A Messy Break-up by Throne (Patreon)

MESSY​ ​SPLIT​ ​UP​ ​by​ ​Throne​ ​​ ​(from​ ​an​ ​outline​ ​by​ ​Devin​ ​Dickie) 

Ron​ ​had​ ​just​ ​finished​ ​straightening​ ​up​ ​his​ ​skin​ ​products​ ​in​ ​the​ ​bathroom.​ ​​ ​Exfoliating​ ​agents​ ​on the​ ​left,​ ​astringents​ ​in​ ​the​ ​middle,​ ​emollients​ ​on​ ​the​ ​right.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wanted​ ​them​ ​arranged​ ​in​ ​the​ ​order he​ ​used​ ​them.​ ​​ ​Why​ ​couldn't​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​Sherri​ ​​ ​understand​ ​that?​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​begin​ ​on his​ ​hair​ ​conditioners​ ​when​ ​she​ ​got​ ​back​ ​from​ ​running​ ​errands. 

"Hey,​ ​Ron,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​happily.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​got​ ​a​ ​cool​ ​surprise.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​new​ ​CD​ ​from​ ​B-Bang.​ ​​ ​Just came​ ​out​ ​today.​ ​​ ​Want​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​it?" 

"Is​ ​that​ ​the​ ​hip​ ​hop​ ​guy?​ ​​ ​The​ ​one​ ​who​ ​sings​ ​about​ ​something​ ​​ ​'long​ ​and​ ​black'​ ​that​ ​he​ ​wants​ ​to 'park​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back'?"​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​sound​ ​enthused. 

"That's​ ​him,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​more​ ​subdued.​ ​​ ​"So​ ​shall​ ​I​ ​put​ ​it​ ​on?"
"I...​ ​​ ​​ ​Couldn't​ ​we​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​something​ ​else?​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​some​ ​Chandra​ ​Panda?" 

"Your​ ​relaxation​ ​stuff​ ​is​ ​fine.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​good​ ​for​ ​chilling​ ​out.​ ​​ ​But​ ​sometimes​ ​I​ ​need​ ​something​ ​more exciting." 

"Whatever,"​ ​he​ ​muttered.​ ​​ ​"I'll​ ​just​ ​go​ ​into​ ​the​ ​other​ ​room​ ​and​ ​try​ ​to​ ​distract​ ​myself."
"You​ ​don't​ ​have​ ​to​ ​get​ ​all​ ​passive-aggressive​ ​with​ ​me.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​just​ ​that​ ​sometimes​ ​I​ ​like​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​off 

the​ ​mellowness​ ​and​ ​turn​ ​on​ ​the​ ​fun."
"I​ ​get​ ​it,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​with​ ​irritating​ ​neutrality.​ ​​ ​"That's​ ​fine​ ​with​ ​me.​ ​​ ​I'll​ ​be​ ​in​ ​the​ ​other..." 

"You​ ​know,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​not​ ​at​ ​all​ ​friendly​ ​now.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​COULD​ ​try​ ​to​ ​be​ ​more​ ​open​ ​to​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the things​ ​I​ ​like." 

"Yeah,​ ​but​ ​hip​ ​hop.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​that's​ ​not​ ​really​ ​even​ ​music." 

Sherri​ ​drew​ ​back​ ​her​ ​shoulders.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​substantial​ ​bust​ ​was​ ​thrust​ ​out.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​stopped​ ​dead.​ ​​ ​He really​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​pander​ ​to​ ​her​ ​less​ ​sophisticated​ ​tastes,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​also​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the cold​ ​shoulder​ ​at​ ​bedtime.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​slender​ ​but​ ​curvy,​ ​with​ ​flowing​ ​blond​ ​hair​ ​and​ ​a​ ​sweet​ ​face. The​ ​close-fitting​ ​top​ ​and​ ​brief​ ​shorts​ ​she​ ​had​ ​on​ ​accentuated​ ​all​ ​her​ ​assets. 

He​ ​forced​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​smile​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Sure.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​sorry.​ ​​ ​Put​ ​it​ ​on."
She​ ​saw​ ​through​ ​his​ ​charade​ ​and​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​critical​ ​look.​ ​​ ​"Not​ ​if​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​really​ ​want​ ​me​ ​to." 

"No.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​okay.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​I'll​ ​like​ ​this​ ​one​ ​more​ ​than​ ​his​ ​last​ ​three."​ ​​ ​That​ ​didn't​ ​come​ ​out​ ​sounding as​ ​diplomatic​ ​as​ ​he​ ​had​ ​intended. 

Sherri's​ ​pretty​ ​mouth​ ​turned​ ​down​ ​in​ ​a​ ​nasty​ ​frown.​ ​​ ​He​ ​got​ ​a​ ​mental​ ​picture​ ​of​ ​her​ ​in​ ​shapeless pajamas​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​one​ ​of​ ​her​ ​sexy​ ​nighties.​ ​​ ​"No.​ ​​ ​Never​ ​mind." 

Damn.​ ​​ ​He​ ​might​ ​not​ ​even​ ​be​ ​welcome​ ​in​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​with​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​opened​ ​his​ ​arms;​ ​he​ ​had​ ​read that​ ​doing​ ​that​ ​conveyed​ ​acceptance.​ ​​ ​"Put​ ​on​ ​the​ ​music​ ​and​ ​then,​ ​later​ ​on,​ ​how​ ​about​ ​if​ ​I​ ​take you​ ​out." 

"But​ ​where?"​ ​she​ ​asked​ ​suspiciously.​ ​​ ​"Not​ ​that​ ​boring​ ​trendy​ ​café​ ​again,​ ​I​ ​hope."
"No."​ ​​ ​Okay,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​really​ ​primed​ ​for​ ​sex.​ ​​ ​Surrendering​ ​to​ ​get​ ​what​ ​he​ ​wanted,​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"How 

about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​go​ ​to​ ​that​ ​place​ ​you​ ​keep​ ​talking​ ​about?​ ​​ ​​ ​What's​ ​it​ ​called?​ ​​ ​Club​ ​Night​ ​Wind?"
"It's​ ​Club​ ​Nightshade,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​still​ ​running​ ​hot.​ ​​ ​​ ​But​ ​his​ ​offer​ ​slowly​ ​cooled​ ​her​ ​down.​ ​​ ​"You'd 

take​ ​me​ ​there?​ ​​ ​B-Bang​ ​was​ ​on​ ​their​ ​stage​ ​last​ ​week.​ ​​ ​That​ ​would​ ​be​ ​great."
"Sure.​ ​​ ​The​ ​one​ ​year​ ​anniversary​ ​of​ ​our​ ​first​ ​date​ ​is​ ​coming​ ​up​ ​soon.​ ​​ ​This​ ​could​ ​be​ ​an​ ​early 

present."
"All​ ​right,"​ ​she​ ​agreed,​ ​sounding​ ​mollified. 

Tragedy​ ​had​ ​been​ ​averted.​ ​​ ​He​ ​considered​ ​himself​ ​a​ ​guy​ ​girls​ ​wanted,​ ​and​ ​yet​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​had much​ ​luck​ ​in​ ​the​ ​past.​ ​​ ​It​ ​didn't​ ​help​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​short​ ​and​ ​slightly​ ​built,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​soft​ ​boyish​ ​face. He​ ​favored​ ​a​ ​metrosexual​ ​look,​ ​his​ ​brown​ ​hair​ ​nearly​ ​collar​ ​length​ ​and​ ​styled​ ​casually.​ ​​ ​​ ​There was​ ​also​ ​the​ ​small​ ​matter​ ​of​ ​his...​ ​well...​ ​small​ ​endowment.​ ​​ ​But​ ​he​ ​always​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​size didn't​ ​matter.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​crass​ ​for​ ​some​ ​females​ ​to​ ​put​ ​​ ​so​ ​much​ ​emphasis​ ​on​ ​length.​ ​​ ​And thickness.​ ​​ ​And​ ​how​ ​big​ ​the​ ​knob​ ​was.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​to​ ​make​ ​himself​ ​feel​ ​better​ ​after​ ​that​ ​bothersome thought,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​to​ ​Sherri​ ​and​ ​hugged​ ​her,​ ​putting​ ​his​ ​head​ ​on​ ​her​ ​shoulder.​ ​​ ​No​ ​need​ ​to​ ​be​ ​too aggressive.​ ​​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​could​ ​be​ ​a​ ​turn-off​ ​to​ ​many​ ​modern​ ​women.​ ​​ ​Instead​ ​he​ ​rested​ ​his chin​ ​on​ ​her​ ​shoulder,​ ​sure​ ​that​ ​it​ ​would​ ​let​ ​her​ ​know​ ​he​ ​trusted​ ​her​ ​and​ ​that​ ​he​ ​anticipated​ ​the same​ ​in​ ​return.​ ​​ ​Unseen​ ​by​ ​him,​ ​Sherri​ ​rolled​ ​her​ ​eyes.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​could​ ​be​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​much​ ​in​ ​the sensitivity​ ​department​ ​sometimes. 

A​ ​few​ ​hours​ ​later​ ​they​ ​were​ ​getting​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​head​ ​to​ ​the​ ​club.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​loose​ ​colorful​ ​shirt from​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his​ ​favorite​ ​labels.​ ​​ ​His​ ​jeans​ ​were​ ​just​ ​off​ ​the​ ​rack,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​been​ ​able​ ​to​ ​resist their​ ​butt-hugging​ ​fit.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​always​ ​been​ ​very​ ​aware​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​wearing.​ ​​ ​In​ ​fact,​ ​he​ ​had possessed​ ​some​ ​habits​ ​back​ ​in​ ​his​ ​teens​ ​that​ ​had​ ​led​ ​to​ ​him​ ​learning​ ​quite​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​about​ ​girl's clothes,​ ​as​ ​well.​ ​​ ​Especially​ ​lingerie.​ ​​ ​He​ ​thought​ ​dreamily​ ​about​ ​that​ ​period​ ​but​ ​reminded himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​put​ ​it​ ​behind​ ​him.​ ​​ ​His​ ​only​ ​concession​ ​now​ ​was​ ​his​ ​briefs,​ ​jockey​ ​shorts​ ​that were​ ​attractively​ ​designed​ ​and​ ​came​ ​in​ ​a​ ​variety​ ​of​ ​flashy​ ​colors. 

Sherri​ ​had​ ​slipped​ ​into​ ​a​ ​clinging​ ​dress​ ​that​ ​was​ ​showed​ ​off​ ​her​ ​deep​ ​cleavage​ ​and​ ​was​ ​short enough​ ​to​ ​display​ ​her​ ​shapely​ ​legs​ ​from​ ​mid-thigh​ ​down.​ ​​ ​She​ ​wore​ ​shoes​ ​with​ ​two​ ​inch​ ​stiletto 

heels​ ​that​ ​made​ ​her​ ​taller​ ​stature​ ​more​ ​obvious,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​ignored​ ​that,​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​already​ ​on​ ​what would​ ​happen​ ​after​ ​they​ ​returned​ ​from​ ​the​ ​unavoidable​ ​visit​ ​to​ ​that​ ​distasteful​ ​club.​ ​​ ​He​ ​drove them​ ​and​ ​parked​ ​in​ ​a​ ​protected​ ​lot​ ​near​ ​their​ ​destination.​ ​​ ​During​ ​the​ ​short​ ​walk​ ​to​ ​the​ ​entrance he​ ​unhappily​ ​watched​ ​several​ ​young​ ​Black​ ​men​ ​flirting​ ​with​ ​white​ ​girls,​ ​who​ ​were​ ​plainly responsive. 

At​ ​the​ ​door​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​tall​ ​bouncer​ ​with​ ​broad​ ​shoulders​ ​and​ ​a​ ​strong​ ​jaw.​ ​​ ​His​ ​head​ ​was shaved​ ​and​ ​his​ ​face​ ​was​ ​free​ ​of​ ​hair​ ​except​ ​for​ ​an​ ​aggressive​ ​patch​ ​just​ ​below​ ​his​ ​thick​ ​lower lip.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​on​ ​a​ ​sleeveless​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​dark​ ​jeans.​ ​​ ​He​ ​eyed​ ​Sherri​ ​appreciatively.​ ​​ ​As​ ​they reached​ ​him​ ​he​ ​held​ ​a​ ​muscular​ ​arm​ ​out​ ​to​ ​block​ ​Ron's​ ​path. 

"Hey,​ ​dude,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​in​ ​a​ ​mock​ ​friendly​ ​way.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​smuggle​ ​some​ ​young​ ​goods​ ​in here?" 

"What?"​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​his​ ​meaning.
Sherri​ ​smiled​ ​and​ ​giggled.​ ​​ ​She​ ​helpfully​ ​explained​ ​to​ ​her​ ​date,​ ​"He's​ ​saying​ ​I​ ​might​ ​be 

underage.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​meant​ ​as​ ​a​ ​compliment."
"I​ ​don't​ ​see​ ​it​ ​that​ ​way,"​ ​Ron​ ​said​ ​seriously.​ ​​ ​He​ ​scowled​ ​but​ ​on​ ​his​ ​youthful​ ​face​ ​it​ ​looked 

comical.
The​ ​bouncer​ ​said​ ​to​ ​Sherri,​ ​"Or​ ​maybe​ ​it's​ ​you​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​sneak​ ​your​ ​little​ ​brother​ ​in." 

She​ ​put​ ​a​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​impressive​ ​bicep.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​like​ ​your​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​humor."​ ​​ ​Her​ ​hand​ ​didn't​ ​move away. 

He​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"I​ ​like​ ​yours,​ ​too.​ ​​ ​That​ ​little​ ​laugh​ ​was​ ​so​ ​pretty." 

Ron​ ​grabbed​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​and​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​push​ ​past.​ ​​ ​The​ ​bouncer​ ​took​ ​hold​ ​of​ ​his​ ​shoulder​ ​and squeezed.​ ​​ ​It​ ​didn't​ ​appear​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​very​ ​hard,​ ​but​ ​it​ ​hurt​ ​so​ ​badly​ ​that​ ​Ron​ ​almost cried​ ​out​ ​in​ ​pain.​ ​​ ​The​ ​white​ ​guy​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​contain​ ​his​ ​reaction​ ​while​ ​the​ ​bouncer​ ​held​ ​on​ ​a few​ ​seconds​ ​more​ ​than​ ​necessary,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​to​ ​make​ ​a​ ​point,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​let​ ​go. 

The​ ​Black​ ​security​ ​man​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​go​ ​right​ ​in,​ ​Miss.​ ​​ ​You​ ​could​ ​go​ ​wherever​ ​you​ ​pleased.​ ​​ ​With whoever​ ​you​ ​wanted.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I​ ​guess​ ​you'll​ ​have​ ​to​ ​take​ ​this​ ​guy​ ​in​ ​with​ ​you." 

Still​ ​annoyed,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​shoulder​ ​throbbing,​ ​Ron​ ​pulled​ ​her​ ​in​ ​after​ ​him.​ ​​ ​She​ ​said​ ​that​ ​she​ ​was sure​ ​the​ ​doorman​ ​was​ ​just​ ​kidding​ ​around.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​said​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​think​ ​so.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​they​ ​were​ ​in​ ​the dimly​ ​lit​ ​room,​ ​with​ ​hip​ ​hop​ ​music​ ​vibrating​ ​the​ ​air.​ ​​ ​There​ ​were​ ​interracial​ ​couples​ ​dancing​ ​and Ron​ ​noted​ ​with​ ​disapproval​ ​that​ ​every​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​consisted​ ​of​ ​a​ ​white​ ​girl​ ​and​ ​a​ ​tall​ ​Black​ ​guy. He​ ​worked​ ​his​ ​way​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​bar.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​turned​ ​his​ ​head​ ​to​ ​ask​ ​Sherri​ ​what​ ​she​ ​wanted, she​ ​wasn't​ ​there.​ ​​ ​He​ ​looked​ ​back​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​her​ ​chatting​ ​with​ ​some​ ​barechested​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​in​ ​a 

vest​ ​and​ ​tight​ ​pants,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​collection​ ​of​ ​gold​ ​chains​ ​around​ ​his​ ​neck.​ ​​ ​As​ ​Ron​ ​watched,​ ​the​ ​guy demonstrated​ ​a​ ​dance​ ​step​ ​and​ ​Sherri​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​duplicate​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​uncertain​ ​attempt​ ​prompted​ ​the teacher​ ​to​ ​take​ ​her​ ​lightly​ ​by​ ​the​ ​arms​ ​and​ ​do​ ​the​ ​step​ ​again,​ ​letting​ ​her​ ​feel​ ​the​ ​movement​ ​of his​ ​body. 

Ron​ ​decided​ ​the​ ​best​ ​course​ ​of​ ​action​ ​was​ ​to​ ​get​ ​two​ ​drinks​ ​and​ ​hurry​ ​back​ ​to​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Once​ ​she had​ ​a​ ​full​ ​glass​ ​in​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​she​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​do​ ​any​ ​of​ ​those​ ​hip​ ​hop​ ​moves.​ ​​ ​​ ​The bartender​ ​was​ ​tall​ ​and​ ​had​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​face.​ ​​ ​He​ ​looked​ ​straight​ ​at​ ​Ron,​ ​who​ ​placed​ ​his​ ​order​ ​--​ ​and was​ ​ignored.​ ​​ ​The​ ​bartender​ ​moved​ ​to​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​and​ ​Ron​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​get​ ​his​ ​attention.​ ​​ ​That went​ ​on​ ​for​ ​several​ ​more​ ​minutes.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​time​ ​Ron​ ​checked​ ​on​ ​his​ ​date,​ ​she​ ​was​ ​improving​ ​her dancing.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​looked​ ​invitingly​ ​sexy.​ ​​ ​Two​ ​other​ ​guys​ ​had​ ​joined​ ​in​ ​to​ ​help​ ​her​ ​and​ ​all​ ​three​ ​of her​ ​volunteer​ ​instructors​ ​were​ ​letting​ ​their​ ​hands​ ​brush​ ​her​ ​back​ ​and​ ​shoulders.​ ​​ ​One​ ​was positioning​ ​her​ ​to​ ​do​ ​a​ ​more​ ​intricate​ ​step​ ​and​ ​guided​ ​her​ ​with​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​lightly​ ​touching​ ​her slender​ ​neck,​ ​that​ ​long​ ​blond​ ​hair​ ​brushing​ ​his​ ​dark​ ​arm. 

At​ ​last​ ​the​ ​bartender​ ​deigned​ ​to​ ​take​ ​Ron's​ ​order.​ ​​ ​The​ ​white​ ​male​ ​customer​ ​stood​ ​out​ ​as​ ​an anomaly​ ​while​ ​he​ ​made​ ​his​ ​way​ ​back​ ​to​ ​Sherri​ ​with​ ​two​ ​tropical​ ​looking​ ​beverages.​ ​​ ​Ron's​ ​date grinned​ ​as​ ​he​ ​reached​ ​her. 

She​ ​said,​ ​"Hey,​ ​wait​ ​till​ ​I​ ​show​ ​you​ ​the​ ​moves​ ​these​ ​guys​ ​taught​ ​me." 

"I​ ​was​ ​watching,"​ ​he​ ​said​ ​grumpily​ ​as​ ​he​ ​offered​ ​her​ ​the​ ​drink. 

She​ ​took​ ​a​ ​generous​ ​swallow​ ​and​ ​handed​ ​the​ ​glass​ ​back​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Standing​ ​there​ ​with​ ​one​ ​in each​ ​hand,​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​do​ ​much​ ​as​ ​she​ ​began​ ​to​ ​dance​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​him,​ ​grinding​ ​her​ ​hips​ ​and shaking​ ​her​ ​eye-catching​ ​bust.​ ​​ ​​ ​The​ ​Black​ ​guys​ ​formed​ ​a​ ​loose​ ​ring​ ​around​ ​her,​ ​cutting​ ​off​ ​Ron. He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​spill​ ​anything​ ​on​ ​his​ ​expensive​ ​shirt​ ​and​ ​backed​ ​away.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​​ ​rotated​ ​slowly, facing​ ​each​ ​of​ ​her​ ​partners​ ​in​ ​turn.​ ​​ ​She​ ​bent​ ​forward​ ​and​ ​jerked​ ​her​ ​bottom​ ​spasmodically.​ ​​ ​He recognized​ ​it​ ​as​ ​what​ ​they​ ​called​ ​'twerking'.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​appreciate​ ​her​ ​performing​ ​that​ ​way​ ​in front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​new​ ​admirers,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​also​ ​couldn't​ ​deny​ ​that​ ​she​ ​looked​ ​terrifically​ ​tempting. 

For​ ​a​ ​moment​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​distracted​ ​by​ ​a​ ​Black​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​She​ ​had​ ​on​ ​lingerie.​ ​​ ​An​ ​opaque​ ​bra​ ​and matching​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​You​ ​couldn't​ ​see​ ​through​ ​them​ ​but​ ​the​ ​tops​ ​of​ ​her​ ​boobs​ ​and​ ​bottoms​ ​of​ ​her ass​ ​cheeks​ ​were​ ​exposed.​ ​​ ​Over​ ​that​ ​minimal​ ​covering​ ​she​ ​wore​ ​a​ ​short​ ​nightie​ ​of​ ​light transparent​ ​material​ ​that​ ​flowed​ ​around​ ​her.​ ​​ ​The​ ​top​ ​had​ ​ribbon​ ​ties​ ​down​ ​the​ ​front,​ ​but​ ​she had​ ​left​ ​them​ ​undone.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​thought​ ​about​ ​how​ ​light​ ​that​ ​outfit​ ​would​ ​feel​ ​to​ ​whoever​ ​wore​ ​it. And​ ​how​ ​it​ ​would​ ​tantalize​ ​their​ ​skin.​ ​​ ​His​ ​attention​ ​was​ ​snapped​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room​ ​as the​ ​song​ ​ended​ ​and​ ​Sherri​ ​leaned​ ​on​ ​him,​ ​laughing​ ​wildly. 

