6 comments/ 57924 views/ 23 favorites Ugly Duckling By: FinalStand *Fire inspires Brilliant and consumes the Wicked* (Thanks once more to Frontma's patience and persistence) (This is not a rape story – trust me) My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon. Basically, Celine's family is the richest in our moderate sized Southern home city; she is the second of two children, both daughters. My wife and her sister have always competed for their mother's affections but it seems like recently things have all been going Celine's sister's way. Celine has always been the "smart one"; Kerry, her older sister, is the "social maven." Kerry Tatum, my sister, is a selfish, condescending, snobby witch who couldn't hold an intellectual candle to Celine. She graduated from Vanderbilt (barely) and promptly married the 'proper' guy (Sonny Tatum, who has the fine upstanding job white collar job of a CPA). As far as I can tell, the only courageous thing Sonny ever did was climb into bed with his wife (and I believe he puts on artic wear and earmuffs when he does). Mind you, I would hate my bitchy MIL if all she did was make my wife miserable, but Melissa has gone out of her way to pack on the pain. When Celine brought me home for the first time, Melissa snidely remarked that 'white trash' like me would soon be snooping around another 'filly' because I would never get a handout from her. The fact that I had no idea that Celine was even part of a rich family before that meeting mattered not one bit. A week after I proposed marriage, Melissa offered me $50,000 to quietly go away because I wasn't right for the family. When I didn't take the deal, she told Celine that I had hit Melissa up for the money. After Celine and I cleared that hurdle, Celine begged her Mother to come to the wedding. Two weeks before the event Melissa finally agreed but...sadly...a pipe burst in the pool house the day before and she had to cancel on us. She even managed to call Celine two hours AFTER the ceremony to tell her. I changed our honeymoon destination and dumped our cell phones so that the witch couldn't contact us and ruin even more of what was supposed to be the happiest time of my wife's life. After all that crap I wanted to move to Seattle because I knew I'd never talk Celine into Hawaii or Alaska. I knew that going to her hometown was a mistake but I was swayed by the depth of the pain in her eyes and the reality that Celine was a graduate from Columbia Law School while I learned IT, courtesy of the US Navy. Co-sign a home loan? Yes to Kerry but no to Celine. Sonny needs some start-up capital for his accounting firm? Melissa tossed a gob of money his way. If the money ever was paid back I would be stunned. Melissa also managed to squash Celine's attempt to get a bank loan for the small, second-rate law firm which seemed to be the only one hiring when we first arrived. Celine went to Melissa for the money. Celine begged and pleaded because it wasn't like there were a ton of options for law firms skating on the edge. Melissa finally relented and pledged the money...and then withdrew the offer at the last minute. Celine was crushed; she took a sleeping pill and went to bed early that night. I opened the gun safe and looked over my small collection of firearms once she was safely tucked in. Things do change. Normally Celine would get into these low-mood funks for a few days after her mother put her through the ringer but for the past three months, she'd been constantly depressed. I hated to see her give up – that just wasn't her. In the midst of that, Melissa called me out of the blue and asked me to come to her house and help with her security system. No, she had not suddenly become enamored with my technical prowess. It seemed that her security company's new system was so powerful squirrels were setting it off. She had already called her provider three times. She wouldn't have called me at all but the bloody thing kept going off at three in the morning and she was desperate for a good night's sleep. It could have been severe fatigue, or maybe it was because Melissa treated me like one of the servant class (she had four; two maids, a cook and a groundskeeper) but Melissa started chatting on the phone while I was crouched down, working on her security panel. I was tuning her out. When the name 'Sonny' came up I wanted to tune it out double-quick and then she said, "Sonny, I want to feel you deep inside me." I dared not make a sound. "Get it over with," Melissa grumbled. "What does Kerry want now?" I couldn't hear what Sonny said but Melissa responded