2 comments/ 7809 views/ 2 favorites Cheating without Prospering By: InsatiableSteve Author's note: This is the third and final installment of what I hadn't originally conceived of as a series. Before reading this you may want to read my previous stories, "Sex with the X?" and "More Sex with the X." They explain more about the characters' backgrounds and their two post-breakup sexual encounters that take place several years apart. * * * * * The sudden bright burst from the lamp next to me effectively blinded me, my wide-open pupils feeling seared due to the slowness of my eyelids relative to the speed of light. Lying naked on my back, uncovered, handcuffs holding my arms above me, I felt fear of the sort that my easy, MidAmerican suburban upbringing and current life in a gentrified Chicago neighborhood had rarely exposed me to. I turned my head away toward the center of the bed, my eyes slowly recovering from the onslaught, trying to figure out just what was going on, why I was in this exposed position. It couldn't be a break-in; I was at the Ritz in Boston! The basic answer, why I was in such straits, became clear quickly enough — but the deeper question of why was unsettled. "Christina?" I croaked, my throat suddenly and surprisingly dry, addressing the tall, voluptuous, beautiful red-haired ex-girlfriend with whom I'd just enjoyed some great sex. "Speak when spoken to!" she replied in a hoarse whisper. I saw it from the edge of my peripheral vision just before I felt it, a quick shadowy blur from my left striking my torso, a sharp pain as leathery strips struck me. I whimpered. "Shout and there won't be much left of your hide by the time help arrives. Don't make me gag you." She circled the bed, the sweet, generous lover of a few hours ago gone, replaced by a woman beside herself with anger, fully dressed. I recognized her well enough, but hadn't seen Christina in this rage-filled mode in years, since the days when we were a couple. All I could do was ask why through my wide-open eyes while trying to pull my arms free. "Don't struggle too hard either, or Melissa may have a few questions about why your wrists are rubbed raw and scabby, maybe even infected if you're not careful," she said, drawing out my live-in girlfriend's name in a mocking way. I stopped, feeling pain from the metal teeth — they were real, police-style handcuffs; comfort was pretty low on their list of features. My eyes finally adjusted to the light, overcame the assault on my pupils, but without my glasses things were fuzzier than I would've liked. I also didn't like that Christina was running her flogger over my cock, tickling my shaft and balls. And I really didn't like the fact that my traitorous organ was responding by lengthening and thickening under this teasing. I thought of trying to kick Christina, but it seemed clear that resistance of this sort would be futile — my best hope in doing so would be to knock her out and call for help. Being found in a compromising position like this might not make national news, but I certainly didn't want to deal with the hotel management, with the police, to be known as the guy who was found naked and cuffed to the bed in a five-star hotel. "This turns you on? Jesus Christ, you truly are pathetic," she spat at me. "Always thinking with this worthless thing, aren't you?" she said, taking me in her hand and stroking roughly, like she wanted nothing more than to pull my penis off, her thumbnail exerting painful pressure just beneath my head. "You are such a piece of shit. You wanted to assfuck me? You think you can just use me for your pleasure while I lay there, fuck my tits and fill my mouth with your cheater's spunk?" Christina's hand let go of my erection, picked the flogger up high on its handle, rubbed the bottom of the handle below my balls, trying to separate my ass cheeks with it. "I should stick this whip up your ass, see how you like it." I shook my head no; the occasional finger up there had always proven to be more than enough for me. I began sweating, quickly feeling a chill. I was grateful when she stopped, went back to running the wispy tendrils of the whip over my cock and balls, keeping me aroused despite myself, despite my fear, this rare sensation. "I always knew you cheated on me. You denied it, but it was so fucking obvious," she started. "Carrie, Misty, Gwen, who knows who else you were sticking your dick in while I was at work, while you were supposedly out to lunch with a friend or having a boys' night out, when you said you were having the guys over for poker, when I was in Florida visiting my parents. And here you are again, cheating, with me. It was hot at first, flattering even...but this is wrong. You're wrong. You're worthless." "But I never...no, not until you and I hooked up, a few years ago," I began to say, receiving a quick, painful lash across my whole groin, grateful that it was only her wrist behind it rather than a full swing of her arm. The