"That​ ​was​ ​so​ ​much​ ​fun,​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​Do​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​dance​ ​with​ ​me?"​ ​​ ​She​ ​took​ ​her​ ​drink​ ​and​ ​drained the​ ​glass​ ​before​ ​thrusting​ ​it​ ​back​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​too​ ​shocked​ ​to​ ​react​ ​as​ ​she​ ​helped​ ​herself​ ​to his​ ​untouched​ ​drink,​ ​too.​ ​​ ​"Hey,​ ​I​ ​saw​ ​a​ ​girl​ ​I​ ​know​ ​across​ ​the​ ​room.​ ​​ ​Why​ ​don't​ ​you​ ​get​ ​yourself 

a​ ​fresh​ ​drink?​ ​​ ​Another​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those​ ​FRUITY​ ​ones."​ ​​ ​​ ​She​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​some​ ​private​ ​joke​ ​he​ ​was missing.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​I'll​ ​see​ ​you...​ ​pretty​ ​soon." 

He​ ​turned​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bar,​ ​shaking​ ​his​ ​head​ ​in​ ​disapproval.​ ​​ ​Well,​ ​at​ ​least​ ​if​ ​she​ ​was​ ​with​ ​some female​ ​she​ ​knew,​ ​she​ ​wouldn't​ ​be​ ​interacting​ ​with​ ​those​ ​Black​ ​guys,​ ​who​ ​acted​ ​like​ ​it​ ​was​ ​their right​ ​to​ ​move​ ​in​ ​on​ ​his​ ​date.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​the​ ​same​ ​problem​ ​as​ ​before​ ​with​ ​the​ ​bartender,​ ​despite​ ​the placating​ ​tip​ ​he​ ​had​ ​left​ ​the​ ​first​ ​time.​ ​​ ​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​Ron​ ​had​ ​another​ ​tropical​ ​concoction,​ ​which the​ ​server​ ​had​ ​felt​ ​it​ ​necessary​ ​to​ ​add​ ​a​ ​pink​ ​paper​ ​umbrella​ ​to,​ ​Sherri​ ​was​ ​nowhere​ ​to​ ​be​ ​seen. Ron​ ​found​ ​a​ ​relatively​ ​uncrowded​ ​corner​ ​where​ ​he​ ​could​ ​sip​ ​his​ ​drink. 

A​ ​few​ ​minutes​ ​later​ ​a​ ​tall​ ​striking​ ​Black​ ​woman​ ​came​ ​up​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​ ​She​ ​stood​ ​uncomfortably​ ​close, her​ ​big​ ​melon​ ​breasts​ ​invading​ ​his​ ​space,​ ​nearly​ ​touching​ ​his​ ​chest.​ ​​ ​She​ ​had​ ​angular​ ​features and​ ​wore​ ​her​ ​hair​ ​natural​ ​and​ ​short.​ ​​ ​The​ ​vest​ ​she​ ​wore​ ​lace​ ​up​ ​the​ ​front​ ​and​ ​barely​ ​contained her​ ​massive​ ​bust.​ ​​ ​She​ ​had​ ​nothing​ ​on​ ​under​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Below​ ​the​ ​waist​ ​all​ ​she​ ​wore​ ​was​ ​a​ ​pleated plaid​ ​mini-skirt​ ​and​ ​high​ ​boots​ ​of​ ​shiny​ ​red​ ​leather. 

"Hey,​ ​lover,"​ ​she​ ​purred.​ ​​ ​"Want​ ​to​ ​buy​ ​me​ ​a​ ​drink?​ ​​ ​I'd​ ​really​ ​appreciate​ ​it.​ ​​ ​And​ ​try​ ​to​ ​find​ ​some way​ ​to​ ​pay​ ​you​ ​back." 

She​ ​was​ ​truly​ ​stunning,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​had​ ​always​ ​been​ ​uneasy​ ​around​ ​Black​ ​girls.​ ​​ ​They​ ​just​ ​seemed too...​ ​aggressive.​ ​​ ​She​ ​pouted​ ​her​ ​pillow​ ​lips​ ​and​ ​rolled​ ​her​ ​shoulders,​ ​making​ ​her​ ​boobs​ ​rub enticingly​ ​against​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​​ ​His​ ​throat​ ​was​ ​suddenly​ ​dry.​ ​​ ​He​ ​stepped​ ​back​ ​and​ ​bumped​ ​into the​ ​rear​ ​wall.​ ​​ ​She​ ​licked​ ​her​ ​lips​ ​lasciviously​ ​and​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​her​ ​hips. 

"Maybe​ ​I​ ​could​ ​just​ ​have​ ​a​ ​taste​ ​of​ ​your​ ​drink,"​ ​she​ ​offered​ ​with​ ​thinly​ ​veiled​ ​suggestiveness. 

Nervous​ ​and​ ​unsure​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​do,​ ​Ron​ ​just​ ​held​ ​out​ ​the​ ​glass.​ ​​ ​She​ ​took​ ​his​ ​wrist, made​ ​him​ ​raise​ ​the​ ​drink​ ​to​ ​her​ ​waiting​ ​mouth,​ ​and​ ​took​ ​a​ ​long​ ​catlike​ ​lap​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bright​ ​liquid. He​ ​was​ ​still​ ​gaping​ ​at​ ​her​ ​when​ ​she​ ​turned​ ​her​ ​head​ ​as​ ​if​ ​expecting​ ​a​ ​reaction​ ​from​ ​behind. Half​ ​a​ ​dozen​ ​other​ ​Black​ ​girls,​ ​who​ ​had​ ​been​ ​discretely​ ​watching​ ​her,​ ​broke​ ​into​ ​peals​ ​of laughter.​ ​​ ​They​ ​crowded​ ​forward,​ ​pinning​ ​Ron​ ​against​ ​the​ ​wall.​ ​​ ​All​ ​of​ ​them​ ​starting​ ​talking​ ​to him. 

"Hey,​ ​boy,​ ​you​ ​real​ ​brave​ ​coming​ ​here."
"Guess​ ​you​ ​must​ ​have​ ​something​ ​like​ ​what​ ​the​ ​brothers​ ​got​ ​down​ ​below,​ ​to​ ​be​ ​so​ ​confident." 

One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​grabbed​ ​his​ ​crotch​ ​and​ ​held​ ​on.​ ​​ ​She​ ​feigned​ ​puzzlement​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"But​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​feel hardly​ ​anything.​ ​​ ​What's​ ​the​ ​matter,​ ​white​ ​boy?​ ​​ ​Leave​ ​your​ ​cock​ ​at​ ​home?" 

He​ ​stammered​ ​out​ ​some​ ​disconnected​ ​syllables,​ ​which​ ​they​ ​ignored.​ ​​ ​The​ ​best​ ​he​ ​finally managed​ ​was,​ ​"I​ ​have...​ ​a...​ ​a...​ ​girlfriend." 

"Has​ ​she​ ​got​ ​your​ ​cock?​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​in​ ​her​ ​purse?​ ​​ ​Because​ ​there​ ​sure​ ​ain't​ ​nothing​ ​where​ ​it supposed​ ​to​ ​be." 

"You​ ​got​ ​shortchanged​ ​at​ ​the​ ​cock​ ​bank."
"Your​ ​little​ ​problem​ ​is​ ​getting​ ​bigger,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​much." 

He​ ​broke​ ​free​ ​from​ ​the​ ​hands​ ​that​ ​had​ ​been​ ​fooling​ ​around​ ​with​ ​his​ ​manhood​ ​and​ ​pushed between​ ​the​ ​girls​ ​to​ ​stumble​ ​into​ ​the​ ​crowd,​ ​bumping​ ​several​ ​people.​ ​​ ​A​ ​sneering​ ​Black​ ​face, male​ ​and​ ​angry,​ ​came​ ​close​ ​to​ ​his.​ ​​ ​He​ ​backed​ ​up​ ​and​ ​the​ ​guy​ ​abruptly​ ​started​ ​howling​ ​with laughter. 

"Don't​ ​worry,"​ ​he​ ​told​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​won't​ ​hurt​ ​you,​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​You​ ​got​ ​enough​ ​problems​ ​already." 

Trying​ ​to​ ​calm​ ​himself,​ ​Ron​ ​took​ ​a​ ​drink.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​remembered​ ​that​ ​girl​ ​had​ ​put​ ​her​ ​tongue​ ​in there​ ​and​ ​he​ ​spit​ ​the​ ​fluid​ ​back​ ​into​ ​the​ ​glass,​ ​dribbling​ ​some​ ​down​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pricey​ ​shirt. He​ ​cursed​ ​and​ ​squared​ ​his​ ​shoulders,​ ​attempting​ ​to​ ​look​ ​in​ ​control,​ ​but​ ​there​ ​was​ ​even​ ​more laughter.​ ​​ ​A​ ​short​ ​Black​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​a​ ​small​ ​bust​ ​but​ ​amazingly​ ​big​ ​hips​ ​and,​ ​he​ ​saw​ ​as​ ​she​ ​turned sideways​ ​to​ ​say​ ​something​ ​to​ ​a​ ​friend,​ ​a​ ​huge​ ​bottom,​ ​came​ ​closer.​ ​​ ​She​ ​reached​ ​for​ ​his​ ​crotch. 

"Mind​ ​if​ ​I​ ​have​ ​that​ ​baby​ ​size​ ​party​ ​wiener?"
He​ ​questioned​ ​her​ ​with​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​and​ ​then​ ​glanced​ ​down.​ ​​ ​One​ ​of​ ​the​ ​other​ ​girls​ ​had​ ​opened​ ​his 

fly​ ​and​ ​his​ ​penis​ ​was​ ​sticking​ ​out.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​erect.
"Is​ ​that​ ​thing​ ​hard?"​ ​some​ ​guy​ ​asked​ ​incredulously.
"I​ ​think​ ​so.​ ​​ ​But​ ​it​ ​looks​ ​like​ ​about​ ​four​ ​inches."
"Four​ ​skinny​ ​inches."
"And​ ​it​ ​even​ ​narrows​ ​down​ ​at​ ​the​ ​head.​ ​​ ​Damn​ ​thing​ ​is​ ​useless." 

Ron​ ​spilled​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​his​ ​drink​ ​down​ ​his​ ​front,​ ​even​ ​getting​ ​some​ ​on​ ​his​ ​well​ ​fitting​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​He stuffed​ ​himself​ ​back​ ​into​ ​his​ ​fly​ ​and​ ​closed​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Blushing​ ​vividly,​ ​he​ ​hurried​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bar, ordered​ ​a​ ​drink,​ ​eventually​ ​got​ ​it,​ ​and​ ​finished​ ​it​ ​in​ ​one​ ​long​ ​swallow,​ ​which​ ​ended​ ​with​ ​a​ ​few moments​ ​of​ ​uncontrollable​ ​coughing.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​all​ ​too​ ​much.​ ​​ ​He​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​find​ ​Sherri​ ​and​ ​take her​ ​home​ ​at​ ​once.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​no​ ​place​ ​for​ ​them​ ​to​ ​be. 

He​ ​weaved​ ​his​ ​way​ ​through​ ​the​ ​crowd​ ​unmolested.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​was​ ​not​ ​where​ ​she​ ​had​ ​gone.​ ​​ ​He made​ ​another​ ​circuit​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room​ ​with​ ​the​ ​same​ ​frustrating​ ​results.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​perspiring​ ​heavily and​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​step​ ​out​ ​front​ ​for​ ​a​ ​breath​ ​of​ ​fresh​ ​air.​ ​​ ​He​ ​would​ ​do​ ​some​ ​deep​ ​calming​ ​breaths 

to​ ​settle​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​door​ ​that​ ​annoying​ ​bouncer​ ​wasn't​ ​there,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​the first​ ​good​ ​thing​ ​to​ ​happen​ ​all​ ​evening.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​stepped​ ​outside. 

There​ ​was​ ​the​ ​bouncer.​ ​​ ​With​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​her​ ​halfway-out​ ​breast.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​wanted to​ ​tell​ ​the​ ​man​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​committing​ ​sexual​ ​assault.​ ​​ ​Until​ ​he​ ​noticed​ ​that​ ​Sherri's​ ​hand​ ​was occupied​ ​too.​ ​​ ​On​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bouncer's​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​Where​ ​there​ ​was​ ​an​ ​enviable​ ​bulge​ ​that​ ​ran partway​ ​down​ ​his​ ​leg.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​rubbing​ ​it​ ​lovingly.​ ​​ ​And​ ​they​ ​were​ ​kissing,​ ​lips​ ​mashed together.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​went​ ​into​ ​a​ ​frenzy.​ ​​ ​​ ​He​ ​rushed​ ​at​ ​them.​ ​​ ​The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​saw​ ​him​ ​coming​ ​at​ ​the last​ ​minute​ ​and​ ​shoved​ ​out​ ​his​ ​arm.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​ran​ ​into​ ​the​ ​palm​ ​of​ ​his​ ​wide​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​it​ ​was​ ​like hitting​ ​a​ ​brick​ ​wall.​ ​​ ​The​ ​doorman​ ​unhurriedly​ ​released​ ​Sherri​ ​and​ ​stepped​ ​toward​ ​Ron. 

"Yo,​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​You​ ​are​ ​in​ ​the​ ​wrong​ ​game.​ ​​ ​You​ ​ain't​ ​got​ ​the​ ​skills​ ​for​ ​this." 

Ron​ ​threw​ ​a​ ​wild​ ​punch.​ ​​ ​The​ ​big​ ​man​ ​caught​ ​it​ ​easily​ ​and​ ​squeezed​ ​Ron's​ ​fist,​ ​twisting​ ​it​ ​at​ ​the same​ ​time.​ ​​ ​Pain​ ​exploded​ ​in​ ​Ron's​ ​wrist.​ ​​ ​The​ ​man​ ​got​ ​his​ ​arm​ ​bent​ ​around​ ​behind​ ​his​ ​back. Ron's​ ​shoulder​ ​blazed​ ​with​ ​agony.​ ​​ ​He​ ​couldn't​ ​move​ ​without​ ​hurting​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​He​ ​couldn't​ ​break free. 

Effortlessly​ ​holding​ ​him​ ​that​ ​way,​ ​the​ ​bouncer​ ​said​ ​to​ ​Sherri,​ ​"This​ ​is​ ​the​ ​wimp​ ​who​ ​gave​ ​me trouble​ ​when​ ​you​ ​got​ ​here.​ ​​ ​Right?" 

She​ ​nodded​ ​up​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​ ​As​ ​if​ ​she​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​it,​ ​she​ ​explained,​ ​"He's​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​my boyfriend." 

The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​snickered.​ ​​ ​"Well,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​mess​ ​up​ ​your​ ​romantic​ ​evening.​ ​​ ​I​ ​bet​ ​he​ ​wants to​ ​have​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​conversation​ ​with​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Me,​ ​I'd​ ​have​ ​better​ ​stuff​ ​to​ ​do​ ​together.​ ​​ ​Though​ ​part​ ​of​ ​it would​ ​still​ ​go​ ​deep." 

Unexpectedly​ ​he​ ​yanked​ ​Ron's​ ​arm,​ ​spinning​ ​him​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time.​ ​​ ​A​ ​combination​ ​of​ ​pain​ ​and lost​ ​balance​ ​sent​ ​Ron​ ​stumbling​ ​away.​ ​​ ​He​ ​landed​ ​clumsily,​ ​tearing​ ​the​ ​elbow​ ​of​ ​his​ ​beloved shirt​ ​and​ ​hurting​ ​his​ ​ankle.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​went​ ​to​ ​her​ ​date,​ ​but​ ​in​ ​no​ ​hurry.​ ​​ ​As​ ​she​ ​helped​ ​Ron​ ​to​ ​his feet​ ​she​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​the​ ​man​ ​who​ ​had​ ​been​ ​pawing​ ​her. 

Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"It​ ​was​ ​nice​ ​to​ ​meet​ ​you,​ ​Lamont.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​we​ ​can​ ​talk​ ​again​ ​sometime."
"Sure,​ ​angel.​ ​​ ​I​ ​love​ ​to​ ​talk."
Ron​ ​leaned​ ​against​ ​her​ ​as​ ​he​ ​limped​ ​away.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​until​ ​they​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​parking​ ​lot​ ​did​ ​Ron​ ​speak. "I​ ​could​ ​have​ ​taken​ ​that​ ​jerk​ ​if​ ​he​ ​hadn't​ ​blindsided​ ​me."
"I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​could​ ​have,​ ​honey." 

"And​ ​what​ ​were​ ​you​ ​doing​ ​with​ ​him?"
"Me?​ ​​ ​Just​ ​fooling​ ​around​ ​a​ ​little.​ ​​ ​You​ ​were​ ​gone​ ​and​ ​I​ ​got​ ​bored.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​interesting.​ ​​ ​Used​ ​to 

play​ ​football."
"Big​ ​deal.​ ​​ ​He​ ​could​ ​have​ ​hurt​ ​me.​ ​​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean​ ​more​ ​than​ ​he​ ​did."
"I'm​ ​sure​ ​he​ ​could​ ​have.​ ​​ ​You​ ​were​ ​lucky.​ ​​ ​I​ ​guess​ ​he​ ​went​ ​easy​ ​on​ ​you​ ​for​ ​me." 

Ron​ ​was​ ​so​ ​insulted​ ​and​ ​humiliated​ ​that​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​find​ ​more​ ​words.​ ​​ ​They​ ​got​ ​to​ ​the​ ​car​ ​and Sherri​ ​said​ ​she​ ​would​ ​drive.​ ​​ ​Despite​ ​his​ ​wounded​ ​pride,​ ​he​ ​let​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Back​ ​in​ ​the​ ​apartment​ ​he was​ ​still​ ​furious.​ ​​ ​But​ ​there​ ​was​ ​still​ ​his​ ​image​ ​to​ ​repair,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​calmed​ ​himself​ ​down.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was obvious​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​fit​ ​for​ ​sex,​ ​not​ ​as​ ​sore​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was.​ ​​ ​So​ ​he​ ​got​ ​undressed​ ​and​ ​fell asleep​ ​in​ ​those​ ​colorful​ ​shorts.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​bright​ ​peach. 

In​ ​the​ ​morning​ ​their​ ​time​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club​ ​seemed​ ​forgotten.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​maybe​ ​neither​ ​of​ ​them​ ​was​ ​ready​ ​to talk​ ​about​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​still​ ​stewing​ ​over​ ​all​ ​of​ ​what​ ​had​ ​happened.​ ​​ ​He​ ​resented​ ​Sherri​ ​making out​ ​with​ ​that​ ​lothario,​ ​and​ ​doing​ ​it​ ​so​ ​publicly.​ ​​ ​What​ ​if​ ​someone​ ​Ron​ ​knew​ ​had​ ​seen​ ​her?​ ​​ ​Still, he​ ​told​ ​himself,​ ​she​ ​had​ ​drunk​ ​too​ ​much.​ ​​ ​That​ ​was​ ​the​ ​explanation.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​so,​ ​his​ ​temper​ ​kept simmering​ ​for​ ​the​ ​next​ ​few​ ​days.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​listening​ ​to​ ​Chandra​ ​Panda​ ​didn't​ ​help. 

At​ ​last​ ​he​ ​brought​ ​it​ ​up.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​know,​ ​that​ ​really​ ​hurt​ ​me​ ​when​ ​I​ ​found​ ​you​ ​making​ ​out with​ ​that​ ​bouncer​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club." 

"I​ ​shouldn't​ ​have​ ​done​ ​it.​ ​​ ​But​ ​you​ ​did​ ​feed​ ​me​ ​two​ ​big​ ​drinks.​ ​​ ​And​ ​when​ ​he​ ​told​ ​me​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was a​ ​former​ ​pro​ ​football​ ​player,​ ​I​ ​got​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​star​ ​struck." 

"Well,​ ​you​ ​should​ ​have​ ​been​ ​thinking​ ​more​ ​about​ ​me." 

"I​ ​know.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​just​ ​I​ ​got​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​swept​ ​away.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​so​ ​big​ ​and​ ​strong.​ ​​ ​And​ ​confident. Forceful.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​like​ ​he​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​pick​ ​me​ ​up,​ ​carry​ ​me​ ​off,​ ​and​ ​do​ ​whatever​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​with me.​ ​​ ​Can​ ​you​ ​imagine​ ​what​ ​that​ ​felt​ ​like?" 

For​ ​a​ ​long​ ​moment​ ​he​ ​could​ ​only​ ​stare.​ ​​ ​His​ ​throat​ ​felt​ ​tight.​ ​​ ​Finally,​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​all​ ​at​ ​once​ ​wanting to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​conversation​ ​over​ ​with,​ ​"I​ ​can​ ​see​ ​how​ ​that​ ​could​ ​happen.​ ​​ ​So​ ​let's​ ​just​ ​kiss​ ​and​ ​make up." 

He​ ​went​ ​to​ ​her​ ​and​ ​leaned​ ​in​ ​to​ ​deliver​ ​a​ ​kiss.​ ​​ ​She​ ​moved​ ​her​ ​head​ ​just​ ​enough​ ​that​ ​his​ ​lips met​ ​her​ ​soft​ ​cheek.​ ​​ ​He​ ​figured​ ​she​ ​simply​ ​hadn't​ ​worked​ ​through​ ​their​ ​problem​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way. After​ ​those​ ​things​ ​she​ ​had​ ​just​ ​said,​ ​he​ ​could​ ​better​ ​understand​ ​why​ ​she​ ​had​ ​acted​ ​so impulsively.​ ​​ ​​ ​The​ ​images​ ​she​ ​had​ ​put​ ​into​ ​his​ ​head​ ​were​ ​imprinted​ ​on​ ​his​ ​mind. 

Sherri​ ​had​ ​to​ ​visit​ ​an​ ​old​ ​girlfriend​ ​who​ ​was​ ​feeling​ ​down.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​said​ ​she​ ​was​ ​being​ ​a​ ​good person.​ ​​ ​He​ ​quoted​ ​a​ ​line​ ​from​ ​some​ ​inspirational​ ​author​ ​he'd​ ​seen​ ​on​ ​a​ ​talk​ ​show.​ ​​ ​She​ ​got herself​ ​ready​ ​and​ ​said​ ​goodbye.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​another​ ​quick​ ​kiss,​ ​this​ ​time​ ​with​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​ending​ ​up on​ ​her​ ​shimmering​ ​hair. 