with, "Tell her you will have to be much more convincing this time;" then, "I'm going to have to do something about Celine. That thug who put a ring on her finger isn't taking care of her." "Viagra?" Melissa questioned Sonny with an artic intonation. "I would think I was enough inspiration for you." Yes, my dumbass brother had made a Viagra joke to Melissa. "That Neanderthal might have found that funny but then he probably doesn't need Viagra either," Melissa sneered. "All of 'those' people are like that – breeding like rats; humping all night and all day." By 'those people,' she meant all us lazy, slovenly, unmotivated idiots who failed to make over half million bucks a year...because being poor and middle class was all our God-damn faults and no one and nothing else's. "The servants have Wednesday off so I expect you at 9:30 am," Melissa finished up the conversation. By the undercurrents of her mutterings, I didn't believe she was a happy camper. I had to think about what I had heard. Kerry was using Sonny to get Melissa to do her favors and theoretically could be getting Melissa to spurn Celine. Oh, I never had a doubt Melissa hated me, but I could live with that; I hated her right back. What I had here was an opportunity...but for what I wasn't yet sure. As I continued to work on the system, I mulled over in my mind what I could do about the relationship between my wife, mother, and myself. Celine would never let me expose her mother, sister, or brother-in-law to any public ridicule so blackmail was out of the question. If I couldn't use negative reinforcement, maybe I could use positive. I figured I could make my opening moves without getting the wife's consent but I was definitely going to get her blessing before following through. "Melissa," I started off a few minutes later. "You know I don't like you using my first name, Winston," Melissa shot back. I was sure she knew my real name because when she was pissed, she cursed at me with it. "Whatever," I shrugged, which only made her angrier. Being treated as if she was irrelevant burned her up. "I can't finish your problem today." "Of course not," Melissa rolled her eyes. "I started today knowing you were worthless and I am proven right." "Actually your security company uses a cheap sensor so to deal with your problem, I need to order a better brand on-line," I blew off her criticism. "I need to use your computer." Melissa looked at me, then to the laptop I was carrying. "Why can't you use yours?" she smiled mockingly. "Are you going to give me a credit card to use? Because I'll be damned if I'm paying for the parts," I explained. I wanted to get angry but that would be self-defeating at this point. "That's right; you can't get a decent paying job and Celine chooses to work down on Cole Street...in that part of town," Melissa reinforced her snobbery. "Meh..." I shrugged, and gave a contented smile, "all that urban warfare makes for some great after-dinner sex. Her coming at me two hours a night – every night – is a bit fatiguing but I always want another go with her in the morning." "I do not need to be made aware of you rutting with my daughter," Melissa snapped bitterly. "The computer is in here." Melissa led me into the main entertainment room, sat down at her system, and typed in the password...how nice of her. As we switched places at the console, I could swear Melissa was scoping me out for the first time. Once I started to work, Melissa got bored and left. Sure enough, I found a credit card number and used it to order the parts I needed. I had them sent to my place; it would ruin things if they showed up at her place and she had someone else install them – it would ruin my excuse for showing up on Wednesday. I took a further look around before deciding that I wanted to be a low-down snoop and started to look for some more dirt. I gave myself privileges on her wireless network before going for my final phase of this part of the plan. First I pulled up a series of lingerie websites. I had to fill my search history after all. "Melissa, could I have something to drink?" I called out. "There are glasses on the shelf and water from the tap," she shouted back. No, she wouldn't get anything for me and all she was offering was water. I got up, made a pit-stop in the bathroom to both piss and then stroke myself up to some real proportions. I went to the kitchen, made myself a tall glass of mildly cold water and returned to the computer where Melissa was at the console, her hands on the keyboard – scrolling over the screen. "Work?" she regarded me over her shoulder. "Role-playing