excruciating pain emanating from my testicles and up to my stomach reduced my tumescence as I rode the nausea out. "Liar! You're a cheating shit, and you always have been. And you probably always will be," she said, walking toward the desk, reaching into her bag and pulling a small video camera out. "And now I have proof. I had this thing's night-vision lens on during our second go around, and it's running now." She paused for a moment, making an adjustment to the camera. "Now look into the camera, say hi to Melissa, say today's date, and admit that you're a worthless piece of shit cheater who just fucked his ex-girlfriend," Christina demanded, panning across my body before zooming in on my face. I didn't see where I had any other choice; I did as instructed. "So here's where things stand," she said, putting the camera back in her bag and retuning to the side of the bed, leaning in, cupping my balls with her left hand, fondling them as she spoke. I silently prayed that she wouldn't hurt them again. "I'm going to keep this video. I may edit it a bit to emphasize your shittiness, though I think it pretty much speaks for itself. I may keep the tape for myself, for my amusement, so that any time I may come even close to having a vaguely positive memory of you I can be instantly reminded of just how worthless and pathetic you actually are. I may post it online, to give others a few kicks at your expense. I may send the link to Melissa, or any other woman who might be dumb enough to trust in you in the future, to fall for your lies." She climbed onto the bed, knelt before me, running her tongue in circles around my head, staring directly into my eyes. "I might send it to your parents, to your boss, to your friends. Maybe tomorrow, next week, 10 years from now, never," she uttered, taking my cock in her mouth, a hand around my shaft. "Holy fuck, what are you doing to me, you evil bitch," I slowly moaned, intense pleasure displacing my anger as she continued to suck. In just a few short minutes I felt my scrotum begin to tighten, my climax imminent. Christina felt it too, slid her mouth off of my erection, smirked as it twitched in the air, gave my cock a light slap. The slightest additional touch would give me the release I craved, that I needed, but I was bound and helpless. "Just remember what you could've had, the woman you ruined. Me. My therapist says I have 'trust issues.' Gee, I wonder why, you cheating shit," Christina said as she walked around the room, put her coat on, picked up her bulging black leather bag and placed the flogger inside. "You'd better fucking hope I decide to keep this tape for myself." She walked over to the bed, a small key in her hands. "Don't do anything stupid," she warned, unlocking the cuff that kept my left arm locked to the bed post, placing the key on the nightstand and walking away. A moment later I heard the door open and close, stretched my left arm out as far as I could, barely able to reach and pick the key up, then struggled to insert the key and unlock the handcuffs securing my right wrist. Freed, my right hand immediately went to my erection, my palm encircling it, stroking three times before my watery seed began to burst forth, hot droplets landing all over my chest, belly, thighs and the bedding. A minute or two later I rose from the bed, found my glasses, saw that the alarm clock read 2 am, walked over and closed the security latch, entered the bathroom. I saw that the left side of my abdomen had taken the worst of the abuse, an ugly red welt showing as I washed my come off of my body. My cock felt raw from all of the handling and thrusting, rough and otherwise, of the past 12 hours. My wrists were sore, the skin crimson in a few small spots, otherwise okay. I noticed dark circles under my hollowed-out eyes as I washed my face, shaking my head in front of the mirror at my idiocy. I'd done the wrong thing with the wrong person, and she figuratively had me by the balls. I brushed my teeth, tried to gargle the nausea out of my throat with mouthwash, popped a few PM aspirin in hopes of finding sleep, put in for a 9 am wakeup call. I decided to wash the painkillers down with a few sips of something sweet and strong from the honor bar, but found all of the alcohol gone. The knowledge that I was going to have to pay several hundred dollars for a few small bottles of liquor, wine and beer that Christina took added to my humiliation. I lie in bed, felt empty, stupid, stunned, until I finally felt nothing but sleep. * * * * * My friend Barry's car pulled up in front of the hotel at 10:30, the trunk popping open as he stopped. I dropped my suitcase and messenger bag in, opened the passenger-side door, sat down, shook his hand. "You look like shit," my old schoolmate said. "How hard did they work you these past two days?" "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just get the fuck out of here and get a few drinks," I replied, and off we drove.