Once​ ​she​ ​was​ ​gone​ ​he​ ​went​ ​on-line,​ ​intending​ ​simply​ ​to​ ​distract​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​But​ ​what​ ​she​ ​had​ ​said about​ ​her​ ​reaction​ ​to​ ​Lamont​ ​kept​ ​overriding​ ​every​ ​other​ ​thought.​ ​​ ​He​ ​did​ ​a​ ​search​ ​on​ ​the former​ ​football​ ​player​ ​and​ ​switched​ ​right​ ​over​ ​from​ ​text​ ​entries​ ​to​ ​images.​ ​​ ​There​ ​he​ ​was,​ ​black face​ ​shining​ ​with​ ​sweat,​ ​helmet​ ​held​ ​under​ ​his​ ​arm.​ ​​ ​And​ ​there,​ ​dressed​ ​up​ ​for​ ​some​ ​celebrity event.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​with​ ​his​ ​arm​ ​around​ ​a​ ​blond​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​And​ ​now​ ​in​ ​the​ ​locker​ ​room,​ ​seated​ ​naked​ ​on​ ​a bench​ ​with​ ​a​ ​towel​ ​barely​ ​covering​ ​anything.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​pictured​ ​his​ ​girlfriend​ ​and​ ​how​ ​she​ ​would​ ​look if​ ​she​ ​was​ ​ogling​ ​that​ ​image.​ ​​ ​He​ ​put​ ​himself​ ​deeply​ ​in​ ​her​ ​place,​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​access​ ​her​ ​mindset. Ron​ ​wasn't​ ​appreciating​ ​the​ ​photo​ ​that​ ​way​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​simply​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​understand​ ​her motivation.​ ​​ ​He​ ​narrowed​ ​the​ ​search​ ​to​ ​'Lamont​ ​Jones,​ ​dating'​ ​and​ ​then​ ​'Lamont​ ​Jones,​ ​locker room',​ ​both​ ​of​ ​which​ ​yielded​ ​interesting​ ​results. 

Ron​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​must​ ​be​ ​thinking​ ​of​ ​Sherri​ ​because​ ​his​ ​cock​ ​was​ ​twitching.​ ​​ ​Probably that​ ​was​ ​because​ ​they​ ​had​ ​been​ ​having​ ​sex​ ​less​ ​often.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​deserved​ ​some​ ​pleasure. Which​ ​he​ ​could​ ​give​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​While​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​his​ ​girlfriend.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​her​ ​with​ ​Lamont. Not​ ​being​ ​fondled​ ​by​ ​the​ ​former​ ​athlete.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​with​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​amazing​ ​cock​ ​bulge.​ ​​ ​As​ ​if​ ​in a​ ​trance​ ​Ron​ ​got​ ​a​ ​cum​ ​towel.​ ​​ ​He​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​would​ ​shoot​ ​hard​ ​after​ ​his​ ​involuntary​ ​celibacy.​ ​​ ​He stood​ ​by​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​and​ ​laid​ ​the​ ​towel​ ​out​ ​over​ ​the​ ​covers.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​got​ ​naked.​ ​​ ​He​ ​went​ ​to Sherri's​ ​drawer​ ​and​ ​took​ ​​ ​two​ ​pairs​ ​of​ ​her​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​It​ ​felt​ ​so​ ​good​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​them​ ​against​ ​his neglected​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​He​ ​rubbed​ ​himself​ ​with​ ​them,​ ​bringing​ ​his​ ​organ​ ​easily​ ​up​ ​to​ ​full​ ​length.​ ​​ ​It wasn't​ ​big​ ​but​ ​it​ ​sure​ ​was​ ​firm. 

He​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​with​ ​one​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​panties​ ​wrapped​ ​around​ ​his​ ​tool,​ ​stroking​ ​in​ ​slow​ ​motion.​ ​​ ​When he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​visualize​ ​Sherri​ ​alone,​ ​Lamont​ ​kept​ ​intruding.​ ​​ ​The​ ​memory​ ​of​ ​him​ ​handling​ ​her,​ ​and the​ ​fantasies​ ​she​ ​had​ ​just​ ​admitted​ ​were​ ​ignited​ ​in​ ​her​ ​mind,​ ​was​ ​all​ ​so​ ​involving.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​slowed down.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​too​ ​good​ ​to​ ​rush.​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​the​ ​second​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​used​ ​them​ ​to massage​ ​his​ ​nipples,​ ​which​ ​elevated​ ​his​ ​arousal​ ​to​ ​near​ ​peak​ ​levels.​ ​​ ​The​ ​touch​ ​of​ ​satiny material​ ​against​ ​his​ ​skin​ ​brought​ ​back​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​his​ ​teen​ ​years.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​used​ ​his​ ​sister's undies​ ​that​ ​way.​ ​​ ​They​ ​had​ ​only​ ​been​ ​cotton​ ​but​ ​it​ ​had​ ​been​ ​almost​ ​this​ ​good. 

There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​pause​ ​in​ ​his​ ​rhythm.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​had​ ​done​ ​something​ ​else​ ​with​ ​those​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had put​ ​a​ ​pair​ ​on.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​never​ ​had​ ​much​ ​body​ ​hair.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​he​ ​had​ ​most​ ​of​ ​it waxed.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was​ ​left​ ​was​ ​just​ ​a​ ​close-trimmed​ ​patch​ ​above​ ​his​ ​small​ ​penis.​ ​He​ ​sighed​ ​at​ ​the memory​ ​of​ ​strutting​ ​around​ ​in​ ​the​ ​borrowed​ ​underwear.​ ​​ ​Wiggling​ ​his​ ​ass​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​big mirror.​ ​​ ​And​ ​Sherri​ ​in​ ​Lamont's​ ​strong​ ​arms.​ ​​ ​No,​ ​he​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​see​ ​that.​ ​​ ​But​ ​it​ ​was​ ​burned into​ ​his​ ​mind.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​stopped​ ​resisting​ ​and​ ​allowed​ ​his​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​that​ ​night​ ​to​ ​overwhelm​ ​him. He​ ​could​ ​feel​ ​his​ ​balls​ ​tightening​ ​up.​ ​​ ​His​ ​nipples​ ​responding​ ​even​ ​when​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​touching them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​purred​ ​and​ ​moaned​ ​and​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​was​ ​approaching​ ​the​ ​point​ ​of​ ​no​ ​return. 

All​ ​at​ ​once​ ​he​ ​exploded.​ ​​ ​The​ ​panties​ ​were​ ​around​ ​the​ ​shaft,​ ​not​ ​the​ ​head,​ ​so​ ​he​ ​was​ ​confident they​ ​were​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​path​ ​of​ ​the​ ​spurting​ ​spunk.​ ​​ ​It​ ​plopped​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​towel​ ​in​ ​big​ ​gobs.​ ​​ ​Smaller drops​ ​followed.​ ​​ ​He​ ​sighed​ ​and​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​rocking​ ​slightly.​ ​​ ​That​ ​had​ ​been​ ​magnificent.​ ​​ ​Now he​ ​was​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​thinking​ ​about​ ​Lamont​ ​holding​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​Emptying​ ​his​ ​balls​ ​had​ ​solved​ ​that problem.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​so​ ​relaxed.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​folded​ ​the​ ​towel​ ​over​ ​once,​ ​took​ ​it​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hamper,​ ​and deposited​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​replaced​ ​Sherri's​ ​panties​ ​in​ ​the​ ​drawer.​ ​​ ​A​ ​fleeting​ ​vision​ ​of​ ​Lamont​ ​ripping them​ ​off​ ​her​ ​flitted​ ​behind​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​as​ ​he​ ​did​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​quickly​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​sink​ ​and​ ​cleaned​ ​any stray​ ​semen​ ​off​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​dick​ ​with​ ​a​ ​warm​ ​wet​ ​washcloth. 

Just​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​into​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​and​ ​T-shirt,​ ​to​ ​sleep​ ​in,​ ​Sherri​ ​reappeared.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was about​ ​a​ ​half​ ​hour​ ​early​ ​because,​ ​she​ ​explained,​ ​her​ ​friend​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​very​ ​tired.​ ​​ ​She​ ​showed Ron​ ​a​ ​selfie​ ​on​ ​her​ ​phone​ ​of​ ​the​ ​two​ ​of​ ​them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​silently​ ​congratulated​ ​himself​ ​for​ ​getting​ ​away with​ ​his​ ​mischief.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​pleaded​ ​weariness​ ​and​ ​went​ ​to​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​Sherri,​ ​still​ ​wide​ ​awake​ ​from having​ ​coffee​ ​with​ ​her​ ​old​ ​acquaintance,​ ​was​ ​puttering​ ​around.​ ​​ ​She​ ​noticed​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​a​ ​pair of​ ​panties​ ​sticking​ ​out​ ​of​ ​her​ ​dresser​ ​drawer.​ ​​ ​When​ ​she​ ​investigated​ ​there​ ​were​ ​two​ ​pair​ ​slightly out​ ​of​ ​place​ ​and,​ ​on​ ​inspecting​ ​them,​ ​one​ ​had​ ​suspicious​ ​speckles​ ​of​ ​something​ ​still​ ​damp​ ​on​ ​it. When​ ​she​ ​took​ ​them​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hamper​ ​and​ ​opened​ ​it,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​towel,​ ​neatly​ ​folded​ ​over,​ ​on​ ​top of​ ​everything​ ​else.​ ​​ ​She​ ​hadn't​ ​put​ ​it​ ​there​ ​and​ ​Ron​ ​wasn't​ ​usually​ ​that​ ​neat.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​lifted​ ​it​ ​out and​ ​opened​ ​it.​ ​​ ​She​ ​saw​ ​--​ ​and​ ​smelled​ ​--​ ​the​ ​mess​ ​of​ ​sperm​ ​all​ ​over​ ​it​ ​and​ ​flew​ ​into​ ​a​ ​rage. 

Ron​ ​felt​ ​pain.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was​ ​happening?​ ​​ ​Someone​ ​was​ ​pummeling​ ​him.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​Sherri,​ ​and​ ​she was​ ​pounding​ ​his​ ​chest​ ​with​ ​her​ ​fists,​ ​using​ ​them​ ​like​ ​hammers.​ ​​ ​He​ ​curled​ ​protectively​ ​into​ ​a ball. 

"What​ ​the​ ​hell​ ​are​ ​you​ ​doing?"​ ​he​ ​yelled​ ​indignantly.
"I'll​ ​tell​ ​you​ ​what​ ​I'm​ ​doing.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​teaching​ ​you​ ​not​ ​to​ ​jerk​ ​off​ ​behind​ ​my​ ​back." "It​ ​was...​ ​an​ ​accident." 

"Sure​ ​it​ ​was.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​why​ ​the​ ​spray​ ​was​ ​in​ ​such​ ​an​ ​obvious​ ​pattern.​ ​​ ​That​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​there​ ​from you​ ​wiping​ ​up​ ​an​ ​'accident'.​ ​​ ​You​ ​rubbed​ ​off​ ​your​ ​little​ ​dingus​ ​and​ ​squirted​ ​all​ ​over​ ​my​ ​clean towel.​ ​​ ​This​ ​towel​ ​was​ ​a​ ​gift​ ​from​ ​my​ ​Mom." 

She​ ​held​ ​the​ ​incriminating​ ​exhibit​ ​out​ ​accusingly.​ ​​ ​Then,​ ​before​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​what​ ​was​ ​happening, she​ ​shoved​ ​it​ ​just​ ​inches​ ​from​ ​his​ ​face​ ​and​ ​kept​ ​it​ ​there. 

"I​ ​put​ ​up​ ​with​ ​you​ ​for​ ​almost​ ​a​ ​year.​ ​​ ​You​ ​and​ ​your​ ​tiny​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​right.​ ​​ ​Tiny!​ ​​ ​I​ ​was disappointed​ ​by​ ​your​ ​pitiful​ ​excuse​ ​for​ ​a​ ​cock​ ​from​ ​day​ ​one.​ ​​ ​But​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​you​ ​were​ ​an​ ​okay​ ​guy and​ ​that​ ​we​ ​could​ ​have​ ​something​ ​together.​ ​​ ​And​ ​this​ ​is​ ​how​ ​you​ ​pay​ ​me​ ​back.​ ​​ ​I​ ​go​ ​for​ ​almost twelve​ ​months​ ​having​ ​to​ ​fake​ ​orgasms​ ​every​ ​time​ ​you​ ​climb​ ​on​ ​top​ ​of​ ​me,​ ​stick​ ​that​ ​pencil​ ​prick in​ ​my​ ​pussy,​ ​and​ ​shoot​ ​way​ ​too​ ​soon.​ ​​ ​I​ ​got​ ​pumped​ ​full​ ​of​ ​your​ ​slime​ ​again​ ​and​ ​again,​ ​and​ ​now 

you​ ​can​ ​just...​ ​just..."​ ​​ ​She​ ​rubbed​ ​the​ ​towel​ ​against​ ​his​ ​startled​ ​features,​ ​getting​ ​cum​ ​all​ ​over​ ​his face.​ ​​ ​"...​ ​just​ ​wear​ ​it.​ ​​ ​You​ ​make​ ​me​ ​sick,​ ​with​ ​your​ ​nothing​ ​dick​ ​and​ ​your​ ​wimpy​ ​behavior." 

In​ ​desperation​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​"It​ ​wasn't​ ​supposed​ ​to​ ​happen.​ ​​ ​​ ​The​ ​towel​ ​was​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​shower.​ ​​ ​And...​ ​and..." 

"And​ ​somehow​ ​that​ ​silly​ ​thing​ ​between​ ​your​ ​legs​ ​just​ ​went​ ​off." "Something​ ​like​ ​that."
"And​ ​it​ ​left​ ​pecker​ ​tracks​ ​on​ ​my​ ​favorite​ ​panties."
"It...​ ​what?" 

She​ ​held​ ​up​ ​the​ ​incontrovertible​ ​proof​ ​of​ ​the​ ​misused​ ​lingerie.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​pervert.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​you​ ​were wearing​ ​these.​ ​​ ​Is​ ​that​ ​it?​ ​​ ​Go​ ​ahead,​ ​pig.​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​see​ ​you​ ​put​ ​them​ ​on." 

Sherri​ ​wrenched​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​down​ ​and​ ​pulled​ ​them​ ​off.​ ​​ ​She​ ​took​ ​the​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​hooked​ ​them over​ ​his​ ​foot​ ​to​ ​pull​ ​them​ ​partly​ ​up.​ ​​ ​She​ ​grabbed​ ​his​ ​other​ ​ankle​ ​and​ ​shoved​ ​that​ ​foot​ ​through the​ ​remaining​ ​leg​ ​hole.​ ​Then​ ​she​ ​started​ ​to​ ​raise​ ​them. 

The​ ​furious​ ​female​ ​yanked​ ​them​ ​higher​ ​and​ ​screamed​ ​at​ ​him​ ​to​ ​finish​ ​the​ ​job.​ ​​ ​Too​ ​intimidated to​ ​make​ ​more​ ​lame​ ​excuses,​ ​he​ ​did​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​wearing​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​since​ ​his​ ​teen​ ​years​ ​had he​ ​experienced​ ​that​ ​wonderful​ ​and​ ​addicting​ ​sensation.​ ​​ ​His​ ​cock​ ​betrayed​ ​him,​ ​springing​ ​to attention.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​gasped​ ​and​ ​backed​ ​away. 

"You​ ​really​ ​are​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​faggot​ ​freak.​ ​​ ​Jeez.​ ​​ ​I've​ ​been​ ​living​ ​with​ ​a​ ​no-dick​ ​queer.​ ​​ ​No wonder​ ​you​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​and​ ​watched​ ​while​ ​that​ ​bouncer​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club​ ​had​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​all​ ​over​ ​me. You​ ​didn't​ ​care.​ ​​ ​You​ ​were​ ​probably​ ​getting​ ​off​ ​on​ ​how​ ​strong​ ​he​ ​was.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​enjoyed it,​ ​when​ ​you​ ​finally​ ​put​ ​on​ ​an​ ​act​ ​like​ ​you​ ​were​ ​going​ ​after​ ​him​ ​and​ ​he​ ​pushed​ ​you​ ​around​ ​and knocked​ ​you​ ​down.​ ​​ ​You​ ​wanted​ ​him​ ​to​ ​rough​ ​you​ ​up." 

The​ ​towel​ ​had​ ​slipped​ ​to​ ​the​ ​side.​ ​​ ​She​ ​grabbed​ ​it​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it​ ​over​ ​his​ ​face.​ ​​ ​He​ ​struggled ineffectually,​ ​blinded​ ​and​ ​semi-helpless.​ ​​ ​And​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​still​ ​stiff​ ​in​ ​the​ ​panties.​ ​​ ​She​ ​seized his​ ​wrist,​ ​stuck​ ​the​ ​second​ ​pair​ ​of​ ​panties​ ​into​ ​his​ ​hand,​ ​and​ ​positioned​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​on​ ​the​ ​small bump​ ​made​ ​by​ ​his​ ​immature​ ​organ.​ ​​ ​She​ ​pulled​ ​the​ ​pair​ ​he​ ​was​ ​wearing​ ​down​ ​in​ ​front,​ ​so​ ​he could​ ​manipulate​ ​himself​ ​directly. 

"Go​ ​on.​ ​​ ​Have​ ​your​ ​sick​ ​kicks.​ ​​ ​Think​ ​about​ ​Lamont​ ​and​ ​​ ​me.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​him​ ​and​ ​you.​ ​​ ​Whatever. Hump​ ​your​ ​hand,​ ​loser.​ ​​ ​No​ ​girl​ ​could​ ​get​ ​off​ ​on​ ​that​ ​mini-dick,​ ​but​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​your​ ​fist​ ​has​ ​been down​ ​there​ ​so​ ​much​ ​that​ ​they're​ ​old​ ​friends." 

Not​ ​entirely​ ​knowing​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing,​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​full​ ​of​ ​images​ ​of​ ​Lamont​ ​embracing​ ​Sherri, the​ ​long-missed​ ​feel​ ​of​ ​panties​ ​around​ ​his​ ​hips​ ​and​ ​over​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​stimulating​ ​him,​ ​he frantically​ ​stroked​ ​his​ ​willy​ ​with​ ​the​ ​panties​ ​he​ ​held.​ ​​ ​All​ ​too​ ​soon​ ​he​ ​popped​ ​his​ ​cork.​ ​​ ​A​ ​second, equally​ ​generous​ ​helping​ ​of​ ​cream​ ​was​ ​launched​ ​into​ ​the​ ​thin​ ​material.​ ​​ ​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he understood​ ​what​ ​he'd​ ​just​ ​done,​ ​Ron​ ​froze.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​riven​ ​with​ ​shame.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​took​ ​advantage​ ​of his​ ​momentary​ ​paralysis​ ​to​ ​seize​ ​the​ ​badly​ ​soiled​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​stuff​ ​them​ ​deep​ ​into​ ​his​ ​wide open​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tasted​ ​cum​ ​on​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​but,​ ​every​ ​time​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​dig​ ​out​ ​the​ ​stained lingerie,​ ​she​ ​angrily​ ​slapped​ ​away​ ​his​ ​hands.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​until​ ​Ron​ ​had​ ​most​ ​of​ ​the​ ​salty​ ​spunk​ ​in​ ​his mouth​ ​was​ ​he​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​panties​ ​out. 

"You​ ​creep.​ ​​ ​You​ ​sick​ ​twisted​ ​pig.​ ​​ ​You​ ​disgust​ ​me.​ ​​ ​Take​ ​your​ ​midget​ ​dick​ ​and​ ​get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​here. Now.​ ​​ ​You​ ​can​ ​pick​ ​up​ ​your​ ​crap​ ​later.​ ​​ ​Right​ ​now​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​any​ ​sad​ ​excuse​ ​for​ ​a​ ​man​ ​here. Get​ ​out,​ ​wanker." 

Ron​ ​got​ ​unsteadily​ ​to​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​She​ ​wouldn't​ ​even​ ​let​ ​him​ ​rinse​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​All​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​do was​ ​gather​ ​up​ ​essentials​ ​and​ ​a​ ​few​ ​changes​ ​of​ ​clothes.​ ​​ ​He​ ​would​ ​have​ ​to​ ​use​ ​a​ ​charge​ ​card​ ​to get​ ​a​ ​cheap​ ​room​ ​somewhere.​ ​​ ​He​ ​left​ ​the​ ​apartment​ ​with​ ​his​ ​head​ ​hung​ ​low.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​went through​ ​the​ ​door​ ​his​ ​EX-girlfriend​ ​made​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​spitting​ ​noise.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​door​ ​slam behind​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Utterly​ ​humiliated,​ ​not​ ​understanding​ ​why​ ​he​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​so​ ​excited​ ​the​ ​two​ ​times he​ ​was​ ​touching​ ​himself,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​into​ ​his​ ​car​ ​and,​ ​reeking​ ​of​ ​ejaculate,​ ​drove​ ​off​ ​into​ ​the​ ​night. 

MESSY​ ​SPLIT-UP​ ​--​ ​2.​ ​​ ​by​ ​Throne​ ​​ ​(from​ ​an​ ​outline​ ​by​ ​Devin​ ​Dickie) 

In​ ​the​ ​three​ ​months​ ​since​ ​his​ ​break-up​ ​with​ ​Sherri,​ ​Ron​ ​had​ ​really​ ​settled​ ​in​ ​with​ ​his​ ​new girlfriend​ ​Anita.​ ​​ ​That​ ​was​ ​consoling​ ​after​ ​how​ ​badly​ ​his​ ​relationship​ ​with​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​ended.​ ​​ ​The last​ ​contact​ ​he​ ​would​ ​have​ ​with​ ​his​ ​EX​ ​would​ ​be​ ​today,​ ​when​ ​he​ ​went​ ​and​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​few items​ ​of​ ​his​ ​that​ ​were​ ​still​ ​in​ ​the​ ​apartment.​ ​​ ​To​ ​be​ ​honest,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​intentionally​ ​been​ ​slow​ ​in cleaning​ ​out​ ​his​ ​stuff.​ ​​ ​It​ ​still​ ​turned​ ​him​ ​on​ ​to​ ​see​ ​her​ ​and​ ​whatever​ ​she​ ​was​ ​wearing​ ​at​ ​the moment.​ ​​ ​The​ ​poor​ ​girl​ ​was​ ​probably​ ​regretting​ ​their​ ​break-up​ ​and​ ​maybe​ ​even​ ​pining​ ​for​ ​him, he​ ​told​ ​himself. 

At​ ​her​ ​door​ ​he​ ​took​ ​a​ ​moment​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​his​ ​shirt​ ​was​ ​neatly​ ​tucked​ ​in.​ ​​ ​That​ ​reminded​ ​him​ ​of his​ ​shirt​ ​that​ ​had​ ​been​ ​ruined​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club​ ​that​ ​night.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​never​ ​been​ ​able​ ​to​ ​get​ ​it​ ​cleaned​ ​to his​ ​satisfaction.​ ​​ ​​ ​Associated​ ​memories​ ​returned​ ​as​ ​well.​ ​​ ​He​ ​once​ ​again​ ​pictured​ ​Sherri​ ​with​ ​the roughneck​ ​bouncer.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was​ ​his​ ​name?​ ​​ ​Oh​ ​yeah,​ ​Lamont​ ​Jones.​ ​​ ​The​ ​guy​ ​had​ ​just​ ​been​ ​so familiar​ ​with​ ​Sherri,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​he​ ​owned​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Probably​ ​had​ ​that​ ​attitude​ ​because​ ​he​ ​used​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a sports​ ​pro.​ ​​ ​Big​ ​deal.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​put​ ​all​ ​that​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​and​ ​knocked​ ​on​ ​the​ ​door. 

"Hello,"​ ​Sherri​ ​said​ ​when​ ​she​ ​answered,​ ​sounding​ ​cautiously​ ​reserved.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​have​ ​those​ ​last couple​ ​of​ ​boxes​ ​right​ ​over​ ​there." 

"Yeah.​ ​​ ​Thanks."​ ​​ ​He​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​hang​ ​around​ ​her​ ​for​ ​a​ ​little​ ​while.​ ​​ ​She​ ​sure​ ​looked​ ​good​ ​in​ ​a short​ ​knitted​ ​dress​ ​that​ ​hugged​ ​her​ ​curves.​ ​​ ​What​ ​excuse​ ​could​ ​he​ ​use?​ ​​ ​"I...​ ​um...​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​go through​ ​my​ ​stuff." 

"Can't​ ​you​ ​do​ ​that​ ​when​ ​you​ ​get​ ​back​ ​to​ ​your​ ​place?"
"Well,"​ ​he​ ​extemporized,​ ​"I​ ​think​ ​there​ ​might​ ​be​ ​a​ ​few​ ​things​ ​of​ ​yours​ ​in​ ​there.​ ​​ ​It​ ​won't​ ​take​ ​me 

too​ ​long."​ ​​ ​When​ ​she​ ​didn't​ ​react​ ​he​ ​added,​ ​"Maybe​ ​we​ ​could​ ​talk." 

"Maybe.​ ​​ ​But​ ​I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​leave​ ​pretty​ ​soon.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​having​ ​lunch​ ​with​ ​my​ ​new​ ​friend." 

"Oh?​ ​​ ​Your​ ​new​ ​BOY-friend?" 

"If​ ​you​ ​have​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​then​ ​yes.​ ​​ ​But​ ​I​ ​really​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​talk​ ​about​ ​it." 

"No​ ​problem,"​ ​he​ ​assured​ ​her​ ​as​ ​he​ ​went​ ​over​ ​to​ ​the​ ​boxes.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​I​ ​won't​ ​talk​ ​about​ ​my​ ​new girlfriend.​ ​​ ​Anita.​ ​​ ​Who​ ​I'm​ ​living​ ​with." 

Whoever​ ​she​ ​was​ ​with​ ​now​ ​was​ ​probably​ ​some​ ​flake.​ ​​ ​That​ ​must​ ​be​ ​why​ ​she​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​talk about​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​probably​ ​regretted​ ​their​ ​break-up,​ ​Ron​ ​told​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​He​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​first​ ​box saw​ ​it​ ​was​ ​full​ ​of​ ​magazines.​ ​​ ​On​ ​top​ ​were​ ​some​ ​male​ ​fashion​ ​ones​ ​and​ ​hidden​ ​under​ ​them were​ ​--​ ​oops​ ​--​ ​a​ ​few​ ​he​ ​had​ ​bought​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sly.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​one​ ​with​ ​voluptuous​ ​Black​ ​models looking​ ​very​ ​'ghetto'​ ​and​ ​showing​ ​off​ ​their​ ​bubble​ ​butts.​ ​​ ​Below​ ​those​ ​were​ ​several​ ​featuring guys​ ​dressed​ ​up​ ​all​ ​girly.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​though​ ​Sherri​ ​couldn't​ ​see​ ​what​ ​they​ ​were,​ ​Ron​ ​shivered​ ​and quickly​ ​closed​ ​the​ ​box. 

"Well,"​ ​he​ ​said,​ ​his​ ​interest​ ​in​ ​her​ ​replaced​ ​by​ ​a​ ​fear​ ​of​ ​discovery.​ ​​ ​"If​ ​you​ ​have​ ​to​ ​get​ ​to​ ​that lunch​ ​date,​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​there's​ ​no​ ​need​ ​to​ ​stick​ ​around​ ​for​ ​my​ ​sake.​ ​​ ​Um...​ ​anything​ ​of​ ​yours​ ​I​ ​find with​ ​my​ ​stuff​ ​I'll​ ​just...​ ​err...​ ​leave​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sofa.​ ​​ ​All​ ​right?" 

"I​ ​suppose,"​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​eyeing​ ​him​ ​suspiciously​ ​because​ ​of​ ​his​ ​sudden​ ​change​ ​of​ ​mood.​ ​​ ​"Just​ ​let me​ ​remind​ ​you​ ​how​ ​to​ ​lock​ ​up​ ​when​ ​you​ ​let​ ​yourself​ ​out."​ ​​ ​Still​ ​unsure​ ​of​ ​her​ ​EX-boyfriend's intentions,​ ​she​ ​added,​ ​"I'll​ ​be​ ​gone​ ​for​ ​several​ ​hours​ ​but​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you​ ​won't​ ​need​ ​more​ ​than maybe​ ​20​ ​minutes." 

"Right.​ ​​ ​Half​ ​hour​ ​tops."​ ​​ ​He​ ​gave​ ​her​ ​a​ ​grin.​ ​​ ​His​ ​confidence​ ​was​ ​growing. 

As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​she​ ​was​ ​out​ ​the​ ​door​ ​and​ ​had​ ​a​ ​few​ ​minutes​ ​to​ ​get​ ​to​ ​her​ ​car,​ ​Ron​ ​eagerly​ ​got​ ​back to​ ​examining​ ​his​ ​possessions.​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​another​ ​look​ ​at​ ​the​ ​magazines​ ​featuring​ ​Black​ ​girls. They​ ​reminded​ ​him​ ​of​ ​the​ ​posse​ ​of​ ​sisters​ ​who​ ​had​ ​humiliated​ ​him​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club,​ ​making​ ​endless fun​ ​of​ ​his​ ​penis,​ ​saying​ ​it​ ​was​ ​too​ ​small.​ ​​ ​Since​ ​then​ ​he​ ​had​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were​ ​just saying​ ​that​ ​because​ ​he​ ​was​ ​white,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​really​ ​as​ ​big​ ​as​ ​most​ ​guys.​ ​​ ​He​ ​avoided looking​ ​at​ ​the​ ​TV​ ​magazines.​ ​​ ​After​ ​all,​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​planning​ ​to​ ​get​ ​back​ ​into​ ​dressing.​ ​​ ​Hadn't 

done​ ​it​ ​since​ ​his​ ​late​ ​teens.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was...​ ​well...​ ​not​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​totally​ ​against​ ​it...​ ​but​ ​it​ ​was shameful...​ ​yet​ ​exciting. 

Ron​ ​closed​ ​up​ ​that​ ​box.​ ​​ ​He​ ​would​ ​just​ ​take​ ​it​ ​home​ ​and​ ​conceal​ ​it​ ​in​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​closet. Anita​ ​would​ ​never​ ​see​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wasn't​ ​sure​ ​how​ ​she​ ​would​ ​react​ ​if​ ​she​ ​did.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​certainly more​ ​relaxed​ ​about​ ​those​ ​types​ ​of​ ​things​ ​than​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​been.​ ​​ ​In​ ​fact,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​attracted to​ ​Anita​ ​because​ ​she​ ​seemed​ ​adventurous.​ ​​ ​Didn't​ ​that​ ​show​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​more​ ​manly​ ​than Sherri​ ​had​ ​said​ ​he​ ​was,​ ​right​ ​before​ ​she​ ​threw​ ​him​ ​out? 

He​ ​started​ ​into​ ​the​ ​next​ ​box,​ ​spotting​ ​the​ ​silk​ ​pajamas​ ​he'd​ ​bought​ ​himself,​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​that​ ​Sherri hadn't​ ​been​ ​thrilled​ ​with.​ ​​ ​She​ ​could​ ​be​ ​so​ ​judgmental.​ ​​ ​What​ ​was​ ​the​ ​word​ ​she​ ​had​ ​used​ ​to describe​ ​that​ ​sleepwear?​ ​​ ​Fruity?​ ​​ ​Anita​ ​would​ ​never​ ​say​ ​something​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​​ ​She​ ​would​ ​use the​ ​correct​ ​term,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​'metrosexual'.​ ​​ ​He​ ​set​ ​those​ ​carefully​ ​aside​ ​and​ ​found​ ​a​ ​gift​ ​box from​ ​that​ ​specialty​ ​store​ ​in​ ​the​ ​mall,​ ​Gloria's​ ​Closet.​ ​​ ​Right.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​something​ ​for​ ​Sherri as​ ​a​ ​gift​ ​for​ ​the​ ​one​ ​year​ ​anniversary​ ​they​ ​had​ ​never​ ​reached.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​gingerly​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​box.​ ​​ ​It held​ ​a​ ​short​ ​nightie,​ ​virginal​ ​white,​ ​with​ ​fluffy​ ​fur​ ​trimming​ ​the​ ​neck​ ​and​ ​hem. 

The​ ​sensation​ ​of​ ​it​ ​against​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​was​ ​electrifying,​ ​travelling​ ​along​ ​his​ ​arms.​ ​​ ​He​ ​hesitated before​ ​he​ ​brought​ ​it​ ​up​ ​and​ ​pressed​ ​it​ ​to​ ​his​ ​cheek.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​sighed​ ​and​ ​forced​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​put​ ​it​ ​back into​ ​the​ ​box.​ ​​ ​He​ ​honestly​ ​shouldn't​ ​be​ ​messing​ ​with​ ​it.​ ​​ ​That​ ​was​ ​too​ ​close​ ​to​ ​his​ ​old​ ​habit, which​ ​he​ ​had​ ​practiced,​ ​well,​ ​not​ ​TOO​ ​often.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​had​ ​owned​ ​something​ ​like​ ​this,​ ​so​ ​powerfully feminine,​ ​back​ ​then,​ ​he​ ​might​ ​never​ ​have​ ​gotten​ ​away​ ​from​ ​dressing.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​had​ ​possessed anything​ ​this​ ​persuasive,​ ​his​ ​life​ ​might​ ​have​ ​taken​ ​a​ ​very​ ​different​ ​path.​ ​​ ​He​ ​fingered​ ​the lightweight​ ​lingerie​ ​again.​ ​​ ​It​ ​couldn't​ ​hurt​ ​to​ ​just​ ​fondle​ ​it​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​more.​ ​​ ​What​ ​harm​ ​could​ ​there​ ​be in​ ​that? 

As​ ​if​ ​in​ ​a​ ​trance,​ ​he​ ​unbuttoned​ ​the​ ​top​ ​of​ ​his​ ​shirt.​ ​​ ​And​ ​then​ ​the​ ​rest.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​lifted​ ​the​ ​nightie out​ ​of​ ​its​ ​box​ ​once​ ​more,​ ​half​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​was​ ​telling​ ​him​ ​to​ ​enjoy​ ​it​ ​and​ ​the​ ​other​ ​was​ ​warning him​ ​not​ ​to​ ​go​ ​too​ ​far.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​confusing​ ​and​ ​yet,​ ​underneath​ ​everything,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​something pushing​ ​him​ ​forward.​ ​​ ​He​ ​rubbed​ ​the​ ​lingerie​ ​over​ ​his​ ​smooth​ ​hairless​ ​chest.​ ​​ ​His​ ​last​ ​waxing had​ ​been​ ​very​ ​recent.​ ​​ ​Touching​ ​himself​ ​with​ ​the​ ​white​ ​material​ ​felt​ ​so​ ​good.​ ​​ ​He​ ​wondered what​ ​it​ ​would​ ​be​ ​like​ ​to​ ​do​ ​it​ ​with​ ​the​ ​fluffy​ ​fur.​ ​​ ​His​ ​hands​ ​moved​ ​as​ ​if​ ​with​ ​a​ ​volition​ ​of​ ​their​ ​own, bringing​ ​the​ ​garment​ ​up​ ​and​ ​letting​ ​the​ ​fur​ ​trail​ ​across​ ​his​ ​skin.​ ​​ ​It​ ​tickled​ ​his​ ​nipple​ ​and​ ​he gasped​ ​softly.​ ​​ ​Memories​ ​flowed​ ​back​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mind. 

The​ ​next​ ​thing​ ​Ron​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​was​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​shirt.​ ​​ ​Really,​ ​what​ ​was​ ​he​ ​doing?​ ​​ ​It​ ​wasn't​ ​like​ ​he was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​put​ ​the​ ​nightie​ ​on.​ ​​ ​Was​ ​he?​ ​​ ​Well,​ ​maybe​ ​just​ ​for​ ​a​ ​minute,​ ​if​ ​only​ ​to​ ​prove​ ​to himself​ ​that​ ​what​ ​he​ ​remembered​ ​had​ ​been​ ​altered​ ​by​ ​time,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​a​ ​minor​ ​experience​ ​had grown​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​to​ ​something​ ​that​ ​it​ ​never​ ​was.​ ​​ ​Sure,​ ​that​ ​was​ ​it.​ ​​ ​He​ ​would​ ​don​ ​the​ ​nightie as​ ​a​ ​way​ ​of​ ​convincing​ ​himself​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​left​ ​all​ ​that​ ​behind.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​figured​ ​he​ ​might​ ​as​ ​well​ ​get out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pants​ ​too.​ ​​ ​It​ ​would​ ​look​ ​silly​ ​to​ ​have​ ​them​ ​on​ ​while​ ​wear​ ​something​ ​so​ ​femme.​ ​​ ​So​ ​he got​ ​out​ ​of​ ​them​ ​and,​ ​following​ ​the​ ​same​ ​logic​ ​once​ ​more,​ ​his​ ​shorts​ ​as​ ​well.​ ​​ ​Naked,​ ​he​ ​stood there​ ​hugging​ ​what​ ​had​ ​been​ ​intended​ ​for​ ​Sherri​ ​to​ ​his​ ​own​ ​body. 

As​ ​he​ ​paused,​ ​still​ ​conflicted,​ ​his​ ​thoughts​ ​were​ ​invaded​ ​by​ ​unbidden​ ​remembrances​ ​of​ ​that night​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club.​ ​​ ​First​ ​there​ ​had​ ​been​ ​the​ ​rude​ ​bartender​ ​ignoring​ ​him.​ ​​ ​And​ ​then​ ​those​ ​nasty Black​ ​bitches.​ ​​ ​He​ ​still​ ​couldn't​ ​believe​ ​that​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​had​ ​actually​ ​exposed​ ​him.​ ​​ ​And​ ​all​ ​those hurtful​ ​things​ ​they​ ​said.​ ​​ ​He​ ​used​ ​the​ ​nightie​ ​to​ ​cover​ ​his​ ​privates,​ ​not​ ​that​ ​the​ ​action​ ​had anything​ ​to​ ​do​ ​with​ ​their​ ​insults.​ ​​ ​And​ ​finally​ ​there​ ​had​ ​been​ ​that​ ​Lamont,​ ​nothing​ ​but​ ​a​ ​stupid bouncer.​ ​​ ​All​ ​muscles​ ​and​ ​no​ ​brain.​ ​​ ​The​ ​way​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​been​ ​hanging​ ​all​ ​over​ ​him​ ​just​ ​showed that​ ​she​ ​lacked​ ​class.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​told​ ​himself​ ​he​ ​was​ ​better​ ​off​ ​without​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Anyway,​ ​now​ ​he​ ​had Anita.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​fine​ ​as​ ​long​ ​as​ ​his​ ​new​ ​relationship​ ​stayed​ ​strong.​ ​​ ​But​ ​then,​ ​honestly,​ ​what could​ ​go​ ​wrong​ ​with​ ​it? 

What​ ​had​ ​evoked​ ​those​ ​memories​ ​of​ ​his​ ​bad​ ​night​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club?​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​all​ ​pretty​ ​disturbing.​ ​​ ​The one​ ​thing​ ​that​ ​calmed​ ​him​ ​down​ ​was​ ​the​ ​white​ ​nightie.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​still​ ​holding​ ​it​ ​against​ ​his​ ​bare chest.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​go​ ​any​ ​further​ ​with​ ​what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​doing,​ ​because​ ​there​ ​was​ ​an element​ ​of​ ​shame​ ​in​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Still,​ ​he​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​prove​ ​that​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​mean​ ​anything​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​ ​And indulging​ ​himself​ ​some​ ​more...​ ​just​ ​a​ ​little​ ​bit​ ​more...​ ​would​ ​help​ ​him​ ​unwind​ ​from​ ​all​ ​the​ ​stress he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​going​ ​through.​ ​​ ​He​ ​resumed​ ​stroking​ ​his​ ​nipples​ ​with​ ​the​ ​lingerie. 

A​ ​final​ ​wave​ ​of​ ​uncertainty​ ​washed​ ​over​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Did​ ​he​ ​really​ ​want​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​that​ ​cute​ ​bit​ ​of​ ​nothing touching​ ​his​ ​smooth​ ​skin​ ​in​ ​so​ ​many​ ​places​ ​at​ ​once?​ ​​ ​His​ ​final​ ​attempt​ ​at​ ​resolve​ ​wavered​ ​and then​ ​failed.​ ​​ ​After​ ​all,​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​going​ ​to​ ​wear​ ​it​ ​all​ ​night.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​more​ ​time​ ​than​ ​he​ ​needed​ ​for just​ ​a​ ​few​ ​minutes​ ​of​ ​​ ​fun.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​would​ ​never​ ​suspect​ ​a​ ​thing.​ ​​ ​And​ ​she​ ​wasn't​ ​due​ ​back​ ​from seeing​ ​her​ ​new​ ​boyfriend​ ​for​ ​a​ ​good​ ​long​ ​while​ ​yet.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​took​ ​the​ ​nightie​ ​and​ ​lifted​ ​it​ ​over​ ​his head.​ ​​ ​He​ ​shivered​ ​as​ ​he​ ​shimmied​ ​it​ ​downward,​ ​felt​ ​it​ ​slithering​ ​against​ ​his​ ​torso​ ​and​ ​back,​ ​and registered​ ​the​ ​reassuring​ ​contact​ ​of​ ​the​ ​straps​ ​with​ ​his​ ​narrow​ ​shoulders.​ ​​ ​He​ ​licked​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​and fussed​ ​with​ ​the​ ​garment​ ​for​ ​a​ ​few​ ​seconds.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​cocked​ ​his​ ​hips.​ ​​ ​He​ ​walked​ ​around​ ​the apartment,​ ​his​ ​gait​ ​gradually​ ​changing​ ​from​ ​masculine​ ​and​ ​flatfooted,​ ​to​ ​feminine​ ​and​ ​more​ ​on the​ ​balls​ ​of​ ​his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​smaller​ ​steps​ ​and​ ​held​ ​his​ ​arms​ ​out​ ​slightly​ ​from​ ​his​ ​sides,​ ​wrists limp.​ ​​ ​The​ ​old​ ​body​ ​language​ ​came​ ​back​ ​to​ ​him​ ​automatically 

Then​ ​he​ ​opened​ ​her​ ​closet​ ​with​ ​the​ ​full​ ​length​ ​mirror​ ​mounted​ ​on​ ​the​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​the​ ​door​ ​and​ ​saw himself​ ​dressed​ ​for​ ​the​ ​first​ ​time​ ​in​ ​years.​ ​​ ​The​ ​thrill​ ​of​ ​it​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​sudden​ ​erection,​ ​rock​ ​hard and​ ​standing​ ​tall.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​at​ ​least​ ​tallish.​ ​​ ​His​ ​small​ ​penis​ ​pressed​ ​out​ ​against​ ​the​ ​loose​ ​material,​ ​but not​ ​much,​ ​while​ ​his​ ​posterior​ ​danced.​ ​​ ​​ ​He​ ​used​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​to​ ​fan​ ​his​ ​face,​ ​realized​ ​what​ ​a​ ​girly action​ ​that​ ​was...​ ​and​ ​did​ ​it​ ​again.​ ​​ ​His​ ​balls​ ​were​ ​drawn​ ​up​ ​tight.​ ​​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​even​ ​tingling​ ​in​ ​his nipples​ ​as​ ​the​ ​gauzy​ ​material's​ ​featherweight​ ​touch​ ​stimulated​ ​them.​ ​​ ​He​ ​thought​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just smoothing​ ​the​ ​front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​nightie​ ​but​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​stayed​ ​too​ ​long​ ​on​ ​his​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​He​ ​gripped​ ​it​ ​through the​ ​lingerie,​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​easily​ ​enclosing​ ​his​ ​small​ ​member.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​granted​ ​himself​ ​a​ ​few​ ​stokes. They​ ​felt​ ​so​ ​wonderful​ ​with​ ​the​ ​nightie​ ​wrapped​ ​around​ ​his​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​A​ ​few​ ​more.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​certain he​ ​could​ ​stop​ ​anytime​ ​he​ ​wanted. 

Right​ ​now,​ ​though,​ ​he​ ​wanted​ ​something​ ​extra​ ​to​ ​enhance​ ​his​ ​experience.​ ​​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​owned​ ​a small​ ​dildo.​ ​​ ​One​ ​time​ ​when​ ​she​ ​was​ ​out,​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​fingering​ ​through​ ​her​ ​panty​ ​and​ ​nighty 

drawer,​ ​not​ ​with​ ​any​ ​residual​ ​thoughts​ ​of​ ​putting​ ​on​ ​any​ ​lingerie,​ ​but​ ​just​ ​because​ ​it​ ​made​ ​him think​ ​of​ ​her,​ ​as​ ​he​ ​had​ ​assured​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​​ ​He​ ​went​ ​there​ ​now,​ ​opening​ ​the​ ​drawer​ ​with​ ​nervous anticipation.​ ​​ ​He​ ​dug​ ​around​ ​among​ ​her​ ​frillies​ ​and​ ​felt​ ​something​ ​hard​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bottom.​ ​​ ​What​ ​he pulled​ ​out,​ ​however,​ ​wasn't​ ​the​ ​six​ ​inch,​ ​pink​ ​sex​ ​toy​ ​her​ ​recalled.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​three​ ​times​ ​that long​ ​and​ ​several​ ​times​ ​as​ ​thick.​ ​​ ​And​ ​it​ ​was​ ​BLACK. 

Ron​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​holding​ ​it​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​unconsciously​ ​stroking​ ​it​ ​with​ ​the​ ​other.​ ​​ ​In​ ​a trace-like​ ​state​ ​he​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​and​ ​licked​ ​the​ ​tip.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​stretched​ ​his​ ​lips​ ​around​ ​the oversized​ ​knob.​ ​​ ​It​ ​filled​ ​his​ ​mouth,​ ​pressing​ ​outward​ ​against​ ​his​ ​cheeks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​breath through​ ​his​ ​nose.​ ​​ ​His​ ​hairless​ ​chest​ ​rose​ ​and​ ​fell​ ​slowly​ ​as​ ​he​ ​relished​ ​the​ ​pressure​ ​behind​ ​his lips.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​even​ ​got​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​beneath​ ​the​ ​invading​ ​mass​ ​and​ ​rubbed​ ​its​ ​underside.​ ​​ ​​ ​After​ ​a few​ ​more​ ​moments​ ​he​ ​popped​ ​the​ ​spit-wetted​ ​bomb-head​ ​free​ ​and​ ​just​ ​stared​ ​at​ ​it.​ ​​ ​His unoccupied​ ​hand​ ​went​ ​back​ ​to​ ​his​ ​cock.​ ​​ ​He​ ​enjoyed​ ​several​ ​strokes​ ​before​ ​his​ ​focus​ ​shifted from​ ​satisfying​ ​himself​ ​to​ ​comparing​ ​what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​sucking​ ​to​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​tugging​ ​on. 

The​ ​nighty-wearing​ ​young​ ​man​ ​was​ ​deflated​ ​by​ ​how​ ​short​ ​he​ ​fell​ ​when​ ​measured​ ​against​ ​the superior​ ​length.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​put​ ​the​ ​thought​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​mind​ ​but​ ​instead​ ​was​ ​compelled​ ​to​ ​wonder if​ ​Lamont​ ​was​ ​equipped​ ​with​ ​something​ ​similar​ ​between​ ​his​ ​legs.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​shuddered,​ ​though​ ​he wasn't​ ​sure​ ​exactly​ ​why.​ ​​ ​He​ ​needed​ ​a​ ​change​ ​so​ ​he​ ​went​ ​over​ ​to​ ​Sherri's​ ​dresser​ ​and​ ​checked the​ ​cosmetics​ ​there.​ ​​ ​It​ ​couldn't​ ​hurt​ ​to​ ​fix​ ​his​ ​face​ ​up​ ​just​ ​a​ ​bit.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​still​ ​more​ ​than enough​ ​time.​ ​​ ​He​ ​rouged​ ​his​ ​cheeks,​ ​in​ ​his​ ​haste​ ​making​ ​rather​ ​obvious​ ​circles​ ​on​ ​them.​ ​​ ​Then he​ ​used​ ​eyeliner​ ​and​ ​shadow,​ ​as​ ​well​ ​as​ ​mascara.​ ​​ ​It​ ​would​ ​be​ ​easy​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​remove​ ​it​ ​all when​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​skip​ ​doing​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​Just​ ​some​ ​lip​ ​liner​ ​to​ ​add​ ​fullness,​ ​and then​ ​lipstick​ ​to​ ​make​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​pop.​ ​​ ​For​ ​the​ ​latter​ ​he​ ​selected​ ​a​ ​color​ ​called​ ​Candy​ ​Apple​ ​Red. Then​ ​he​ ​noticed​ ​lip​ ​gloss.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​never​ ​worn​ ​that​ ​when​ ​he​ ​was​ ​dating​ ​her.​ ​​ ​Did​ ​her​ ​new boyfriend​ ​get​ ​it​ ​for​ ​her?​ ​​ ​Or​ ​did​ ​she​ ​buy​ ​it​ ​to​ ​draw​ ​his​ ​attention​ ​more​ ​to​ ​her​ ​lips? 

Ron​ ​put​ ​aside​ ​those​ ​ponderings​ ​as​ ​he​ ​covered​ ​the​ ​bright​ ​crimson​ ​with​ ​a​ ​shiny​ ​coating.​ ​​ ​Wow. He​ ​leaned​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​mirror​ ​and​ ​kissed​ ​the​ ​air​ ​an​ ​inch​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​his​ ​captivating​ ​reflection.​ ​​ ​His fingers​ ​went​ ​to​ ​his​ ​nipples.​ ​​ ​He​ ​ground​ ​his​ ​hips,​ ​wriggled​ ​his​ ​ass,​ ​and​ ​formed​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​into​ ​a suggestive​ ​'O'.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​too​ ​good.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​make​ ​himself​ ​cum.​ ​​ ​If​ ​he​ ​went​ ​very​ ​long​ ​without finishing,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​a​ ​punishing​ ​case​ ​of​ ​blue​ ​balls.​ ​​ ​He​ ​figured​ ​his​ ​needs​ ​were​ ​a​ ​boon​ ​to​ ​Anita.​ ​​ ​He was​ ​always​ ​steering​ ​her​ ​toward​ ​the​ ​bedroom.​ ​​ ​And​ ​she​ ​had​ ​never​ ​complained​ ​about​ ​his supposed​ ​size​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​He​ ​searched​ ​around​ ​the​ ​room​ ​for​ ​something​ ​he​ ​cold​ ​use​ ​to​ ​catch​ ​the big​ ​load​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​he​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​shoot.​ ​​ ​On​ ​the​ ​dresser,​ ​folded​ ​up,​ ​was​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​sports jersey.​ ​​ ​Who​ ​cared​ ​about​ ​those​ ​things?​ ​​ ​Certainly​ ​not​ ​Sherri,​ ​he​ ​decided.​ ​​ ​So​ ​he​ ​took​ ​it​ ​and​ ​laid it​ ​out​ ​on​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​had​ ​his​ ​cum​ ​rag. 

Lying​ ​alongside​ ​the​ ​jersey,​ ​that​ ​overgrown​ ​Black​ ​dildo​ ​called​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​took​ ​it​ ​and​ ​held​ ​it lovingly​ ​against​ ​his​ ​hairless​ ​tummy,​ ​rubbed​ ​it​ ​between​ ​his​ ​smooth​ ​thighs,​ ​and​ ​got​ ​it​ ​behind​ ​him so​ ​he​ ​could​ ​nestle​ ​it's​ ​head​ ​in​ ​the​ ​narrowness​ ​bordered​ ​by​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​cheeks.​ ​​ ​He​ ​closed​ ​his eyes​ ​and​ ​breathed​ ​through​ ​pursed​ ​lips.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​knew​ ​what​ ​he​ ​wanted...​ ​what​ ​he​ ​needed...​ ​what​ ​he had​ ​to​ ​attempt.​ ​​ ​Moving​ ​the​ ​penetrator​ ​around​ ​and​ ​aiming​ ​it,​ ​he​ ​got​ ​the​ ​tip​ ​against​ ​his​ ​tight 

pucker.​ ​​ ​First​ ​he​ ​applied​ ​a​ ​hint​ ​of​ ​pressure.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​wonderful.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​he​ ​tried​ ​harder.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​still wonderful​ ​but​ ​hurt​ ​a​ ​little.​ ​​ ​He​ ​got​ ​his​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​wall,​ ​positioned​ ​the​ ​business​ ​end​ ​against​ ​his tightness​ ​once​ ​more​ ​and,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​base​ ​pressed​ ​to​ ​the​ ​wall,​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​back​ ​himself​ ​into​ ​an impalement.​ ​​ ​The​ ​discomfort​ ​and​ ​pleasure​ ​both​ ​increased​ ​but​ ​the​ ​former​ ​eventually​ ​won​ ​out. 

He​ ​stepped​ ​away​ ​and​ ​let​ ​his​ ​taut​ ​nerves​ ​relax​ ​from​ ​a​ ​fierce​ ​buzz​ ​to​ ​a​ ​mild​ ​hum.​ ​​ ​The​ ​second​ ​try went​ ​fractionally​ ​better,​ ​with​ ​him​ ​feeling​ ​the​ ​nose​ ​of​ ​the​ ​big​ ​tool​ ​starting​ ​to​ ​open​ ​him​ ​up.​ ​​ ​Even so,​ ​he​ ​retreated​ ​again.​ ​​ ​His​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​throbbing.​ ​​ ​Leaking.​ ​​ ​He​ ​considered​ ​a​ ​third​ ​attempt​ ​but decided​ ​against​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Being​ ​stretched​ ​as​ ​wide​ ​as​ ​the​ ​faux​ ​cock​ ​would​ ​require,​ ​​ ​that​ ​scared​ ​him. Holding​ ​it​ ​about​ ​six​ ​inches​ ​behind​ ​the​ ​head,​ ​he​ ​jammed​ ​it​ ​firmly​ ​against​ ​his​ ​bung.​ ​​ ​His​ ​other hand​ ​clapped​ ​around​ ​his​ ​little​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​He​ ​began​ ​to​ ​rub​ ​himself​ ​slowly,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​setting​ ​up a​ ​rhythmic​ ​shoving​ ​of​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​against​ ​his​ ​unyielding​ ​virginity.​ ​​ ​This​ ​was​ ​better​ ​than​ ​actually trying​ ​to​ ​force​ ​it​ ​inside.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​unbelievably​ ​intense.​ ​​ ​He​ ​increased​ ​his​ ​tugging​ ​tempo.​ ​​ ​Ron imagined​ ​the​ ​cock​ ​having​ ​a​ ​life​ ​of​ ​its​ ​own,​ ​independent​ ​from​ ​his​ ​manipulations.​ ​​ ​He​ ​pictured​ ​it trying​ ​to​ ​violate​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Rape​ ​his​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​He​ ​began​ ​to​ ​stroke​ ​himself​ ​frantically.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​all​ ​too​ ​much. Half-aware​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing​ ​he​ ​checked​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sure​ ​the​ ​sports​ ​jersey​ ​was​ ​positioned​ ​to catch​ ​his​ ​spunk. 

With​ ​a​ ​rush​ ​he​ ​felt​ ​himself​ ​going​ ​over​ ​the​ ​edge.​ ​​ ​One​ ​gout​ ​of​ ​white​ ​cream​ ​flew​ ​from​ ​his​ ​dick,​ ​and another,​ ​and​ ​a​ ​third,​ ​each​ ​smaller​ ​than​ ​the​ ​one​ ​before.​ ​​ ​His​ ​body​ ​was​ ​jerking,​ ​so​ ​the​ ​semen went​ ​in​ ​several​ ​directions,​ ​ending​ ​up​ ​all​ ​over​ ​the​ ​formerly​ ​pristine​ ​garment.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​made​ ​a​ ​total mess​ ​of​ ​it.​ ​​ ​With​ ​his​ ​breath​ ​hissing​ ​through​ ​clenched​ ​teeth,​ ​Ron​ ​started​ ​to​ ​come​ ​down​ ​from​ ​his explosive​ ​sexual​ ​high.​ ​​ ​At​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​he​ ​thought​ ​he​ ​heard​ ​something​ ​behind​ ​him.​ ​​ ​His senses​ ​were​ ​still​ ​coming​ ​back​ ​to​ ​normal​ ​when​ ​he​ ​detected​ ​something​ ​else.​ ​​ ​Movement?​ ​​ ​Then, just​ ​as​ ​he​ ​was​ ​pulled​ ​back​ ​into​ ​full​ ​reality,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​voice. 

"Holy​ ​crap!"​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​"Who​ ​the​ ​hell...?​ ​​ ​What​ ​are​ ​you...?​ ​​ ​Ron?"
He​ ​turned​ ​halfway,​ ​trying​ ​not​ ​to​ ​show​ ​himself​ ​completely​ ​while​ ​he​ ​attempted​ ​to​ ​say​ ​something. 

"Sherri.​ ​​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​think​ ​you​ ​were...​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​it​ ​hasn't​ ​been​ ​that​ ​long..." 

She​ ​swore​ ​vociferously​ ​and​ ​then​ ​slowed​ ​down​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​accuse,​ ​"You​ ​are​ ​a​ ​freaking​ ​pervert. Look​ ​at​ ​you,​ ​with​ ​your​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​out​ ​and​ ​made​ ​up​ ​like​ ​a​ ​slut.​ ​​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​believe​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​dated​ ​such​ ​a loser...​ ​creep...​ ​faggot." 

"No,"​ ​he​ ​insisted,​ ​keeping​ ​his​ ​voice​ ​calm​ ​to​ ​try​ ​to​ ​quiet​ ​her.​ ​​ ​"It's​ ​not...​ ​I​ ​mean...​ ​if​ ​you'll​ ​let​ ​me explain..." 

There​ ​were​ ​long​ ​seconds​ ​of​ ​silence​ ​before​ ​a​ ​new​ ​voice​ ​called​ ​out,​ ​"Hey,​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​​ ​Car's​ ​parked and​ ​locked.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​how​ ​about​ ​if​ ​you​ ​and​ ​me​ ​hit​ ​the​ ​sheets​ ​for​ ​a​ ​replay​ ​of​ ​our​ ​stop​ ​in​ ​the​ ​park. This​ ​time​ ​we​ ​--​ ​"​ ​​ ​In​ ​walked​ ​tall​ ​muscular​ ​Lamont​ ​Jones.​ ​​ ​He​ ​halted​ ​in​ ​shock​ ​and​ ​then​ ​cocked his​ ​fists​ ​threateningly.​ ​​ ​"Who​ ​the​ ​freak​ ​is​ ​that?" 

Sherri​ ​was​ ​quick​ ​to​ ​explain,​ ​"It's​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​From​ ​the​ ​club​ ​that​ ​night.​ ​​ ​But​ ​he's...​ ​some​ ​kind​ ​of...​ ​queer sissy." 

Lamont​ ​saw​ ​that​ ​there​ ​was​ ​no​ ​threat.​ ​​ ​He​ ​put​ ​an​ ​arm​ ​around​ ​Sherri's​ ​shoulders​ ​and​ ​pulled​ ​her protectively​ ​against​ ​him.​ ​​ ​His​ ​voice​ ​grew​ ​soothing​ ​as​ ​he​ ​told​ ​her,​ ​"It's​ ​all​ ​right.​ ​​ ​I'll​ ​just​ ​toss​ ​the asshole​ ​out​ ​and..." 

That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​moved​ ​down​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​He​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​jersey​ ​and​ ​what​ ​had​ ​been​ ​done​ ​to it. 

The​ ​capable​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​let​ ​out​ ​a​ ​string​ ​of​ ​expletives​ ​that​ ​could​ ​have​ ​burned​ ​the​ ​paint​ ​off​ ​the body​ ​of​ ​a​ ​classic​ ​era​ ​Cadillac.​ ​​ ​"Look​ ​what​ ​that​ ​fool​ ​did.​ ​​ ​That's​ ​my​ ​lucky​ ​jersey.​ ​​ ​The​ ​one​ ​I​ ​wore in​ ​the​ ​pros.​ ​​ ​The​ ​one​ ​you​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​have​ ​framed,​ ​Sherri." 

That​ ​set​ ​her​ ​off​ ​again.​ ​​ ​"He​ ​jerked​ ​off?​ ​​ ​In​ ​my​ ​apartment?​ ​​ ​While​ ​he​ ​was​ ​dressed​ ​like​ ​a​ ​fairy?​ ​​ ​I can't​ ​believe​ ​this."​ ​​ ​She​ ​pulled​ ​away​ ​from​ ​Lamont,​ ​rushed​ ​at​ ​Ron,​ ​and​ ​punched​ ​him​ ​hard​ ​in​ ​the shoulder.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​idiot.​ ​​ ​Look​ ​at​ ​you,​ ​all​ ​fruited​ ​up,​ ​with​ ​your​ ​pathetic​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​hanging​ ​out.​ ​​ ​It's not​ ​even​ ​a​ ​dick.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​more​ ​like​ ​a​ ​clit.​ ​​ ​A​ ​stupid​ ​looking​ ​boy-clit.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​no​ ​man.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​is​ ​a man.​ ​​ ​He​ ​has​ ​a​ ​real​ ​cock​ ​and​ ​lasts​ ​more​ ​than​ ​one​ ​minute,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​your​ ​all-time​ ​record.​ ​​ ​He can​ ​go​ ​for​ ​a​ ​full​ ​hour.​ ​​ ​And​ ​he​ ​knows​ ​how​ ​to​ ​use​ ​what​ ​he's​ ​got.​ ​​ ​You​ ​have​ ​no​ ​cock,​ ​no​ ​staying power,​ ​and​ ​no​ ​idea​ ​what​ ​you're​ ​doing​ ​in​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​​ ​Plus,​ ​you​ ​wouldn't​ ​even​ ​try​ ​to​ ​make​ ​up​ ​for​ ​it​ ​by eating​ ​my​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​You​ ​were​ ​always​ ​all​ ​like​ ​--"​ ​​ ​She​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​the​ ​sides​ ​of​ ​her​ ​face.​ ​​ ​"--​ ​'I can't​ ​do​ ​that​ ​because​ ​it's​ ​not​ ​manly'.​ ​​ ​Well,​ ​look​ ​at​ ​you​ ​now.​ ​​ ​Who's​ ​not​ ​manly​ ​in​ ​his​ ​pretty nightie,​ ​with​ ​that​ ​big​ ​​ ​black​ ​cock-toy."​ ​​ ​She​ ​turned​ ​to​ ​her​ ​lover.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​hope​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​mind​ ​that​ ​I​ ​had that.​ ​​ ​When​ ​we​ ​first​ ​got​ ​together​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​know​ ​if​ ​we​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​being​ ​a​ ​couple.​ ​​ ​I​ ​got​ ​it because​ ​it​ ​reminded​ ​me​ ​of​ ​you,​ ​baby." 

"No​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​But​ ​maybe​ ​now​ ​that​ ​you​ ​got​ ​the​ ​real​ ​thing​ ​whenever​ ​you​ ​want​ ​it,​ ​we​ ​can​ ​find​ ​a new​ ​owner​ ​for​ ​that​ ​rammer-jammer." 

Lamont,​ ​still​ ​simmering​ ​from​ ​the​ ​desecration​ ​of​ ​his​ ​prized​ ​jersey,​ ​turned​ ​his​ ​anger​ ​toward​ ​Ron. "You​ ​were​ ​a​ ​wimp​ ​that​ ​night​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club​ ​and​ ​you're​ ​worse​ ​than​ ​a​ ​wimp​ ​now.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​some​ ​kind of​ ​candy​ ​ass,​ ​boy.​ ​​ ​And​ ​you​ ​got​ ​some​ ​debts​ ​to​ ​settle.​ ​​ ​First​ ​off,​ ​you​ ​owe​ ​my​ ​woman​ ​for​ ​never making​ ​her​ ​happy​ ​in​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​time​ ​you​ ​learned​ ​to​ ​eat​ ​pussy,​ ​since​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​have​ ​enough where​ ​it​ ​counts​ ​to​ ​satisfy​ ​her​ ​or​ ​any​ ​other​ ​woman."​ ​​ ​He​ ​turned​ ​toward​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​"How​ ​about​ ​it, hon?" 

With​ ​an​ ​evil​ ​grin,​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​"That'd​ ​be​ ​fine.​ ​​ ​Except​ ​you​ ​and​ ​me​ ​did​ ​stop​ ​off​ ​in​ ​that​ ​secluded​ ​part of​ ​the​ ​park​ ​for​ ​a​ ​quickie​ ​in​ ​the​ ​car.​ ​​ ​And​ ​your​ ​Old​ ​Faithful​ ​left​ ​a​ ​ginormous​ ​mess​ ​inside​ ​me.​ ​​ ​I mean,​ ​would​ ​we​ ​really​ ​want​ ​to​ ​make​ ​poor...​ ​little...​ ​short-dicked...​ ​weakling...​ ​Ron​ ​lick​ ​up​ ​all​ ​that spunk?" 

"Why​ ​not?​ ​​ ​So​ ​much​ ​rich​ ​Black​ ​protein​ ​might​ ​do​ ​him​ ​some​ ​good.​ ​​ ​Put​ ​some​ ​weight​ ​on​ ​him where​ ​he​ ​needs​ ​it.​ ​​ ​In​ ​the​ ​cock​ ​area." 

She​ ​got​ ​undressed​ ​from​ ​the​ ​waist​ ​down,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​Ron​ ​wasn't​ ​even​ ​worth​ ​the​ ​bother​ ​of​ ​getting completely​ ​naked.​ ​​ ​Then​ ​Sherri​ ​laid​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed​ ​on​ ​her​ ​back​ ​and​ ​spread​ ​her​ ​legs​ ​lewdly. 

She​ ​called​ ​out​ ​in​ ​a​ ​singsong​ ​voice,​ ​"Come​ ​on,​ ​faggy​ ​Ronnie.​ ​​ ​Feeding​ ​time​ ​at​ ​the​ ​'Y'.​ ​​ ​Lots​ ​of salty​ ​slimy​ ​spunk​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​lap​ ​up.​ ​​ ​Yummy,​ ​yummy." 

Ron​ ​made​ ​a​ ​slight​ ​gagging​ ​sound​ ​and​ ​started​ ​to​ ​back​ ​away.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​grabbed​ ​him​ ​by​ ​the​ ​back of​ ​the​ ​neck​ ​with​ ​a​ ​viselike​ ​grip​ ​and​ ​moved​ ​him​ ​forward​ ​again.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​got​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​of​ ​the mattress​ ​and​ ​was​ ​forced​ ​to​ ​go​ ​toward​ ​Sherri​ ​on​ ​his​ ​knees.​ ​​ ​The​ ​powerful​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​ungently coaxed​ ​him​ ​to​ ​bend​ ​down​ ​until​ ​Ron's​ ​face​ ​was​ ​inches​ ​from​ ​Sherri's​ ​vulva,​ ​so​ ​close​ ​that​ ​the helpless​ ​captive​ ​could​ ​smell​ ​the​ ​scent​ ​of​ ​recent​ ​intercourse.​ ​​ ​He​ ​choked​ ​slightly.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​looked around​ ​the​ ​room​ ​and​ ​spotted​ ​Sherri's​ ​old​ ​sorority​ ​paddle​ ​hanging​ ​on​ ​the​ ​wall.​ ​​ ​He​ ​got​ ​it, returned,​ ​grabbed​ ​Ron​ ​by​ ​the​ ​balls,​ ​and​ ​yanked. 

"Up​ ​on​ ​your​ ​knees,​ ​vanilla​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​Time​ ​to​ ​suck​ ​some​ ​scum." "Ouch!​ ​​ ​Please,"​ ​Ron​ ​begged.​ ​​ ​"Don't​ ​make​ ​me​ ​do​ ​that." 

"No?​ ​​ ​You​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to?​ ​​ ​Well​ ​how​ ​about​ ​I​ ​swat​ ​your​ ​ass​ ​instead?​ ​​ ​If​ ​you​ ​decide​ ​you'd​ ​rather eat​ ​my​ ​cream,​ ​just​ ​holler​ ​and​ ​I'll​ ​stop." 

Before​ ​Ron​ ​could​ ​fully​ ​absorb​ ​that,​ ​Lamont​ ​released​ ​his​ ​balls,​ ​raised​ ​the​ ​paddle​ ​high​ ​and brought​ ​it​ ​down​ ​hard,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​full​ ​force​ ​of​ ​his​ ​muscular​ ​arm​ ​behind​ ​it.​ ​​ ​There​ ​was​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​SPLAT and​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​driven​ ​forward,​ ​his​ ​face​ ​mashing​ ​against​ ​Sherri's​ ​creamed​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​He​ ​howled​ ​with pain.​ ​​ ​His​ ​nose​ ​was​ ​between​ ​her​ ​pink​ ​pussy​ ​lips.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​rained​ ​blows​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the defenseless​ ​derriere,​ ​watching​ ​as​ ​it​ ​gradually​ ​went​ ​from​ ​white​ ​to​ ​pink​ ​to​ ​red.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​tried​ ​to surrender,​ ​to​ ​agree​ ​to​ ​perform​ ​the​ ​unsavory​ ​task​ ​with​ ​his​ ​mouth,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​couldn't​ ​catch​ ​his​ ​breath to​ ​speak.​ ​​ ​So​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​until​ ​his​ ​butt​ ​was​ ​bright​ ​scarlet​ ​and​ ​even​ ​somewhat​ ​swollen,​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was able​ ​to​ ​gasp​ ​out​ ​his​ ​surrender. 

"Well,"​ ​Lamont​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.​ ​​ ​"What​ ​are​ ​you​ ​waiting​ ​for,​ ​fool?​ ​​ ​You're​ ​in​ ​the​ ​right​ ​place already." 

Hating​ ​what​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do,​ ​Ron​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​his​ ​tongue​ ​and,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​throat​ ​constricting,​ ​took​ ​the first​ ​lick.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tasted​ ​Lamont's​ ​rich​ ​salty​ ​ejaculate.​ ​​ ​They​ ​made​ ​him​ ​lap​ ​and​ ​slurp​ ​and​ ​suck...​ ​and swallow.​ ​​ ​The​ ​thought​ ​of​ ​Lamont's​ ​semen​ ​in​ ​his​ ​stomach​ ​made​ ​him​ ​want​ ​to​ ​jump​ ​off​ ​the​ ​bed and​ ​flee,​ ​but​ ​that​ ​wasn't​ ​an​ ​option.​ ​​ ​Instead,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​to​ ​do​ ​a​ ​thorough​ ​job,​ ​making​ ​sure​ ​to​ ​also lave​ ​the​ ​insides​ ​of​ ​her​ ​thighs​ ​and​ ​go​ ​hunting​ ​for​ ​some​ ​cream​ ​that​ ​had​ ​run​ ​down​ ​between​ ​her buttocks.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​deepened​ ​his​ ​mortification​ ​by​ ​talking​ ​softly​ ​to​ ​Sherri,​ ​kissing​ ​her,​ ​and​ ​stroking her​ ​face. She​ ​reached​ ​down​ ​to​ ​fondle​ ​his​ ​massive​ ​cock​ ​through​ ​his​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​When​ ​Sherri 

was​ ​struck​ ​by​ ​a​ ​perverse​ ​inspiration,​ ​she​ ​whispered​ ​her​ ​idea​ ​to​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​couldn't​ ​hear​ ​it​ ​over all​ ​the​ ​wet​ ​sloppy​ ​sounds​ ​he​ ​was​ ​making.​ ​​ ​What​ ​he​ ​did​ ​hear​ ​was​ ​Lamont's​ ​laughter​ ​as​ ​he​ ​got off​ ​the​ ​bed. 

Ron​ ​wanted​ ​his​ ​dark-skinned​ ​tormentor​ ​to​ ​just​ ​go​ ​away,​ ​but​ ​instead​ ​Lamont​ ​got​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​pants and​ ​back​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​on​ ​his​ ​knees,​ ​right​ ​behind​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​He​ ​said​ ​something​ ​about​ ​how​ ​it​ ​was handy​ ​that​ ​he​ ​had​ ​already​ ​gotten​ ​'the​ ​faggot's​ ​ass​ ​up​ ​in​ ​the​ ​air'.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​process​ ​what was​ ​happening.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​distracted​ ​by​ ​the​ ​unpleasant​ ​job​ ​he​ ​was​ ​doing​ ​--​ ​how​ ​much​ ​semen was​ ​in​ ​there?​ ​--​ ​as​ ​well​ ​as​ ​by​ ​how​ ​his​ ​bottom​ ​was​ ​burning.​ ​​ ​Even​ ​so,​ ​everything​ ​came​ ​together when​ ​Lamont​ ​parted​ ​Ron's​ ​buttocks​ ​with​ ​one​ ​hand,​ ​spit​ ​on​ ​the​ ​other,​ ​and​ ​rubbed​ ​his​ ​saliva​ ​on the​ ​kneeling​ ​guy's​ ​pucker.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​froze.​ ​​ ​No.​ ​​ ​The​ ​well​ ​hung​ ​Black​ ​stud​ ​couldn't​ ​be​ ​about​ ​to​ ​do THAT.​ ​​ ​But​ ​the​ ​tip​ ​of​ ​Lamont's​ ​gigantic​ ​organ​ ​pressed​ ​against​ ​Ron's​ ​tightness.​ ​​ ​As​ ​Ron​ ​started to​ ​say​ ​something,​ ​Sherri​ ​grabbed​ ​his​ ​longish​ ​hair​ ​and​ ​dragged​ ​his​ ​face​ ​tightly​ ​against​ ​her​ ​wet mound.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​shoved​ ​the​ ​fat​ ​head​ ​of​ ​his​ ​tool​ ​past​ ​the​ ​clenching​ ​ring.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​oversized​ ​as the​ ​dildo.​ ​​ ​Ron's​ ​bleating​ ​cry​ ​was​ ​muffled​ ​by​ ​how​ ​firmly​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​was​ ​held​ ​against​ ​Sherri's​ ​sex. In​ ​desperation,​ ​hoping​ ​to​ ​gain​ ​some​ ​hint​ ​of​ ​mercy,​ ​he​ ​began​ ​licking​ ​wildly,​ ​thinking​ ​it​ ​might placate​ ​her,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​she​ ​would​ ​call​ ​off​ ​Lamont. 

"Whoa,"​ ​she​ ​said​ ​to​ ​Lamont.​ ​​ ​"Our​ ​queer​ ​princess​ ​must​ ​really​ ​like​ ​getting​ ​boned.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​tongue just​ ​started​ ​working​ ​double-time."​ ​​ ​​ ​She​ ​chuckled.​ ​​ ​"But​ ​then​ ​I​ ​guess​ ​wanting​ ​to​ ​get​ ​reamed goes​ ​along​ ​with​ ​wanting​ ​to​ ​dress​ ​all​ ​girly."​ ​​ ​She​ ​ground​ ​her​ ​pubes​ ​against​ ​Ron'​ ​s​ ​busy​ ​mouth. "It's​ ​so​ ​nice​ ​that​ ​we​ ​can​ ​give​ ​Ronnie-Rona​ ​what​ ​she​ ​wants." 

"Truth,"​ ​agreed​ ​Lamont​ ​as​ ​he​ ​buried​ ​an​ ​additional​ ​inch​ ​of​ ​his​ ​wide-circumference​ ​meat​ ​in​ ​that snugness.​ ​​ ​"Bet​ ​the​ ​sissy-queer​ ​wants​ ​me​ ​to​ ​take​ ​my​ ​time​ ​getting​ ​it​ ​all​ ​in.​ ​​ ​He'll​ ​be​ ​real​ ​glad​ ​to know​ ​that​ ​I'm​ ​a​ ​One-Hour​ ​Man.​ ​​ ​Sixty​ ​minutes​ ​of​ ​plowing​ ​his​ ​eager​ ​asshole." 

Ron​ ​groaned​ ​in​ ​misery​ ​at​ ​that​ ​information.​ ​​ ​The​ ​invader​ ​planted​ ​another​ ​inch​ ​and​ ​then​ ​one​ ​more before​ ​his​ ​next​ ​pause.​ ​​ ​He​ ​backed​ ​out​ ​until​ ​only​ ​the​ ​head​ ​was​ ​inside,​ ​then​ ​leaned​ ​hard, reinserting​ ​what​ ​had​ ​retreated.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​few​ ​more​ ​strokes​ ​like​ ​that​ ​one​ ​and,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​fourth of​ ​them,​ ​used​ ​extra​ ​effort​ ​to​ ​pile-drive​ ​in​ ​yet​ ​another​ ​two​ ​inches. 

Before​ ​long​ ​he​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​happily​ ​announce,​ ​"Hey,​ ​Sherri​ ​baby,​ ​I'm​ ​in​ ​up​ ​to​ ​my​ ​balls.​ ​Got​ ​our pretty​ ​sissy​ ​all​ ​primed​ ​up​ ​for​ ​the​ ​main​ ​event."​ ​​ ​He​ ​pulled​ ​out​ ​everything​ ​but​ ​the​ ​knob​ ​and​ ​then slid​ ​it​ ​all​ ​back​ ​inside​ ​again.​ ​​ ​"Time​ ​to​ ​go​ ​for​ ​a​ ​long​ ​ride,"​ ​he​ ​concluded,​ ​setting​ ​up​ ​a​ ​steady rhythm​ ​of​ ​in-out-in-out,​ ​then​ ​mixing​ ​long​ ​strokes​ ​with​ ​short​ ​ones.​ ​​ ​"A​ ​long​ ​sweet​ ​ride." 

Half​ ​an​ ​hour​ ​later​ ​Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"Hey,​ ​I'm​ ​starting​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​like​ ​cumming​ ​again.​ ​​ ​Rona​ ​better​ ​not rush​ ​me,​ ​or​ ​she'll​ ​get​ ​another​ ​spanking,​ ​maybe​ ​with​ ​my​ ​big​ ​wooden​ ​kitchen​ ​spoon,​ ​right​ ​on​ ​top of​ ​all​ ​that​ ​damage​ ​you​ ​did,​ ​lover." 

Lamont​ ​laughed.​ ​​ ​"Hurting​ ​on​ ​the​ ​inside​ ​and​ ​the​ ​outside.​ ​​ ​Best​ ​way​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​a​ ​whiney​ ​little-dick sissy​ ​in​ ​line.​ ​​ ​Spank​ ​him​ ​plenty​ ​and​ ​jam​ ​him​ ​hard." 

Suiting​ ​his​ ​actions​ ​to​ ​those​ ​final​ ​words,​ ​he​ ​increased​ ​tempo​ ​until​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​bawling​ ​against Sherri's​ ​juicy​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​Ron's​ ​muff-muffled​ ​cries​ ​got​ ​her​ ​wildly​ ​excited.​ ​​ ​All​ ​at​ ​once​ ​she​ ​was finishing.​ ​​ ​Lamont,​ ​with​ ​enviable​ ​control,​ ​had​ ​waited​ ​for​ ​'ladies​ ​first'.​ ​​ ​As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​he​ ​knew​ ​she was​ ​going​ ​over​ ​the​ ​top,​ ​he​ ​went​ ​into​ ​the​ ​homestretch​ ​and​ ​soon​ ​was​ ​emptying​ ​his​ ​capacious balls​ ​into​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​To​ ​the​ ​surprise​ ​of​ ​both​ ​of​ ​the​ ​climaxing​ ​participants,​ ​they​ ​sensed​ ​something​ ​else happening.​ ​​ ​Between​ ​them​ ​they​ ​felt​ ​Ron's​ ​body​ ​jerking.​ ​​ ​In​ ​a​ ​wild​ ​and​ ​revealing​ ​development, the​ ​doubly-used​ ​guy​ ​was​ ​himself​ ​spurting.​ ​​ ​His​ ​little​ ​dick,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​mind​ ​of​ ​its​ ​own,​ ​despite​ ​the​ ​pain and​ ​indignities​ ​he​ ​was​ ​suffering,​ ​or​ ​perhaps​ ​because​ ​of​ ​them,​ ​was​ ​jetting​ ​out​ ​cream. 

Minutes​ ​later,​ ​as​ ​the​ ​three​ ​of​ ​them​ ​were​ ​descending,​ ​Sherri​ ​spoke​ ​first,​ ​saying,​ ​"Did​ ​you​ ​come, Rona​ ​girl?​ ​​ ​Is​ ​that​ ​what​ ​you​ ​were​ ​doing​ ​in​ ​the​ ​middle​ ​of​ ​being​ ​our​ ​plaything?​ ​​ ​Hmmm?" 

When​ ​Ron​ ​didn't​ ​answer​ ​at​ ​once,​ ​Lamont​ ​snapped​ ​at​ ​him,​ ​"Come​ ​on,​ ​queer-stuff.​ ​​ ​You​ ​know better​ ​than​ ​to​ ​ignore​ ​the​ ​lady."​ ​​ ​He​ ​dug​ ​his​ ​fingers​ ​into​ ​Ron's​ ​sore​ ​rear​ ​cheeks.​ ​​ ​"From​ ​now​ ​on that's​ ​a​ ​rule.​ ​​ ​When​ ​we​ ​ask​ ​a​ ​question,​ ​you​ ​answer.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​else.​ ​​ ​You​ ​need​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​schooling,​ ​I can​ ​tell." 

"I..."​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​deeply​ ​humiliated.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​guess​ ​I​ ​did."​ ​​ ​Those​ ​fingers​ ​pressed​ ​into​ ​his​ ​soft​ ​flesh​ ​once more​ ​and​ ​Ron​ ​amended,​ ​"I​ ​mean,​ ​Yes​ ​Ma'am,​ ​I​ ​came.​ ​​ ​Yes,​ ​Sir.​ ​​ ​I'm​ ​sorry.​ ​​ ​I​ ​couldn't​ ​help​ ​it." 

Lamont​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​"You​ ​couldn't​ ​help​ ​it​ ​why?" 

Sherri​ ​coaxed,​ ​"Like​ ​maybe​ ​because​ ​getting​ ​banged​ ​was​ ​what​ ​you​ ​wanted​ ​all​ ​along?​ ​​ ​And​ ​even when​ ​you​ ​were​ ​my​ ​boyfriend​ ​what​ ​else​ ​you​ ​wanted​ ​was​ ​to​ ​put​ ​on​ ​dress-up​ ​shows​ ​behind​ ​my back?​ ​​ ​The​ ​same​ ​as​ ​you​ ​did​ ​tonight?" 

Ron​ ​sobbed.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​guess​ ​so."​ ​​ ​When​ ​Lamont​ ​gave​ ​a​ ​milder​ ​warning​ ​squeeze,​ ​the​ ​beaten​ ​guy whimpered,​ ​"I​ ​must​ ​have​ ​needs​ ​that​ ​I​ ​wasn't​ ​aware​ ​of.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​at​ ​least​ ​not​ ​for​ ​a​ ​long​ ​time." 

"How​ ​long?"​ ​Lamont​ ​barked,​ ​spotting​ ​an​ ​opening.
Startled,​ ​Ron​ ​blurted​ ​out,​ ​"Since​ ​my​ ​teens.​ ​​ ​I​ ​hadn't​ ​dressed​ ​up​ ​girly​ ​since..."​ ​​ ​He​ ​realized​ ​that 

he​ ​had​ ​been​ ​made​ ​to​ ​reveal​ ​his​ ​secret​ ​history.
To​ ​keep​ ​up​ ​the​ ​momentum,​ ​Sherri​ ​pulled​ ​on​ ​his​ ​hair​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"So​ ​you've​ ​always​ ​been​ ​kinky, 

and​ ​you​ ​were​ ​always​ ​lying​ ​about​ ​it." "Yes.​ ​​ ​No."​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​felt​ ​backed​ ​into​ ​a​ ​corner. 

Sherri​ ​went​ ​on​ ​vehemently,​ ​"And​ ​when​ ​you​ ​were​ ​in​ ​bed​ ​with​ ​me,​ ​you​ ​were​ ​fantasizing​ ​about putting​ ​on​ ​my​ ​panties​ ​and​ ​stockings." 

"I'm​ ​not​ ​sure.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​you​ ​always​ ​had​ ​such​ ​nice​ ​things." 

"And​ ​what​ ​about​ ​that​ ​racy​ ​nightie​ ​you​ ​have​ ​on?" 

"It​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​gift​ ​for​ ​you​ ​on​ ​our​ ​one​ ​year​ ​anniversary." 

"But​ ​you​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​it​ ​for​ ​yourself." 

"No.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​just,​ ​you​ ​know,​ ​after​ ​that​ ​night​ ​at​ ​the​ ​club,​ ​we​ ​weren't​ ​together​ ​when​ ​the​ ​time​ ​came. That​ ​was​ ​a​ ​complete​ ​disaster." 

"Was​ ​it?"​ ​she​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​know.​ ​​ ​"That​ ​was​ ​when​ ​I​ ​met​ ​Lamont.​ ​​ ​And​ ​since​ ​I've​ ​been​ ​with​ ​him​ ​I haven't​ ​had​ ​to​ ​fake​ ​orgasms​ ​anymore.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​like​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​with​ ​you,​ ​loser." 

"You​ ​were...?​ ​​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​really​ ​make​ ​you...?" 

"Oh,​ ​please."​ ​​ ​She​ ​sighed​ ​theatrically.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​thought​ ​you​ ​were​ ​making​ ​me​ ​climax​ ​with​ ​that​ ​joke between​ ​your​ ​legs?​ ​​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​think​ ​so,​ ​Rona.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​you've​ ​never​ ​taken​ ​your​ ​new​ ​girlfriend over​ ​the​ ​finish​ ​line,​ ​either." 

He​ ​was​ ​crestfallen.​ ​​ ​The​ ​last​ ​of​ ​his​ ​illusions​ ​about​ ​sexual​ ​adequacy​ ​were​ ​crushed.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​at last​ ​pulled​ ​out,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​wiped​ ​his​ ​flaccid​ ​but​ ​still​ ​large​ ​cock​ ​all​ ​over​ ​Ron's​ ​sore​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​The sodomized​ ​guy​ ​felt​ ​spunk​ ​leaking​ ​from​ ​his​ ​bunghole.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​there​ ​were​ ​two​ ​loads​ ​inside​ ​him. Both​ ​Lamont's​ ​but​ ​obtained​ ​different​ ​ways.​ ​​ ​He​ ​sniffled​ ​and​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​staunch​ ​his​ ​tears. 

Suddenly​ ​remembering​ ​what​ ​had​ ​happened​ ​earlier,​ ​Lamont​ ​said,​ ​"And​ ​I​ ​still​ ​owe​ ​him​ ​more​ ​for messing​ ​on​ ​my​ ​jersey." 

"Well,"​ ​Sherri​ ​suggested,​ ​"for​ ​starters​ ​we​ ​can​ ​make​ ​the​ ​pervert​ ​clean​ ​it​ ​up...​ ​with​ ​his​ ​tongue." "You​ ​know,"​ ​Lamont​ ​considered,​ ​"I​ ​don't​ ​know​ ​if​ ​I​ ​want​ ​his​ ​sissy​ ​mouth​ ​on​ ​my​ ​shirt." 

Sherri​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"I'll​ ​get​ ​it​ ​dry​ ​cleaned​ ​after,​ ​but​ ​making​ ​him​ ​lick​ ​up​ ​his​ ​own​ ​squirts​ ​is​ ​a​ ​good lesson​ ​for​ ​him." 

"Okay."​ ​​ ​The​ ​shirt​ ​was​ ​still​ ​on​ ​the​ ​edge​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​picked​ ​it​ ​up​ ​and​ ​set​ ​it​ ​between Sherri's​ ​thighs.​ ​​ ​He​ ​snarled​ ​at​ ​Ron​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​lady,​ ​scum-mouth.​ ​​ ​Get​ ​to​ ​lickin'. Make​ ​it​ ​all​ ​clean​ ​again,​ ​you​ ​fag​ ​wussy." 

A​ ​new​ ​level​ ​of​ ​queasiness​ ​came​ ​over​ ​Ron​ ​but​ ​he​ ​did​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​told.​ ​​ ​Both​ ​of​ ​them​ ​watched closely​ ​as​ ​he​ ​lapped​ ​up​ ​and​ ​gulped​ ​down​ ​everything​ ​he​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​on​ ​the​ ​shirt.​ ​​ ​At​ ​last​ ​Lamont was​ ​satisfied​ ​and​ ​Sherri​ ​got​ ​up,​ ​took​ ​the​ ​soiled​ ​garment​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bathroom,​ ​and​ ​set​ ​it​ ​neatly​ ​atop the​ ​hamper.​ ​​ ​When​ ​she​ ​got​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bedroom,​ ​Ron's​ ​troubles​ ​were​ ​still​ ​not​ ​over.​ ​​ ​She 

smirked​ ​at​ ​her​ ​EX's​ ​plight.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​was​ ​haranguing​ ​him,​ ​standing​ ​over​ ​were​ ​he​ ​was​ ​curled​ ​up into​ ​a​ ​ball​ ​on​ ​the​ ​mattress. 

"You​ ​lied​ ​to​ ​my​ ​woman​ ​for​ ​nearly​ ​12​ ​months.​ ​​ ​You​ ​let​ ​her​ ​down​ ​in​ ​bed.​ ​​ ​And​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​time​ ​you was​ ​dreaming​ ​about​ ​cocks​ ​in​ ​your​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​ass.​ ​​ ​Right?" 

"Y...​ ​yes,​ ​Sir,"​ ​Ron​ ​responded​ ​uncertainly.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​confused​ ​by​ ​his​ ​reaction​ ​to​ ​being​ ​taken​ ​from behind.​ ​​ ​He​ ​still​ ​couldn't​ ​believe​ ​it​ ​had​ ​made​ ​him​ ​shoot.​ ​​ ​He​ ​said​ ​again,​ ​"I'm​ ​sorry." 

"Not​ ​as​ ​sorry​ ​as​ ​you're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be.​ ​​ ​You​ ​still​ ​haven't​ ​settled​ ​up​ ​enough​ ​with​ ​me​ ​for​ ​creaming​ ​all over​ ​my​ ​jersey.​ ​​ ​My​ ​professional,​ ​one​ ​of​ ​a​ ​kind,​ ​personal​ ​jersey." 

Overhearing​ ​him,​ ​Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​suggestion,​ ​Lamont."
He​ ​cooled​ ​down​ ​slightly​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"Okay,​ ​sweetness.​ ​​ ​But,​ ​like,​ ​what​ ​could​ ​we​ ​do​ ​to​ ​him​ ​to 

make​ ​it​ ​right?"
"How​ ​about​ ​this?​ ​​ ​He​ ​messed​ ​up​ ​your​ ​favorite​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​clothing.​ ​​ ​And​ ​what​ ​he​ ​has​ ​on​ ​is 

apparently​ ​his​ ​favorite.​ ​​ ​So​ ​we​ ​mess​ ​up​ ​what​ ​he's​ ​wearing." "What?​ ​​ ​I​ ​get​ ​my​ ​stuff​ ​all​ ​over​ ​it?"
"Not​ ​exactly.​ ​​ ​You​ ​make​ ​him​ ​get​ ​HIS​ ​stuff​ ​on​ ​his​ ​precious​ ​nighty." "Oh?​ ​​ ​Tell​ ​me​ ​what's​ ​your​ ​plan." 

Five​ ​minutes​ ​later​ ​everything​ ​was​ ​ready.​ ​​ ​They​ ​had​ ​taken​ ​their​ ​time​ ​to​ ​prolong​ ​Ron's​ ​shame​ ​and suffering.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​still​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​now​ ​on​ ​his​ ​back,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​legs​ ​thrown​ ​up​ ​and​ ​over​ ​--​ ​aided​ ​by Lamont,​ ​who​ ​had​ ​effortlessly​ ​folded​ ​Ron's​ ​body​ ​--​ ​so​ ​that​ ​his​ ​knees​ ​were​ ​on​ ​the​ ​mattress​ ​on either​ ​side​ ​of​ ​his​ ​head.​ ​​ ​And​ ​his​ ​little​ ​dick​ ​was​ ​aimed​ ​right​ ​at​ ​his​ ​face. 

"Let's​ ​go,"​ ​Lamont​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"Get​ ​your​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​that​ ​baby​ ​dick."
"Or​ ​maybe,"​ ​Sherri​ ​suggested,​ ​"just​ ​use​ ​two​ ​fingers.​ ​​ ​That​ ​should​ ​be​ ​more​ ​than​ ​enough." 

Ron​ ​began​ ​to​ ​stroke​ ​himself,​ ​but​ ​didn't​ ​get​ ​fully​ ​hard.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​a​ ​nervous​ ​wreck,​ ​newly​ ​upset about​ ​his​ ​true​ ​desires. 

Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"What​ ​a​ ​jerk-off."
Lamont​ ​matched​ ​her​ ​with,​ ​"A​ ​total​ ​hand-job." "But​ ​not​ ​a​ ​big​ ​one." 

"Barely​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a​ ​grip​ ​on." 

When​ ​their​ ​insults​ ​made​ ​it​ ​even​ ​harder​ ​for​ ​Ron​ ​to​ ​get​ ​started,​ ​they​ ​asked​ ​him​ ​how​ ​he​ ​had managed​ ​to​ ​shoot​ ​off​ ​before​ ​they​ ​arrived.​ ​​ ​He​ ​hesitated,​ ​obviously​ ​reluctant​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Before he​ ​could​ ​find​ ​words,​ ​Sherri​ ​figured​ ​it​ ​out. 

"Of​ ​course.​ ​​ ​You​ ​know,​ ​Lamont,​ ​your​ ​big​ ​cock​ ​made​ ​him​ ​come.​ ​​ ​So​ ​when​ ​he​ ​was​ ​alone​ ​he​ ​must have​ ​used​ ​that​ ​substitute​ ​cock​ ​of​ ​mine.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​we​ ​should​ ​just​ ​help​ ​him​ ​along​ ​with​ ​that.​ ​​ ​Get him​ ​to​ ​come​ ​the​ ​same​ ​way​ ​he​ ​did​ ​before.​ ​​ ​Make​ ​him​ ​mess​ ​on​ ​his​ ​nightie​ ​the​ ​same​ ​way​ ​he made​ ​himself​ ​mess​ ​on​ ​your​ ​jersey."​ ​​ ​She​ ​made​ ​a​ ​point​ ​to​ ​mention​ ​the​ ​jersey​ ​just​ ​to​ ​elevate​ ​her boyfriend's​ ​anger​ ​again.​ ​​ ​"Poetic​ ​justice​ ​and​ ​all​ ​that." 

"I​ ​like​ ​it,"​ ​he​ ​enthused.​ ​​ ​"And​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​look​ ​like​ ​he​ ​got​ ​it​ ​in​ ​before.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​nice​ ​and​ ​dry.​ ​​ ​Just poked​ ​at​ ​himself​ ​on​ ​the​ ​outside.​ ​​ ​Sissies​ ​are​ ​real​ ​sensitive​ ​back​ ​there.​ ​​ ​But​ ​now​ ​that​ ​I've stretched​ ​him​ ​out,​ ​it​ ​should​ ​fit​ ​inside​ ​him​ ​just​ ​fine." 

Ron​ ​murmured​ ​self-pityingly,​ ​"No.​ ​​ ​Please​ ​don't.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​that...​ ​Sir." 

"Isn't​ ​that​ ​cute,"​ ​Sherri​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"He's​ ​pretending​ ​he​ ​doesn't​ ​want​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Must​ ​be​ ​one​ ​of​ ​his​ ​kinks.​ ​​ ​'Oh, please,​ ​big​ ​strong​ ​Black​ ​man,​ ​don't​ ​shove​ ​that​ ​monster​ ​dildo​ ​up​ ​my​ ​poor​ ​tight​ ​white​ ​ass'."​ ​​ ​She laughed​ ​so​ ​hard​ ​she​ ​shook. 

But​ ​their​ ​doubled-up​ ​target​ ​wasn't​ ​laughing​ ​as​ ​Lamont​ ​slipped​ ​the​ ​black​ ​beauty​ ​between​ ​Ron's legs​ ​and​ ​pushed​ ​it's​ ​knob​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​"Better​ ​get​ ​it​ ​plenty​ ​wet,​ ​lily​ ​white.​ ​​ ​Otherwise,​ ​it's going​ ​to​ ​hurt​ ​going​ ​in.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​it's​ ​going​ ​to​ ​hurt​ ​MORE."​ ​​ ​He​ ​chortled​ ​at​ ​Ron's​ ​dismay. 

Both​ ​of​ ​the​ ​onlookers​ ​were​ ​amused​ ​by​ ​how​ ​hard​ ​Ron​ ​worked​ ​to​ ​get​ ​the​ ​cockhead​ ​sufficiently moistened.​ ​​ ​He​ ​gathered​ ​as​ ​much​ ​spit​ ​as​ ​he​ ​could​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​and​ ​lavished​ ​it​ ​all​ ​over​ ​the jaw-breaking​ ​helmet.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​pulled​ ​it​ ​free​ ​unexpectedly​ ​and,​ ​before​ ​it​ ​could​ ​dry,​ ​pressed​ ​it against​ ​Ron's​ ​pucker. 

"Get​ ​to​ ​stroking​ ​again,​ ​boy,"​ ​he​ ​advised.​ ​​ ​"Here​ ​comes​ ​that​ ​midnight​ ​raider​ ​you​ ​love​ ​so​ ​much." 

Lamont​ ​used​ ​his​ ​considerable​ ​strength​ ​to​ ​drive​ ​the​ ​widest​ ​part​ ​through​ ​the​ ​circle​ ​of​ ​resistance. Ron​ ​yowled​ ​in​ ​pain​ ​but,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time,​ ​his​ ​dick​ ​sprang​ ​back​ ​to​ ​life.​ ​​ ​He​ ​didn't​ ​stop​ ​pulling​ ​it. Lamont​ ​sank​ ​another​ ​two​ ​inches​ ​in,​ ​replaying​ ​his​ ​recent​ ​violation​ ​of​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​As​ ​he​ ​worked​ ​it further​ ​in,​ ​the​ ​recipient​ ​panted,​ ​his​ ​mouth​ ​wide​ ​open.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​leaned​ ​in​ ​so​ ​her​ ​former​ ​boyfriend could​ ​see​ ​how​ ​she​ ​was​ ​leering​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​with​ ​his​ ​familiar​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​​ ​control​ ​and​ ​quick​ ​firing​ ​time, launched​ ​a​ ​gob​ ​of​ ​cream​ ​into​ ​his​ ​own​ ​face,​ ​half​ ​of​ ​it​ ​going​ ​into​ ​his​ ​mouth.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​immediately manipulated​ ​the​ ​angle​ ​of​ ​Ron's​ ​hips​ ​so​ ​that​ ​the​ ​next​ ​several​ ​blobs​ ​landed​ ​all​ ​over​ ​that​ ​formerly pristine​ ​nightie.​ ​​ ​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​done​ ​shooting​ ​and​ ​just​ ​dripping,​ ​he​ ​had​ ​made​ ​quite​ ​a mess​ ​on​ ​himself.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​him​ ​milk​ ​out​ ​several​ ​more​ ​drops,​ ​which​ ​landed​ ​on​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the 

relatively​ ​untouched​ ​areas​ ​of​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​wearing.​ ​​ ​​ ​Ron's​ ​audience​ ​of​ ​two​ ​cackled​ ​at​ ​his thoroughly​ ​disgraced​ ​state. 

When​ ​Ron​ ​begged​ ​them​ ​to​ ​let​ ​him​ ​take​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​out,​ ​Sherri​ ​had​ ​a​ ​wicked​ ​idea.​ ​​ ​She​ ​told​ ​him​ ​to stay​ ​where​ ​he​ ​was​ ​an​ ​not​ ​dare​ ​to​ ​remove​ ​his​ ​'new​ ​friend'.​ ​​ ​Moments​ ​later​ ​she​ ​returned, clutching​ ​a​ ​big​ ​roll​ ​of​ ​wide​ ​tape.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​in​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those​ ​novelty​ ​patterns​ ​that​ ​have​ ​been successfully​ ​marketed​ ​in​ ​recent​ ​years​ ​--​ ​pink​ ​with​ ​red​ ​hearts​ ​all​ ​over​ ​it.​ ​​ ​She​ ​explained​ ​that​ ​it had​ ​been​ ​used​ ​as​ ​a​ ​joke​ ​when​ ​wrapping​ ​gifts.​ ​​ ​Now​ ​it​ ​was​ ​used​ ​by​ ​Lamont​ ​as​ ​he​ ​gleefully wound​ ​it​ ​around​ ​Ron,​ ​making​ ​a​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​diaper​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​firmly​ ​in​ ​place.​ ​​ ​After​ ​many windings​ ​he​ ​was​ ​satisfied​ ​that​ ​the​ ​rammer​ ​wasn't​ ​going​ ​to​ ​leave​ ​its​ ​new​ ​home.​ ​​ ​They​ ​made​ ​Ron get​ ​out​ ​of​ ​his​ ​awkward​ ​position​ ​and​ ​then​ ​stand​ ​up.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​movement​ ​cost​ ​him​ ​pain.​ ​​ ​He​ ​walked uneasily,​ ​taking​ ​small​ ​cautious​ ​steps.​ ​​ ​They​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​that​ ​and​ ​at​ ​how​ ​small​ ​his​ ​penis​ ​had shrunk​ ​up​ ​after​ ​he​ ​finished.​ ​​ ​The​ ​nighty​ ​was​ ​still​ ​on​ ​him,​ ​wrinkled​ ​now,​ ​and​ ​spotted​ ​with​ ​his​ ​own semen,​ ​the​ ​scent​ ​of​ ​it​ ​strong​ ​in​ ​his​ ​nostrils. 

"All​ ​right,"​ ​Lamont​ ​decided.​ ​​ ​"You​ ​also​ ​owe​ ​us​ ​some​ ​service,​ ​Rona​ ​girl.​ ​​ ​Like​ ​a​ ​servant.​ ​​ ​Go​ ​to the​ ​fridge​ ​and​ ​fetch​ ​us​ ​a​ ​couple​ ​cans​ ​of​ ​beer.​ ​​ ​Don't​ ​try​ ​to​ ​open​ ​them;​ ​that​ ​might​ ​be​ ​too​ ​much​ ​of a​ ​macho​ ​job​ ​for​ ​a​ ​sissy​ ​like​ ​you." 

They​ ​laughed​ ​at​ ​the​ ​way​ ​he​ ​wiggle-walked​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room.​ ​​ ​When​ ​he​ ​returned​ ​they​ ​were​ ​side by​ ​side​ ​on​ ​the​ ​bed,​ ​looking​ ​like​ ​the​ ​lovers​ ​that​ ​they​ ​were.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​cautiously​ ​handed​ ​them​ ​the​ ​cans of​ ​beer,​ ​fearful​ ​of​ ​doing​ ​something​ ​to​ ​provoke​ ​anger​ ​from​ ​either​ ​of​ ​his​ ​captors.​ ​​ ​As​ ​they​ ​sipped the​ ​refreshing​ ​drinks​ ​Ron​ ​had​ ​to​ ​strut​ ​around​ ​for​ ​them,​ ​putting​ ​his​ ​hands​ ​on​ ​his​ ​hips​ ​and shaking​ ​his​ ​backside.​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​uncomfortable​ ​and​ ​shameful.​ ​​ ​They​ ​eventually​ ​allowed​ ​him​ ​to stop. 

"Now,"​ ​Sherri​ ​went​ ​on,​ ​"you​ ​said​ ​something​ ​when​ ​just​ ​you​ ​and​ ​I​ ​were​ ​here​ ​earlier,​ ​about​ ​your new​ ​girlfriend.​ ​​ ​Annie​ ​or​ ​whatever​ ​her​ ​name​ ​is.​ ​​ ​Tell​ ​us​ ​all​ ​about​ ​her." 

"I..."​ ​​ ​Ron's​ ​lower​ ​lip​ ​stuck​ ​out​ ​and​ ​quivered.​ ​​ ​"...​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to."
"No?"​ ​Lamont​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"Would​ ​you​ ​rather​ ​I​ ​paddled​ ​your​ ​ass​ ​again,​ ​but​ ​this​ ​time​ ​hitting​ ​that​ ​big 

plastic​ ​cock​ ​over​ ​and​ ​over."
"NO!​ ​​ ​Not​ ​that.​ ​​ ​I'll​ ​talk.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​name​ ​is​ ​Anita​ ​and​ ​we've​ ​been​ ​together​ ​for​ ​a​ ​while​ ​now.​ ​​ ​She... 

um...​ ​doesn't​ ​know​ ​anything​ ​about​ ​my...​ ​er...​ ​hobby." 

With​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​irony,​ ​Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"What​ ​a​ ​surprise.​ ​​ ​You​ ​were​ ​lying​ ​to​ ​her​ ​too.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​someone should​ ​tell​ ​her.​ ​​ ​The​ ​women​ ​of​ ​this​ ​city​ ​need​ ​to​ ​be​ ​protected​ ​from​ ​dishonest​ ​perverts​ ​like​ ​you, Rona​ ​baby." 

Ron​ ​began​ ​to​ ​sob.​ ​​ ​"Please.​ ​​ ​Everything's​ ​going​ ​great​ ​between​ ​us." 

"You​ ​think​ ​so​ ​because​ ​she's​ ​acting​ ​like​ ​the​ ​sex​ ​is​ ​good,"​ ​Sherri​ ​speculated.​ ​​ ​"Despite​ ​your​ ​teeny half-dick.​ ​​ ​No,​ ​I​ ​think​ ​she​ ​needs​ ​us​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​her​ ​the​ ​truth.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​maybe​ ​just​ ​us​ ​to​ ​make​ ​you​ ​tell​ ​her. How​ ​about​ ​Lamont​ ​and​ ​I​ ​finish​ ​our​ ​beers​ ​and​ ​then​ ​we​ ​can​ ​all​ ​go​ ​over​ ​to​ ​your​ ​place​ ​together." 

"Please,"​ ​Ron​ ​implored.​ ​​ ​"Don't​ ​show​ ​me​ ​to​ ​Anita.​ ​​ ​Not​ ​like​ ​this."
"Boo​ ​hoo​ ​for​ ​you."​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​shook​ ​her​ ​head.​ ​​ ​"We'll​ ​be​ ​doing​ ​the​ ​girl​ ​a​ ​favor." 

Twenty​ ​minutes​ ​later,​ ​with​ ​Ron​ ​still​ ​in​ ​the​ ​stained​ ​nighty,​ ​it's​ ​fluffy​ ​fur​ ​appearing​ ​wilted,​ ​the​ ​fat dildo​ ​still​ ​stretching​ ​his​ ​hole​ ​and​ ​held​ ​in​ ​by​ ​the​ ​improvised​ ​tape​ ​panties,​ ​they​ ​were​ ​ready​ ​to leave.​ ​​ ​The​ ​other​ ​two​ ​were​ ​nicely​ ​dressed.​ ​​ ​They​ ​threw​ ​an​ ​old​ ​coat​ ​of​ ​Sherri's,​ ​faux​ ​leopard​ ​skin and​ ​short,​ ​over​ ​his​ ​shoulders.​ ​​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​cling​ ​to​ ​it​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​it​ ​closed.​ ​​ ​His​ ​legs​ ​were​ ​exposed. They​ ​hustled​ ​him​ ​to​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door​ ​and​ ​outside.​ ​​ ​No​ ​one​ ​was​ ​around​ ​but​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​terribly afraid​ ​of​ ​being​ ​seen,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​tear-streaked​ ​make-up​ ​and​ ​runny​ ​nose,​ ​not​ ​to​ ​mention​ ​the​ ​spunk that​ ​they​ ​hadn't​ ​allowed​ ​him​ ​to​ ​clean​ ​off​ ​his​ ​face. 

A​ ​blanket​ ​was​ ​thrown​ ​over​ ​the​ ​back​ ​seat​ ​and​ ​he​ ​was​ ​forced​ ​by​ ​Lamont​ ​to​ ​sit​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​​ ​That​ ​pushed the​ ​dildo​ ​in​ ​harder,​ ​causing​ ​him​ ​fresh​ ​discomfort.​ ​​ ​The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​took​ ​the​ ​wheel​ ​and​ ​started​ ​for their​ ​destination.​ ​​ ​He​ ​chose​ ​several​ ​roads​ ​that​ ​he​ ​said​ ​were​ ​shortcuts,​ ​but​ ​which​ ​seemed​ ​to have​ ​been​ ​picked​ ​because​ ​they​ ​were​ ​exceptionally​ ​bumpy.​ ​​ ​Every​ ​time​ ​the​ ​car​ ​bounced​ ​up​ ​and down,​ ​Ron's​ ​tortured​ ​bottom​ ​was​ ​jarred,​ ​resulting​ ​in​ ​the​ ​feeling​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​being​ ​butt-pumped all​ ​over​ ​again.​ ​​ ​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​they​ ​got​ ​there​ ​he​ ​was​ ​quaking​ ​from​ ​pain​ ​and​ ​from​ ​fear​ ​of​ ​more abuse​ ​to​ ​his​ ​sitter. 

Lamont​ ​parked​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​Ron's​ ​building.​ ​​ ​They​ ​pulled​ ​him​ ​from​ ​the​ ​car​ ​and​ ​got​ ​him​ ​steadied​ ​on his​ ​feet.​ ​​ ​This​ ​time​ ​there​ ​were​ ​passersby.​ ​​ ​Sherri​ ​tossed​ ​off​ ​the​ ​explanation​ ​that​ ​Ron​ ​was​ ​their TV​ ​friend​ ​who'd​ ​had​ ​a​ ​rough​ ​night​ ​with​ ​some​ ​leather​ ​guys.​ ​​ ​People​ ​nodded​ ​understandingly. One​ ​of​ ​them​ ​peered​ ​at​ ​him​ ​as​ ​if​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​decide​ ​if​ ​he​ ​recognized​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​Taking​ ​Sherri's weak-kneed​ ​​ ​EX​ ​between​ ​them,​ ​his​ ​handlers​ ​got​ ​him​ ​into​ ​the​ ​building.​ ​​ ​He​ ​tried​ ​to​ ​direct​ ​them​ ​to the​ ​elevator. 

