Confessions of a Teenage Pussy Eater
- 4 years ago
- 19
- 0
Sin Eater free porn video
Author’s Note: Here’s another in cauda venenum story that could go in multiple sections on this site. I think you would agree that it belongs here, despite some of the elements some readers have come to expect from me. Please remember that this is fiction, and it follows its own rules, so please suspend your disbelief before reading. I do believe there are some reasonable questions raised by this, so I hope that this is worthwhile for you to read.
This story started from me overhearing a single word and then immediately took a life of its own, wrapping plot, characters and setting around itself.
There’s some sex, but it’s not a stroke story. All characters engaging in sex are represented to be over 18.
“It would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
I had just come downstairs after taking a post-work shower when the doorbell rang. It was early summer, about 7p.m. so the soft dusk light didn’t yet require the street lamps to be lit.
“Honey?” my wife called from the kitchen. “Can you grab that? I’m finishing the risotto.” I grinned. I loved her black truffle risotto. Jenny was always a solid cook, but that risotto was her signature dish, perfected over the twenty years of living together as husband and wife. In a lot of ways, that risotto signified our relationship. Hearty and reliable; tweaked and fine-tuned in small adjustments over the years to become perfectly balanced and enjoyed tremendously.
“Got it,” I called out and made my way to the door. The open windows on the first floor let in the warm air that had the baked, lazy scent of pollen and grass.
I opened the door to find a woman of indeterminate build standing at the door. She looked to be about five-foot-five or so, with dark hair pulled back from her sunbaked face into a ponytail which seemed to hang well past her shoulder; it made it difficult to place her age - it could be anywhere from her late-30s to her early 50s but she could have been much younger, too. Her dark eyes were small with the easy crow’s feet at the corners. Her nose was broad but not pronounced and she had full, sensuous lips. I guessed she was from Central or South America, based on the features. She was beautiful, or had been at one time.
Her clothes looked to be a simple linen blouse and loose-fitting trousers. On her feet were some kind of sandals. Taking that all in at a glance, I noted that she had what looked to be a very expensive pedicure. I remember that seemed at odds with the rest of her simple, unadorned appearance.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I asked. She flashed an easy smile which reached her eyes. They darted and cast playful glances at me which hinted that she had some kind of secret she was keeping. ‘Mischievous’ came to mind, which made me adjust her age downwards, maybe making her much younger. When she adjusted her posture, I was struck by the way the simple clothing clung to her breasts and hips; there were implied plush curves hidden underneath.
“Mr. Rhinehart? Carl Rhinehart?” Her smile revealed white, even teeth. Her voice was rich and accented, but not with the Latino accent I was expecting. It was more guttural and harsher. I actually couldn’t place her native language, but it wasn’t English.
“Yes? Can I help you?” I repeated.
“Hello, Mr. Rhinehart. My name is,” and it was the oddest thing. When she told me her name, it was as if I couldn’t understand it. Maybe it was her odd, choppy accent? Maybe I was tired? But at that moment, a breeze wafted through the door frame, carrying with it a rotten, sour smell and it distracted me, at least for that moment. “But you can call me Zolli,” she continued. She extended a hand in a fluid, graceful gesture.
Out of habit, I responded. Again, I expected a working woman’s hand but was surprised. It was a delicate woman’s hand - long, slender fingers, but not a delicate woman’s grip; it was dry and surprisingly strong. A well maintained, and probably quite expensive, manicure graced her hands as well.
“Mr. Rhinehart, my purpose to see you today is a serious matter regarding you and your wife. Is she here?” She continued to shake my hand while she spoke before finally releasing it. I found the extended contact oddly exciting.
“Ummm, yeah. She’s here, but she’s cooking dinner.” I looked back towards the kitchen. “Can this wait? We’re just about to eat. Can you come back, maybe a little later?”
Those dancing, laughing eyes twinkled. I knew the answer, oddly, as soon as I asked.
“Mr. Rhinehart, I’m afraid this is an important matter, and one which significantly affects you. And I think my timing is perfect.” The smile.