stuff," I respond. "Naughty housewife, French Maid, Beautiful Angel...I read off some favorites. "Certainly a woman as sexy as you has done a little role-playing." "Ladies don't do those kinds of things," Melissa shot back. "Pity," I said softly. "What was that?" Melissa snarled. I knew she'd heard me, as I intended, but she felt the need to force an explanation from me because I hadn't been too obvious. "Nothing," I muttered. "I knew you were full of shit," she snorted. "Fine, I'll keep that in mind tonight when Celine's ankles have been on my shoulders for twenty minutes and she's begging me for two more minutes of hard fucking," I joked. "Horse shit," she grunted. "Would you rather hear that I was horny and I needed something to keep my mind on my wife?" I asked. That brought her up short. "Is horniness a malfunction of your kind, along with gross exaggeration?" Melissa inquired. "What am I exaggerating about?" I wondered. I also 'absent-mindedly' rubbed my left hand from the top of my jeans down to my crotch. I was nice enough not to call Melissa on looking my package over. "Why do you have to distract your mind back to your wife? Are you cheating on her?" she got snappish, "If you were, I wouldn't be surprised." "I was window shopping and daydreaming, Melissa, not doing anything wrong," I stated. "Oh, so you haven't cheated yet," she chuckled dryly. "Is it cheating if they remind you of your wife?" I requested. "Yes," she mocked, but then said, "who is it?" The past ten minutes was the most in-depth conversation Melissa had had with me in all the years she'd known me. "She's not beautiful in the same way as Celine but she's hot enough to be her sister," I related. "You keep your hands off Kerry," Melissa ordered, but she could have been angrier when she said it. "Oh, God, I agree to that," I held up my hands. "She's not the one I'm interested in." Melissa wasn't an idiot; she could do the math. There were three women in the family; since I was married to Celine and wasn't interested in Kerry, that left her. "You had better not cheat on your wife," Melissa counseled. Thirty minutes ago she was thinking of ways to break us up. "It is not that simple," I explained. "You wouldn't understand but poor people, not having much, hunger for the finer things in life." "You don't deserve the finer thing things in life," she gloated as she stood up to confront me. "That's why sometimes we have to reach out and take what we want from time to time," I leaned into her. Melissa didn't back down one bit. "That's very low-brow of you," she sneered, but there was something else there. "You go where you are neither wanted or belong." "It goes past the moment where we care what you want," I explain, "and is more about taking what we want – you don't matter." "We fight back and we win because what you want doesn't matter," Melissa was now playing along. "Fighting back makes it better, but we overpower you in the end. It is that raw, desperate hunger that drives us on," I taunt. "No amount of civility can counter that." "So, have you done this before?" Melissa questions. "No, but I am about to find out...real soon," I glared at her. "Ha, you don't have what it takes," she huffed as she turned her back on me. The words still echoed about the room when I moved behind her and put a hand on each skirt covered ass cheek. Melissa jolted at the contact but didn't pull away. "If you do anything, I'll scream," Melissa threatened in a quiet voice. "The servants will hear." I shifted my hands around until they rested against the front of her hips, fingers splayed down toward her crotch. I pulled her tightly against my now agonizingly aroused cock. I'm endowed enough that I've had a girl deny me sex because she thought it was too big. That is a compliment, unless you are actually in the room and terribly horny – then it is hell. "Stop it," Melissa challenged me. "Don't cheat on Celine." Was she saying that to me or herself? "It is not really cheating if she reminds me of her," I whisper into Melissa's ear. "I'm not her sister...I'm her Mother," Melissa told me, but that didn't stop her from pressing back lightly into me and rocking herself on her feet to get a better feel for my dimensions. I squeezed her hips tighter, kneading the flesh through her clothing. "You don't look like her mother to me; you are far too hot," I growled. "What are you after?" Melissa grumbled. She wasn't willing to give in yet. I moved one hand down to her pubic mound and the other up to her right breast. Her tits were actually larger than her fashion sense would lead me to believe. "I'm