The​ ​Black​ ​man​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"It's​ ​only​ ​three​ ​floors​ ​up.​ ​​ ​The​ ​exercise​ ​will​ ​do​ ​you​ ​good."​ ​​ ​They​ ​led​ ​Ron to​ ​the​ ​stairs.​ ​​ ​"You'll​ ​thank​ ​us​ ​later." 

Naturally,​ ​the​ ​climb​ ​was​ ​sheer​ ​agony,​ ​with​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​working​ ​on​ ​his​ ​rear​ ​entry​ ​every​ ​step​ ​of​ ​the way.​ ​​ ​When​ ​they​ ​got​ ​to​ ​Ron's​ ​door​ ​he​ ​was​ ​sobbing​ ​and​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​find​ ​some​ ​less​ ​difficult​ ​position to​ ​stand​ ​in.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​knocked. 

From​ ​inside​ ​came​ ​Anita's​ ​voice.​ ​​ ​"Ron,​ ​is​ ​that​ ​you?"​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​elbowed​ ​him​ ​and​ ​hissed​ ​what​ ​he should​ ​say.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​dutifully​ ​repeated,​ ​"I​ ​misplaced​ ​my​ ​door​ ​key." 

Anita's​ ​voice​ ​was​ ​nearer​ ​as​ ​she​ ​said,​ ​"I've​ ​got​ ​a​ ​super​ ​sexy​ ​surprise​ ​for​ ​you,​ ​baby." 

She​ ​flung​ ​open​ ​the​ ​door​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​Ron​ ​standing​ ​there,​ ​supported​ ​by​ ​a​ ​good​ ​looking​ ​young woman​ ​and​ ​a​ ​striking​ ​Black​ ​man.​ ​​ ​Why​ ​was​ ​her​ ​boyfriend​ ​dressed​ ​in​ ​a​ ​darling​ ​nightie​ ​that​ ​was all​ ​spattered​ ​by​ ​what​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​jizz?​ ​​ ​Why​ ​was​ ​he​ ​acting​ ​like​ ​he'd​ ​been​ ​through​ ​the​ ​wringer? On​ ​top​ ​of​ ​that,​ ​she​ ​was​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​nightie​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​like​ ​the​ ​one​ ​on​ ​Ron. 

With​ ​a​ ​cheery​ ​smile,​ ​Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"We​ ​can​ ​explain.​ ​​ ​I​ ​used​ ​to​ ​date​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​He​ ​lied​ ​to​ ​me​ ​too,​ ​about being​ ​a​ ​faggot​ ​who​ ​likes​ ​to​ ​dress​ ​all​ ​girly." 

Anita​ ​gave​ ​Ron​ ​a​ ​critical​ ​look.​ ​​ ​"I​ ​wondered​ ​what​ ​was​ ​going​ ​on.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​such​ ​a​ ​dud​ ​in​ ​bed,​ ​with that​ ​miniature​ ​dick​ ​and​ ​always​ ​shooting​ ​off​ ​right​ ​away.​ ​​ ​And​ ​his​ ​endless​ ​selection​ ​of​ ​hair​ ​and skin​ ​products.​ ​​ ​More​ ​than​ ​I​ ​use." 

"Tell​ ​me​ ​about​ ​it,"​ ​Sherri​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"Mind​ ​if​ ​we​ ​bring​ ​him​ ​inside?" 

"Come​ ​on​ ​in.​ ​​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​wait​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​the​ ​rest​ ​of​ ​the​ ​story."​ ​​ ​As​ ​the​ ​door​ ​closed​ ​behind​ ​them​ ​Ron tried​ ​to​ ​say​ ​something​ ​to​ ​her.​ ​​ ​She​ ​sneered​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​"You​ ​just​ ​shut​ ​your​ ​mouth​ ​right now,​ ​mister.​ ​​ ​Or​ ​should​ ​I​ ​say​ ​'missy'?​ ​​ ​I​ ​was​ ​getting​ ​tired​ ​of​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your​ ​on-line​ ​browsing​ ​at men's​ ​fashion​ ​pajamas.​ ​​ ​And​ ​the​ ​way​ ​you​ ​fussed​ ​over​ ​what​ ​you​ ​were​ ​going​ ​to​ ​wear​ ​every​ ​time you​ ​were​ ​going​ ​anywhere." 

Sherri​ ​supplied,​ ​"And​ ​having​ ​to​ ​fake​ ​orgasms​ ​with​ ​him?"
"Exactly.​ ​​ ​Do​ ​you​ ​know​ ​how​ ​exhausting​ ​that​ ​can​ ​be,​ ​to​ ​try​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​up​ ​his​ ​bloated​ ​ego,​ ​and 

you're​ ​never​ ​getting​ ​off​ ​when​ ​he​ ​screws​ ​you?"
"I​ ​knew​ ​for​ ​almost​ ​a​ ​year.​ ​​ ​And​ ​'screws'​ ​is​ ​the​ ​right​ ​word.​ ​​ ​He​ ​never​ ​even​ ​went​ ​downtown​ ​on 

me."
"Same​ ​here.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​a​ ​selfish,​ ​spoiled,​ ​pansy​ ​boy."​ ​​ ​In​ ​case​ ​anyone​ ​had​ ​missed​ ​the​ ​oft​ ​repeated 

diss,​ ​she​ ​added,​ ​"With​ ​a​ ​prick​ ​a​ ​cockapoo​ ​puppy​ ​would​ ​be​ ​ashamed​ ​of." 

Lamont​ ​led​ ​Ron​ ​to​ ​a​ ​hard​ ​wooden​ ​chair​ ​and​ ​positioned​ ​him​ ​to​ ​sit​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​pleaded​ ​with​ ​his eyes​ ​not​ ​to​ ​have​ ​his​ ​butt​ ​hurt​ ​again,​ ​but​ ​Lamont​ ​just​ ​gave​ ​him​ ​a​ ​wolfish​ ​grin​ ​and​ ​pushed​ ​him down​ ​hard​ ​onto​ ​the​ ​unyielding​ ​seat.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​cried​ ​out​ ​and​ ​began​ ​weeping,​ ​his​ ​tears​ ​making​ ​more of​ ​his​ ​mascara​ ​run​ ​down​ ​his​ ​flushed​ ​cheeks. 

Anita​ ​wasn't​ ​done​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​​ ​She​ ​came​ ​close​ ​and,​ ​with​ ​a​ ​curled​ ​lip,​ ​told​ ​him,​ ​"You​ ​are​ ​a worthless​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​fag-trash.​ ​​ ​You​ ​are​ ​not​ ​even​ ​close​ ​to​ ​a​ ​real​ ​man.​ ​​ ​I​ ​regret​ ​that​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​met​ ​you. How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​you​ ​leave​ ​here​ ​tonight​ ​and​ ​never​ ​come​ ​back?" 

Sherri​ ​pointed​ ​out,​ ​"He​ ​comes​ ​back​ ​to​ ​get​ ​his​ ​stuff,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​next​ ​thing​ ​you​ ​know​ ​he's​ ​prancing around​ ​in​ ​lingerie." 

"I​ ​believe​ ​it.​ ​​ ​But​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​him​ ​around.​ ​​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​anything​ ​else​ ​from​ ​his​ ​lying mouth." 

"Actually,"​ ​Sherri​ ​mentioned,​ ​"it's​ ​a​ ​lying​ ​AND​ ​a​ ​cock-sucking​ ​mouth."
"I​ ​believe​ ​that,​ ​too.​ ​​ ​He​ ​obviously​ ​prefers​ ​guys​ ​to​ ​girls.​ ​​ ​I​ ​mean,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​mind​ ​regular​ ​gay​ ​men,​ ​but 

he's​ ​something​ ​else.​ ​​ ​I​ ​want​ ​him​ ​gone." 

"We​ ​can​ ​make​ ​that​ ​happen,"​ ​Lamont​ ​assured​ ​her,​ ​"but​ ​let's​ ​take​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​and​ ​think​ ​it​ ​over.​ ​​ ​If you​ ​kept​ ​him​ ​around,​ ​there'd​ ​be​ ​time​ ​to​ ​work​ ​out​ ​your​ ​anger​ ​and​ ​pay​ ​him​ ​back​ ​properly​ ​for​ ​the time​ ​he​ ​stole​ ​from​ ​you.​ ​​ ​And​ ​all​ ​his​ ​dishonesty.​ ​​ ​Hell,​ ​I'm​ ​sure​ ​he'd​ ​be​ ​happy​ ​to​ ​handle​ ​all​ ​the bills​ ​and​ ​other​ ​expenses,​ ​instead​ ​of​ ​just​ ​half,​ ​as​ ​a​ ​way​ ​of​ ​making​ ​up​ ​for​ ​his​ ​bad​ ​behavior.​ ​​ ​And you'd​ ​still​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​date​ ​real​ ​guys." 

"And,"​ ​Sherri​ ​said,​ ​"keep​ ​Princess​ ​Rona​ ​around​ ​just​ ​to​ ​eat​ ​your​ ​pussy.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​not​ ​great​ ​at​ ​it​ ​yet, but​ ​I​ ​think​ ​he​ ​has​ ​potential.​ ​​ ​Seems​ ​like​ ​one​ ​of​ ​those​ ​oral​ ​compulsives​ ​you​ ​read​ ​about." 

"Well,"​ ​Anita​ ​conceded,​ ​"I​ ​would​ ​feel​ ​better​ ​if​ ​I​ ​could​ ​take​ ​the​ ​time​ ​to​ ​settle​ ​some​ ​scores​ ​with him.​ ​​ ​Plus,​ ​the​ ​idea​ ​of​ ​having​ ​a​ ​real​ ​guy​ ​in​ ​my​ ​life​ ​at​ ​the​ ​same​ ​time​ ​sounds​ ​nice.​ ​​ ​It's​ ​just​ ​a shame​ ​I'd​ ​have​ ​to​ ​wait​ ​until​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​into​ ​someone​ ​like​ ​that." 

"You​ ​know,"​ ​Lamont​ ​said​ ​with​ ​a​ ​smile,​ ​"I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​friend​ ​who​ ​might​ ​be​ ​perfect.​ ​​ ​His​ ​name's LeBron.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​a​ ​bouncer​ ​at​ ​a​ ​local​ ​hip​ ​hop​ ​club.​ ​​ ​I​ ​filled​ ​in​ ​for​ ​him​ ​one​ ​night​ ​and​ ​that's​ ​how​ ​I​ ​met my​ ​Sherri.​ ​​ ​I​ ​think​ ​you'd​ ​like​ ​the​ ​dude." 

Anita's​ ​eyebrows​ ​went​ ​up.​ ​​ ​"He​ ​might​ ​be​ ​just​ ​what​ ​I​ ​need.​ ​​ ​Is​ ​he​ ​a​ ​big​ ​guy​ ​like​ ​you,​ ​Lamont?" She​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​directly​ ​at​ ​the​ ​impressive​ ​bulge​ ​in​ ​his​ ​pants. 

He​ ​understood.​ ​​ ​"Sure.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​Black." 

Everyone​ ​laughed.​ ​​ ​Except​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​go​ ​and​ ​get​ ​three​ ​beers​ ​from​ ​the​ ​fridge,​ ​hobbling along​ ​while​ ​the​ ​dildo​ ​continued​ ​to​ ​inflict​ ​pain​ ​on​ ​his​ ​ass,​ ​while​ ​Lamont​ ​made​ ​the​ ​call.​ ​​ ​As​ ​Ron limped​ ​back​ ​into​ ​the​ ​living​ ​room,​ ​in​ ​his​ ​bedraggled​ ​nightie​ ​and​ ​duct​ ​tape​ ​diaper,​ ​Lamont​ ​was closing​ ​his​ ​phone. 

"My​ ​man​ ​LeBron​ ​will​ ​be​ ​right​ ​over.​ ​​ ​You're​ ​going​ ​to​ ​love​ ​him​ ​​ ​Let's​ ​just​ ​chill.​ ​​ ​Hey​ ​Ronnie-Rona. Ronette.​ ​​ ​You​ ​just​ ​sit​ ​on​ ​the​ ​floor,​ ​over​ ​there​ ​in​ ​the​ ​corner.​ ​​ ​We'll​ ​call​ ​when​ ​we​ ​need​ ​you,​ ​fairy." 

Ron​ ​went​ ​disconsolately​ ​to​ ​his​ ​assigned​ ​spot.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​difficult​ ​lowering​ ​himself​ ​down​ ​and​ ​even harder​ ​to​ ​sit.​ ​​ ​The​ ​dildo​ ​never​ ​stopped​ ​tormenting​ ​him.​ ​​ ​He​ ​had​ ​to​ ​watch​ ​the​ ​others​ ​enjoying their​ ​drinks,​ ​his​ ​former​ ​girlfriend​ ​with​ ​her​ ​capable​ ​new​ ​lover,​ ​his​ ​current​ ​girlfriend​ ​anticipating having​ ​the​ ​same.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​hugged​ ​himself​ ​and​ ​inhaled​ ​the​ ​smell​ ​of​ ​spilled​ ​seed,​ ​tasting​ ​it​ ​too.​ ​​ ​It 

deeply​ ​disturbed​ ​him​ ​to​ ​have​ ​several​ ​helpings​ ​of​ ​it​ ​in​ ​his​ ​stomach​ ​and​ ​one​ ​big​ ​load​ ​in​ ​his bowels.​ ​​ ​His​ ​guts​ ​were​ ​churning. 

All​ ​too​ ​soon,​ ​LeBron​ ​arrived.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​tall​ ​and​ ​athletic​ ​like​ ​Lamont,​ ​and​ ​just​ ​as​ ​ripped.​ ​​ ​And​ ​yes, there​ ​was​ ​an​ ​enviable​ ​bulge​ ​in​ ​his​ ​pants.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​certainly​ ​envied​ ​it.​ ​​ ​Anita​ ​went​ ​to​ ​him​ ​with​ ​a welcoming​ ​smile​ ​and​ ​open​ ​arms.​ ​​ ​She​ ​needed​ ​to​ ​feel​ ​good​ ​about​ ​herself​ ​after​ ​the​ ​debacle​ ​with Ron.​ ​​ ​LeBron​ ​was​ ​the​ ​perfect​ ​answer​ ​to​ ​her​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​handsome​ ​and​ ​well-equipped where​ ​it​ ​counted.​ ​​ ​Her​ ​sense​ ​of​ ​self-worth​ ​got​ ​an​ ​immediate​ ​boost​ ​as​ ​he​ ​took​ ​her​ ​in​ ​his​ ​strong arms.​ ​​ ​At​ ​his​ ​touch​ ​her​ ​sexual​ ​appetite​ ​was​ ​immediately​ ​whetted.​ ​​ ​She​ ​ordered​ ​Ron​ ​to​ ​get​ ​a beer​ ​for​ ​the​ ​new​ ​arrival.​ ​​ ​It​ ​felt​ ​good​ ​to​ ​give​ ​him​ ​commands.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​enjoy​ ​having​ ​him as​ ​her...​ ​house​ ​pet?​ ​​ ​sissy​ ​slave?​ ​​ ​tongue-in-pussy-stress-reliever?​ ​​ ​Whatever.​ ​​ ​She​ ​was​ ​looking forward​ ​to​ ​exacting​ ​revenge,​ ​and​ ​plenty​ ​of​ ​it,​ ​over​ ​a​ ​long​ ​period.​ ​​ ​As​ ​she​ ​sat​ ​close​ ​to​ ​LeBron​ ​on the​ ​couch,​ ​her​ ​eyes​ ​went​ ​to​ ​Ron's,​ ​daring​ ​him​ ​to​ ​make​ ​so​ ​much​ ​as​ ​a​ ​peep​ ​of​ ​protest,​ ​which​ ​of course​ ​he​ ​didn't. 

An​ ​hour​ ​later,​ ​Sherri​ ​and​ ​Ron​ ​excused​ ​themselves,​ ​saying​ ​they​ ​had​ ​to​ ​get​ ​going,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​they were​ ​sure​ ​the​ ​new​ ​friends​ ​would​ ​like​ ​some​ ​time​ ​to​ ​get​ ​acquainted​ ​with​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​​ ​LeBron​ ​had his​ ​long​ ​arm​ ​around​ ​Anita's​ ​shoulders​ ​and​ ​she​ ​had​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​his​ ​firm​ ​thigh,​ ​close​ ​to​ ​the significant​ ​length​ ​that​ ​pressed​ ​outward​ ​against​ ​his​ ​jeans. 

Sherri​ ​went​ ​to​ ​Ron,​ ​who​ ​was​ ​cowering​ ​in​ ​the​ ​corner,​ ​and​ ​smirked​ ​down​ ​at​ ​him.​ ​​ ​"See​ ​you​ ​later, masturbator." 

Lamont​ ​came​ ​over​ ​and​ ​wedged​ ​his​ ​foot​ ​under​ ​Ron's​ ​butt,​ ​to​ ​jiggle​ ​the​ ​impaling​ ​dildo​ ​a​ ​few times.​ ​​ ​"I'm​ ​sure​ ​we'll​ ​meet​ ​again.​ ​​ ​It​ ​ain't​ ​over​ ​yet​ ​between​ ​you​ ​and​ ​me,​ ​after​ ​what​ ​you​ ​did​ ​to​ ​my girl...​ ​and​ ​my​ ​sports​ ​jersey." 

Once​ ​the​ ​couple​ ​was​ ​gone,​ ​Anita​ ​and​ ​LeBron​ ​started​ ​to​ ​make​ ​out​ ​on​ ​the​ ​couch.​ ​​ ​They​ ​had​ ​their hands​ ​all​ ​over​ ​each​ ​other.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​could​ ​only​ ​watch​ ​with​ ​wrenching​ ​jealousy. 

LeBron​ ​offered,​ ​"You​ ​want​ ​me​ ​to​ ​do​ ​something​ ​with​ ​the​ ​faggot?​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​stuff​ ​him​ ​in​ ​the​ ​closet?" "No.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​been​ ​in​ ​the​ ​closet​ ​too​ ​long​ ​already.​ ​​ ​If​ ​you​ ​don't​ ​mind,​ ​I​ ​want​ ​him​ ​to​ ​watch​ ​and​ ​see 

what​ ​he​ ​lost,​ ​through​ ​his​ ​own​ ​lying​ ​and​ ​being​ ​a​ ​freak."
"Not​ ​a​ ​problem.​ ​​ ​I​ ​like​ ​the​ ​idea​ ​of​ ​showing​ ​him​ ​how​ ​stupid​ ​he's​ ​been.​ ​​ ​And​ ​how​ ​much​ ​good​ ​you 

and​ ​me​ ​are​ ​doing​ ​each​ ​other​ ​right​ ​now.​ ​​ ​But​ ​how​ ​about​ ​when​ ​we​ ​hit​ ​the​ ​sheets?" 

"I​ ​would​ ​REALLY​ ​like​ ​him​ ​to​ ​be​ ​there​ ​for​ ​that.​ ​​ ​And​ ​Sherri​ ​told​ ​me​ ​he's​ ​good​ ​at​ ​cleaning​ ​up​ ​a well-used​ ​pussy." 

"Yeah.​ ​​ ​Lamont​ ​said​ ​I​ ​should​ ​make​ ​Ronnie​ ​girl​ ​a​ ​licker-upper​ ​for​ ​my​ ​jones.​ ​​ ​Damn.​ ​​ ​Our​ ​own sissy​ ​to​ ​get​ ​rid​ ​of​ ​all​ ​that​ ​messy​ ​cum​ ​when​ ​we're​ ​done.​ ​​ ​And​ ​I​ ​do​ ​make​ ​a​ ​whole​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​sex sauce." 

"Good.​ ​​ ​Ronnie​ ​girl​ ​deserves​ ​lots​ ​of​ ​generous​ ​feedings.​ ​​ ​How​ ​about​ ​if​ ​we​ ​get​ ​together​ ​and​ f​ ix​ ​up his​ ​first​ ​one​ ​right​ ​now?" 

"Sounds​ ​good,​ ​my​ ​lady."​ ​​ ​He​ ​glanced​ ​over​ ​at​ ​Ron.​ ​​ ​"Sound​ ​good​ ​to​ ​you?​ ​​ ​Watch​ ​the​ ​show? Clean​ ​us​ ​up​ ​after.​ ​​ ​And​ ​if​ ​I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​go​ ​again,​ ​maybe​ ​your​ ​rump​ ​be​ ​my​ ​cock​ ​socket." 

Anita​ ​added,​ ​"While​ ​you​ ​plow​ ​him​ ​he​ ​can​ ​have​ ​his​ ​face​ ​in​ ​my​ ​butt,​ ​rimming​ ​me​ t​ ill​ ​he's​ ​ready​ ​to suffocate." 

Ron​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​them​ ​with​ ​a​ ​beaten​ ​expression.​ ​​ ​He​ ​said,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​small​ ​feminine​ ​voice,​ ​filled​ ​with dread,​ ​"Yes,​ ​Sir.​ ​​ ​Yes,​ ​Ma'am." 

"And​ ​one​ ​more​ ​thing​ ​I​ ​got​ ​to​ ​know,​ ​sucker,"​ ​LeBron​ ​said.​ ​​ ​"How​ ​come​ ​that​ ​baby​ ​pecker​ ​of​ ​yours is​ ​all​ ​stiff​ ​right​ ​now?​ ​​ ​You​ ​really​ l​ ike​ ​what​ ​we're​ ​saying​ ​that​ ​much?" 

The​ ​seated​ ​figure​ ​looked​ ​down​ ​and​ ​was​ ​astounded​ ​to​ ​see​ ​his​ ​fresh​ ​erection.​ ​​ ​How​ ​could​ ​he​ ​be responding​ ​to​ ​their​ ​disgusting​ ​suggestions?​ ​​ ​And​ ​yet​ ​he​ ​was.​ ​​ ​Ron​ ​apparently​ ​had​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​yet​ ​to learn​ ​about​ ​himself,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​looking​ ​forward​ ​to​ ​it. 

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