I stared.
“Mr. Rhinehart, there is a filth here in this house. I am here to perform a cleansing.” I looked behind me, searching for the stain she spoke of. I couldn’t see anything like that. Among her many skills, Jen kept a tidy house.
I looked back to Zolli; or rather where she had been. Somehow, she was past me and standing just inside the threshold of the door. I wondered how she had moved past me without me knowing. I’m a pretty big guy, and took up a lot of the open doorframe, but apparently not enough to keep her outside on the front doorstep.
“I’m sorry? You’re a cleaning woman? A service?” I asked, adjusting myself sideways so I didn’t touch her. Something told me that would be a bad thing.
She shook her head, giving me a brief look with that coy smile. I didn’t have to be an expert in body language to see the look that said I was too slow to understand. I felt a bit insulted, but only a small amount.
“Ah, won’t you come in, please, Miss -ah, Zolli.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rhinehart.” Honestly, the more she spoke, the more I detected an almost musical, sing-song nature to her speaking voice. It was enchanting, and I found myself wanting to listen to her.
“Carl.”
“Carl,” she echoed. Her laughing eyes were enjoying my puzzlement.
Jen and I tried to have an honest sit-down meal at least twice a week. Modern living made it too easy to fall into the trap of disposable time, of takeout or informal meals eaten right off the stove top. Junk food for junk time together. These were meals without communication or a chance to bond. How many opportunities for good talks were lost in that way? So, we had resolved to try and commit to real time together. We weren’t perfect at it; we weren’t slaves to the ritual. But if we had the chance, if both of us were home and had a clear schedule, why not take an extra thirty minutes together to know your partner better?
Our daughter, Angie, was still away at school, finishing up her freshman year at the state university. When she was home, we tried to be much more consistent with meal time. With kids and their busy lives, dinner was just about the only time we could force our daughter to sit down and talk with us. Jen and I tried to keep up the habit while she was gone, too. The risotto was a perfect excuse for such a sit-down meal.
“Hon? Is the table set?” Jen called out from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I called back. I thought about getting a third place setting for the table.
“OK. It’s ready.” Jen came wheeling around from the kitchen into the dining area, carrying the serving dish. She moved to put the steaming dish down on the table. The rich, earthy smell of the food flooded my nose. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
“Who was at – Oh!” she said, seeing Zolli standing next to me. Jen’s eyes flew open before they went to mine in a silent ‘WTF?’ If I had been paying attention to that first look, I might have asked more questions. It wouldn’t have changed anything, though. Really.
“Hon, who is this?” Her voice was low and soft, but there was a touch of menace. A cat, cornered, will emit that low, gurgling moan that is a prelude to an attack. I couldn’t help but think that Jen had just given the human equivalent of a fight-or-flight reaction.
“Jen, this is –”
Zolli turned to fully address my wife, and she ... she pulsed. I couldn’t describe it, but somehow the air in the room around us changed; it throbbed, really, and the source of it was centered around Zolli as if she was suddenly much larger than the woman I had just met at our front door.
“Jennifer Rhinehart, I am-” and again, there was that staccato whisper as tongue grazed against palate and teeth as rough consonants were invoked and again Zolli’s true name escaped my ears. The delicious smell of my wife’s hearty cooking was replaced by the sickly-sweet odor of decay, of rot corrupting the serenity of our home. It turned something wonderful into something sour and I swooned; my hunger replaced with a passing nausea.
“You have sinned against your husband and you must confess to atone for your crime. I name you, Adulterer!”
Jennifer simultaneously looked both ashen and furious. Her mouth worked like a goldfish, gulping air in great sighs. It was a rare thing to see my wife at such a loss for words, but this swarthy dynamo had usurped and upstaged her in her own house and taken control.
My amazement of seeing Jen in such a state gave way, though. The whole scene was so bizarre that I was more affected by the impact of Zolli’s words on Jen than what she had actually said. Jen had understood right away, of course, but I was a step slow. I did catch up though, and that’s when I felt the room tilt, like I was losing my balance. The pit in my stomach dropped. Then it was my turn for my mouth to open and close like that hungry goldfish.