holding all I want right now," I purred, my voice hot on her neck. "I don't want your money, your businesses, your house, or your approval. I hate you and you hate me. I don't give a shit about that. What I want is to bend you over that French sofa and fuck you until you cry, and the more you try to fight me off, the more I know I'm going to love it." "That's rape, you monster," she ground her teeth. "I don't care; I want you so much I don't care about what comes after," I lie. I don't hate Melissa so much I would rape her, and I certainly wouldn't cause Celine the pain of raping her Mother, but Melissa thinks much less of me. "Get your hands off me," Melissa groaned. She put one hand over each of mine but was pulling them away with the strength of a three-year old. "The servants will see." "Grrr," I responded. "Celine is expecting me home in an hour but know I am going to be pounding her pussy tonight while I'm thinking of you." Total lie; Celine may be the very best sex I've ever had. I wasn't kidding about the two-hour sessions, though they've been rare as of late. I backed off Melissa who spun around. "You are a vile beast," she hissed. "You will never touch me again and you had better thank your Creator that I don't call Celine right now." There could only be one reason she wasn't going for the phone and it didn't involve Celine's happiness. "If you want to stop me, Melissa, simply don't let me in the house again," I smirked. "Wish granted," she shot back. "Get out right now." "Sure thing, but I still need to replace those sensors," I reminded her. "I will have someone else do it," Melissa stated. I packed up my stuff and headed for the door. As I stood on the threshold, I looked at her. "I'm coming back for you," I promised. "I'll fight you," Melissa glowered. "I was hoping you would say that," I winked before turning and heading for my car. (After dinner) I was sitting on the sofa, drinking iced tea after a light workout with my wife's calves resting on my thighs. "Honey," I began tentatively. "Yes," she replied. She is looking over some case files in her lap. "I think I found a way to make your mother forgive you for marrying me," I said. "Way (that's what she calls me – the last sailor to call me that had to explain to our CPO why he fell down two flights of stairs aboard our destroyer) Mom doesn't hate...okay, she hates you," she admits, "but do you think you have a way of making her understand you?" "Yes, I do, but I think a little explanation is in order," I sighed. "Does your Mom date?" "Not that I'm aware of," Celine shook her head. "She hasn't been with a man since Dad died eight years ago and even then-- well, he wasn't in good health for five years before that." "Okay. Kerry is using Sonny to curry favor with your Mom, not only to help herself but to put roadblocks in our way...that last bit is conjecture," I told her. Celine put her papers down and looked at me. "How do you know this?" she asked fearfully. She had never doubted me since that fiasco with her mother saying I'd shaken her down for that $50,000. "Like always; even in her house, she treats me like I don't exist, but this time she had a conversation with Sonny while I was only feet away," I related. "Way, what are we going to do?" Celine sighed. "I'm thinking of something," I moaned. "But I need to know you will back my play when the time comes. If not, what do you suggest we do?" That was a set-up question. "We reconsider making a new start elsewhere," Celine lowered her head. "I don't want to leave, Way, but Kerry's gone too far and I don't know how to stop her." "Are you sure that...Sonny is sleeping with Mom?" Celine seemed confused. "Pretty sure," I offered. "It is only that I was at the beach house when Sonny and Kerry started dating and...I've seen him in a swimsuit, plus my room was next to theirs," Celine was embarrassed to confess. "He's hardly physically impressive and that night was bang-bang-bang-pop! – gone in sixty seconds." Oh, that's why Melissa had given me a tentative lap dance earlier. She had no sex for eleven years, and then expecting Sonny to fill that void for the last two must have been extremely disappointing. Perhaps it was disappointing enough for her to turn to her 'thug' son...I had to laugh, which only made Celine look at me funny. (Wednesday) Monday my Mother asked Celine out to lunch, for only the second time in the two years since she had returned to her hometown as my wife. Celine had been truly upbeat as she retold the day's events. Things had started out badly; Melissa had complained that I wasn't taking care of her. