(Writer's note: this story is a mix of several earlier passages pulled together with the story of IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART in answer to a call for Halloween BDSM stories.)
UNHINGED LOVE, A HALLOWEEN STORY OF DUPLICITOUS MARRIAGE
Robert was rough with me that Halloween night, so much that he made me a little frightened. He tied my hands angrily behind my back, I was quite helpless, but I love hard BDSM and thought little of it. Was he punishing me for the treachery shown him by his jilting fiancée, Patatia? It was then I realized to my horror that it must be her who was laying--only symbolically of course--in an iron coffin on the patio next to the pool, her Italian boots neatly arranged on top.
The sight of the coffin made me want to leave, but I confess I did know the background to this macabre, although empty, burial relic. Robert was supposed to be getting married with Patatia and had sent all his friends invitations, but "three days before the wedding my betrothed turned up and said she would not go through with it. She had met someone in RL and would be leaving SL. All of which (as I found out later) was a lie." To put on a brave face, he was going ahead with his wedding, but calling it a "wedding wake" instead. It added to my uneasiness that the creepy, duplicitous woman was there, too, in a horrible manner of speaking.
At that moment Robert snapped me back from my dark musings, pushing my legs open wide, and entered me. I reacted by twisting my hips, flexing and struggling. This had the effect of making me unwillingly clutch myself even tighter around his cock as it curved evilly upwards inside me. I stole a glance down at our naked bodies and wet genitals glistening in the moonlight, and without warning I began experiencing deep pleasure. He then laid me in a different position, forced my pussy open wide with both his hands, and buried his face between my thighs in a swoon. He needed to drink me. Next he pushed me down and filled my mouth with the oddly contradictory sensations of his erect dick, the rod all stiffness but topped with yielding, swollen, moist, purplish flesh. He used my throat as a vagina until I took him in my hands tenderly, withdrew him, admired him, licked him languidly, and plunged him back between my waiting lips, again and again. Purplish cock... it made me, like him, a little crazy, inhaling sex, a "dispenser" of dirty thrills and divine comfort.
I sucked him until I tasted that gentle surprise, the addition to my saliva of a slightly sweetish, musky, viscous body fluid unlike any other. My own climax felt unusually indulgent, for I had cum with only my lips and tongue on his cock. He got up, went out, and soon returned with more guys. After 10 minutes anguishing about being gang-banged (it is such a high-school term), I couldn't help myself, I began to relish being fucked in every hole of my body. I sank to that level and came hard--I am embarrassed to say it, I felt dirty but I loved it. It is a contradiction to think about. Oh hot Halloween!
Trying to dismiss a growing revulsion with my weakness for pleasure and the creepiness of the location, I said to myself that it was, after all, just Second Life. My body had stopped trying to flee, since that was clearly impossible. It was then that I escaped in my mind to a vivid scene from when I was a young girl. I had always loved climbing high in a poison berry tree next to our house. It was leafy with yellows, greens, and blues, and stretched out to me its smooth, brown, veined arms. Years later I realized that being in love is like climbing that tree, for in my fortress of airy green I was uncatchable. I was as good at climbing as I am now at making love. Always I could find an escape from playtime "enemies," or put my hands on a bunch of smelly berries to throw at neighborhood children attacking my fortress from the ground. Once having learned how to swing, trusting one's grip, it is exhilarating to glide confidently between the limbs. But while climbing high one must be careful, for like love, falling from a branch is always unexpected.
When Robert and I first made love, months before, we had snuggled deep under blue-green domes of impenetrable woods. I trusted him, had been his lover, had embraced him in secret as the heat of the day gave way to cooling shadows and hot desire. Licking his neck, I had tasted the salt clinging still from our swim in the sea where we had surrendered again and again to deep waves of female invitation and male thrust. He gulped in my heady, perfumed wetness, flourishing in the fullness of feminine rain, abundance feeding pleasure, passion bursting to fruition in the dewy night.
And so you understand, I had been surprised when he told me he was going to marry his Italian lover. I remember blinking involuntarily. Weeks before, I had made love with her also, but why would I have bothered mentioning it? At that time it mattered not at all. Her hands had pulled me hungrily down onto the bed, and when I opened my eyes I saw a delicate, fragrant pussy trembling close to my face. Tentatively, I inserted my tongue into the musky slit... I couldn't help myself... I loved the dark pubic forest, I wanted to make it my new home.
How was I to tell him? I didn't. And now it was time for my punishment.
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