Well, that was certainly something.
If I was to describe Jen, it would start with “self-assured” and “confident” and then go from there. It was one of the things that attracted me to her when we met at school. I was a chemistry grad student who fell for one of the intro chemistry course students I was TAing for. She was a tall, athletic blonde, complete with the full-complement of good Scandinavian genes. She was not the most beautiful woman in the class, but she had the girl-next-door looks and a warmth in her personality that made people remember her.
My courtship of her had to wait until after my course with her had ended and even then, I had to compete against a host of other rivals for her attention, such as her full course load and her extra-curricular activities. She was even active in student government and did some tutoring on her own.
I reasoned that I couldn’t be jealous of the schoolwork. But the guys? That was a different challenge entirely. There were frat boys, jocks and multiple others vying for Jennifer Strelhorn’s charms. I wasn’t the most handsome or richest, not even close! But I had other tools I could use. Chief among them, I was pretty clueless.
Say what you will about stereotypes, they exist for a reason. Young men have the reputation of being woefully inept at reading social cues, and especially those cues of women during the courtship dance. During my years at university, I more than reinforced that well-worn image.
That period of my life was a time of great personal growth for me. I learned that I would put up with a lot for this woman. I had reached deep inside me in the first place to approach her after a TA session to plant the seed, a stunning act of bravery I never thought possible before that. I surprised myself to take a chance, to be vulnerable and risk rejection. And then I had to preface the whole thing so that I couldn’t date her while she was in my class either, so my initial contacts were merely place-holders for afterwards. Talk about planning ahead!
When I could finally meet with Jen socially, when I could finally carve some time out of her busy schedule, I tried to be upbeat and focus on us; our time together was just that - ours. I didn’t talk about the things I couldn’t control. I was a lot of things, but I wouldn’t be a whiner. Besides, what good would it do? If I complained about it, and made myself more of a killjoy around her, she could just replace me by refusing my calls and move on. And then where would I be? No, I had to be the bigger man, and let the real me come through. I had to bite down on it and focus on the positive.
I was not without pride, and there was a price I had to pay for that. But for Jen? I paid it. Willingly.
But I couldn’t help but feel the pain when she would turn down a date to attend an invitation-only fraternity mixer, or travel with one of the university’s sports teams for a game at a rival’s campus. I mean, I knew she was a popular girl, and we were not in a committed relationship, so she was free to do what she would. During that time, I had to watch from the sidelines as she sampled and enjoyed the privileges that an attractive, young woman often feels they are entitled to. She wasn’t in a devoted monogamous relationship and was determined to sample and satisfy her urges. On the outside, in public, she was in control and happy. But, every once in a while, there was a gleam in her eye.
Jen wasn’t a liar; had I asked her what she was up to, I was pretty sure she would’ve told me. And if I was the type to ask for details, I’m sure that would’ve been no problem either. But she more or less just avoided the topic of what she did when I wasn’t around and that was good enough for me. What would I gain by pushing? Not much. My choice was to keep my peace of mind.
Like I said, it stung though.
I had come from the proverbial Smalltown, USA where I was smart, but not exceptional. I was big boned, strong and reasonably good looking, but I was never going to be anything beyond a weekend athlete. I dated, a bit. Brenda Aiello and I dated for a few months for my junior year in high school and had let me get her shirt off, but it never went further. And senior year, I got to finger a very drunk Birdy Jenkins, who then promptly ignored me for the rest of the year.
Getting out of town to college was better. Competition was far fiercer, but the talent pool was much bigger, so after much trial and error, I lost my V-card and became a man.
I made my way through undergraduate classes but never connected with ‘the one’. That was OK. I knew that there was someone out there for me. I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the finish line. I had made enough mistakes, and I was convinced that I would rather not repeat the same mistakes again.
On to graduate school, I focused on organic chemistry and really took to it. And, as fate would have it, it led me to her. The One.
