled jeans and I can't help but lift my hips to help her. "By who, that dickhead ex-boyfriend? Fuck him, *I'll* be the judge of how you taste."

"I don't know that I'm ready to kiss you there, I mean I'm curious but - "

"Jen," she says sweetly, lifting her face to look me in the eyes, the raging inferno replaced with a gentler lust. "We're not going to do anything you're not comfortable with, you can say stop at any time. But if you're okay with it, I would *really* like to pleasure you, there's no pressure to return the favour." Her smile, her calming energy. "You're my Queen, let me serve you."

I lift my hips as she pulls my underwear down, cupping my face in my hands in sheer terror of the -

"So pretty," she says, drawing out the words and silencing the voice in my head. I still can't look and I flinch as her hands gently meet the insides of my thighs to spread my legs wider. I hear her breathe in slowly, deeply. "You smell divine, my Queen." Oh God, I want to believe her but what if she's just being nice? Her tongue probes so lightly between my folds and I can feel the heat of her breath against my dripping entrance. My hands covering my face muffle my involuntary giggle at the tickles and tingles she is sending through my body. She licks me slowly, lightly, deliberately, up to my clit.

"Oh fuck," I gasp, stunned at how sensitive I am and how good this feels, trying to push the insecurities out of my mind.

"You taste just like a Queen should, amazing," Bec says, before licking me again, clearly not wanting to take her mouth away from me for more than a moment. "You're actually really sweet." Why does her being specific help so much?

"You don't mind the hair?" I ask feebly. She hums to tell me she doesn't and again, I believe her. This girl has a super power when it comes trust. "Sweet talker." I chuckle before losing myself again as she groans deep and focuses her tongue right on my button. After a few more seconds, she officially sets the record for the longest I've been orally pleasured and she shows no signs of stopping, as if she enjoys it as much as I do. My breathing finds its rhythm, as do my hips while she drinks me in, humming and moaning her enjoyment of me.

I am relaxed into it when I feel her teasing my hole with her finger, slowly working it deeper inside me and I am grateful for something to clench around. She is slow, patient and caring, but persistent. I can feel myself building much sooner than I'd expected and while I can't bring myself to open my eyes, I do reach down to stroke her thick hair, both of us moving in a steady rhythm. I picture her soft lips, her pink tongue, that playful look in her eye that makes me just want to bite her and suddenly I'm there. She is being so sweet and gentle but I clutch her, clamp down on her and moan as I'm given the best orgasm I've ever felt in my life. My thighs close around her head and still she keeps lapping at me, skipping not a single beat until the waves subside and I release her.

"Thankyou, my Queen." Bec murmurs, kissing me softly on my inner thighs. After all of that, *she* is thanking *me*? My world has been turned upside down and I've just had my first orally induced orgasm *and* it was from a woman who fucked my ex-boyfriend while we were still together. I think I can be forgiven for being at a loss for words, so instead I just focus on catching my breath as she moves herself to nuzzle into me and kiss me with those soft lips, such tenderness that all I can do is whimper.

"Fuck, you're pretty." She murmurs.

"I'm sorry I said all those nasty things to you." I say, gazing lovingly into her eyes.

"What, during the sex? That was awesome, I loved it. Do that every time!" She beams, then adds "We should probably talk through limits and safe words first though, just to be safe."

"So I'm not like these guys you - "

"No Jen," she laughs, "You're not a Q-Tip at all! You're not single use, disposable. You're my Queen."

Her words warm me as much as the feeling of her bare legs tanlged with mine. "Does that make you my Cunt?" God, it still feels so strange to swear like this.

"No, your cunt is delicious." We both laugh and snuggle back into each other. "But yes, I'll be your Cunt any day."

"I'm sorry for how I behaved when I first came over," I say, the apology sincere.

"Don't be, you're hurt, I get it. I guess I'm angry too, just that a Q-Tip hurt you but now I'm only kinda sorry I played a part in it."

I feel a jolt of intrepidation, like the rug might be pulled out from under me any second and this whole thing have been a setup. "*Kind of* sorry?"

"Well yeah, I mean, I wish I hadn't done it knowing what it did to you but then if I hadn't, I wouldn't be cuddled up half naked with royalty, would I?"

I soften at her joke, giggling with her together and for the first time since I saw him opening that text with that photo, I know that I'm actually going to be okay.

[Fa****]

Hot af with some really sweet moments. Lovely character discovery