We ran in different social circles, so our paths didn’t really cross until she was enrolled in my TA seminar. She made an impression, on me at least. I didn’t play favorites, so it’s not like I was some sap that pined for her in the session. But she was smart, and did engage in the lessons, so I was able to plant the seeds for later contact. I had never had a relationship arise from those roots before. Again, this seemed to have been fated.
Like I said, I never noticed her prior that class, but after that, I saw her everywhere. She was my own personal Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. We’d run into each other outside of class, and acknowledge each other with a knowing nod or smile. After the course ended (she got a well-earned B+), we still bumped into each other, and laughed about each of us stalking the other. Well, we both knew that she was the attractive one, so the odds were that I was doing the stalking. But I wasn’t. The world could be a strange place, and who was to say synchronicity wasn’t a thing?
I finally got a spine and gave her my number. She took it with that easy way she had, and after the required three days, I got a call asking if I was free to meet for coffee. For her? Of course, I was.
When we finally slept together, we were comfortable. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy. We both were. But it wasn’t like the earth moved and time stopped. I think we were both mature enough to treat it as two young people enjoying their bodies and having fun. Not much more than that. We weren’t committing to anything more than that. But still, I was happy to be around her.
While she was doing that, I learned about my own desires and how to push down the need for immediate gratification, as well as the crippling inferiority I felt inside as she unabashedly flirted, teased and played the field. I stayed true to her; I’ve always been a one-woman man. I know how that sounds, like I was some pussy-whipped fool pining for a girl out of my league. Maybe it wasn’t far off, but I was gonna play this out while I had the chance.
Somehow, my persistence and resolve had won her over. When others wouldn’t or couldn’t meet her requirements, she simply moved on. She made it clear to her dates that she had plenty of options for companionship and if they didn’t want to meet her needs on her terms, then she’d move on to another who would. I stayed as a place of stability. It didn’t hurt that I was a little older and more focused on my career. I liked to think she appreciated the sober and mature balance I brought to her life.
Of course, there were guys who were into just adding Jen as a notch on their bedpost. I can understand why. She was worth it. She was aggressive in bed, and her strong, lush body made her seem like a fertility goddess.
I held the course and continued. Eventually, the others had fallen by the wayside and I had won. We continued dating and right around the time we graduated, I popped the question and we were married not long after. We bought our house, made it into a home, complete with a backyard garden. I had to admit, that was my pride. Over the years, I had developed quite a green thumb and had arranged the space into a refuge from the rest of the world. It always got comments from guests about it being our own Eden. I suppose we stayed in the same house for so long partly because I didn’t want to leave my garden and start over again.
Jen started a career as a teacher, but Angela was very motivated to come along, an early ‘oops’ baby, and after year on the job, Jen left to become a stay-at-home mother. At least until Angela entered secondary school.
After that, Jen slid right back into teaching, as if she had never missed a beat. It wasn’t that she even needed to work. She didn’t know any other way. Just a motivated woman; that was my Jen. Over the years, she took part in activities at the school, like class trips, and oversight of different clubs. And then also took part of several neighborhood groups.
She was the real thing – a beautiful, smart and vibrant woman who loved me and our daughter.
Jen’s silence was short lived. She positively seethed at our guest. Her voice was low and hushed, squeezed through clenched jaws and teeth.
“Carl! What ... what is she doing here?” There was something happening here that I missed. Hell, there was apparently a lot I missed. Like I said, I could be pretty clueless. But something else was going on between these two. The tension in the room was palpable. Jen looked to be a few inches taller, a couple dozen pounds heavier and had a fury about her from having just been accused of, if my memory of the last ten seconds was correct, of cheating on me. I half expected her to launch herself at her accuser at any second...
Zolli, for her part, didn’t give an inch. She stood her ground, fearless and ready to bell the cat. Both of Zolli and I stared at my wife.
“Carl!” Her strained voice brought me back.
Spurred into action, “Uh, honey, this is Zolli and I thought she was here as part of a maid service to clean the house, but apparently I misunderstood.” I still stared at Jen. I think that focus was the only thing to keep me from collapsing onto the floor in a heap and crying like a child.
Zolli turned to me and once again seized the initiative. “Carl Rhinehart, I have been welcomed into your home. Will you offer me my due as a guest?”
Well, wasn’t she just full of surprises? She was right. Mom and Dad has passed, but they had ingrained the rules of hospitality into me.
“Carl...” the tension in Jen’s voice alone was a warning that I had better not even entertain the idea of hosting this ... disruption.
As an aside, someone from the outside may be of the opinion that I was horribly henpecked and that Jen ran all over me. I can see that and understand the perspective. However, those that would say that are on the outside looking in. Our life together was far more equal and balanced than my actions may have shown. Truth be told, I believed that we were a pair always aligned. We were a strong couple because we shared so many common interests. And when we disagreed, Jen could articulate her perspective in a way I could understand. I may not always agree with her opinions or her actions, but I could understand them. And to that point, I often went along with her opinions simply because her happiness was important to me. And there were so few life choices that we were making at that point in our lives where what I wanted far outweighed the peace I chose to keep and maintain. Simply put, she made some decisions and I chose to make my own peace with them. It worked well for us, but some people outside our pairing may have had questions. Let them talk; I knew what I knew and we were happy.
But this was one of the rare cases. I was having none of what she was offering.
“Jennifer,” I said in my own low and serious tone, with our eyes locked. I almost never used her full name. To me, that had a certain weight to it. “Something very serious is happening here. ‘Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.’ Isn’t that how the saying goes?” I felt that I was standing at a crossroads and that there was no simple path for me to follow. This evening was to be a huge change in my life. In our lives.
“You can’t possibly believe this bit-”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to believe,” I interrupted. Jen’s mouth ovalled again. She was not used to me taking a lead against her wishes. “And I won’t know whether to believe anything until I hear what our guest has to say. I am obviously not happy with this accusation, so there had better be some kind of explanation here from both of you.”
Jen sensed the change in the room, and while she didn’t relax, not really, she did de-escalate. Good.
“Where are my manners, Zolli? We’re just about to eat. Would you care to join us? You apparently have something to say.” My mouth was dry and my knees were barely able to hold my weight, so there was a real urgency for me to get off my feet before I broke down.
I turned to see Zolli’s smile, with her eyes crinkled. There was a lot in just that simple gesture. She nodded, a small dip of her chin.
“Thank you, Carl. We’ll need to talk first. This must be done. The food will keep until we are ready.”
OK, this was her show; we’d do it her way.
I nodded and then gestured to the living room set. The earthy aroma of the meal came back full force. I hoped I could eat; Zolli’s accusation had more than soured my stomach.
Jen’s dissatisfaction at me escaped in an exhaled hiss as she rose to her full height. “This is nonsense,” she muttered, but followed us to the living room to talk.
I offered Zolli a chair, but she politely refused. Instead she gestured that Jen and I were to sit together on the loveseat. I wasn’t feeling like I wanted to be that close to Jen, for multiple reasons.
“Please. Humor me,” our guest asked. I sat, as far to one side as possible.
Jen refused entirely. Arms crossed, foot tapping, her eyes went back and forth between us. I noted again that something unspoken yet profound was exchanged between the two. Damn my cluelessness!
Zolli was unfazed by Jen’s temper and to me, gestured at the coffee table. “May I?” I nodded and she slid it out of the way, leaving marks in the carpet. Again, she gestured for Jen to take a seat next to me.
To say I was conflicted would be an understatement. The pit in my stomach gaped and threatened to consume everything. I swooned while I sat as the recent events swirled through my brain.
“You’re not gonna do anything?” My wife’s eyes blazed at me. “You’re just gonna sit there and let her do this? What kind of man are you?”
I was used to her trying to impose her will on me. I had always chalked it up to her way and the price of keeping the calm in our relationship.
But as she railed at me, as my own guts rebelled, as I tried to process how my world was slipping away, I came to the realization that there would not be any calm in our relationship, at least not any time soon. That if what I thought was about to come out ... The pieces were on the table. The game was set. It had to play out.
Our eyes locked. From ten feet away, she leaned in at me, sneering. “I can’t believe you’d sit there and –”
“SIT YOUR FUCKING ASS DOWN!”
Jen recoiled as if I had slapped her. In a way, maybe I had. As I’ve said, Jen is a big girl. I am quite a bit bigger still and with that sheer physical presence, and despite my tendency for passivity, I knew I could be intimidating in my own way in case my words failed me.
Another pause. “Spare me your self-righteous indignation and sit down. Now!” I said at a much more appropriate volume. I felt the heat in my ears rise. I knew this as a sign that despite my outward calm, that a real anger was building up in me. And if Jen chose to push it, well then...
She chose not to push it and sat next to me, as far from me as possible, shooting glares and muttering a string of curses under her breath. If looks could kill, local homicide would be cleaning up Zolli and I using a wet-vac.
Zolli watched the whole exchange in silence, and seemingly quite pleased with herself. Once we were in place, Zolli addressed me.
“Mr. Rhinehart. Carl. Thank you for the hospitality. I appreciate the disruption to your evening routine but this is an issue which requires addressing if you two are to continue your marriage. This impacts not just you but several people outside your marriage.”
My mind went to Angie. My folks. Her parents. Jen’s sister. This would impact all of them. Thinking of our family softened my unease.
“This will be painful, and for that I apologize. This must come out, though, and when it does, and when we are finished, there are certain decisions which must be made. Only then can we move forward.”
Ha! I thought. Understatement of the day!
Zolli turned to Jen. “I need for you to talk about the first time you cheated on your husband.” Jen’s anger came off her in waves.
“You bitch!”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Who are you in this? I still have no idea who you are.”
She smiled, without menace or guile. “Yes. Who am I? Frankly, I could tell you everything. We don’t need her to tell us anything. However, if I were to tell you about your wife’s infidelity, it wouldn’t have much weight. I have all of the information, and I can give you facts and dates. The ‘who’s and the ‘what’s. But why believe me? Those are your wife’s confessions, not mine. As you have your own.
“We don’t need your wife here. But for us to move past this, then she must tell her own story.”
“Are you some kind of private investigator?” I asked. I just wasn’t getting it. “How do you know this?”
“I’m the reason she cheated,” she said, looking at Jen
My wife growled next to me but only hung her head before softly sobbing.
“Randall Higgs,” Jen spat.
The name meant nothing to me. I don’t know whether that made me feel better or worse. Was it a good thing that my wife’s lover’s name meant nothing to me?
“Huh? Who?”
“He was a trainer at my gym. After trying to lose the baby weight after Angie was born.”
Oh. How cliché.
Zolli crossed her arms and shook her head. “The first time.” There was that pulsing again. It was the damnedest thing. She never moved, but there was a power that came from her, something that just went through the room. And with it came that eye-watering stench.
“You goddamned bitch!” Jen looked ill but still angry enough to want to tear Zolli apart. Her fists were balled and the skin white and bloodless from squeezing so hard. I wasn’t sure why she didn’t act on it.
Zolli seemed pained, but continued. “I can’t help you unless you’re honest with yourself.”
I still didn’t understand what was happening here.
Jen’s head hung again. There were muffled sobs as she tried to keep it inside, but it was a losing battle. I so wanted to reach out, to comfort my stricken wife. Until I remembered why she was crying. What she was confessing to – her adultery, her adultery on me.
When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “Jerry Raney. I fucked Jerry Raney.”
“Wow,” was all I could say. Unlike the first name Jen had mentioned, Jerry was someone I knew. Pretty well, I thought, but apparently, I was wrong. He was my co-TA for the chemistry class where I met Jen.
“Go on,” Zolli urged in a low, steady voice.
“I hate you,” Jen hissed at her.
It took a moment for Jen to compose herself. By now tears were flowing freely and she looked to the ceiling, wiping her eyes. With a deep breath, she began, speaking to me but not looking at me.
Lynne
- 04.06.2020
- 16
- 0
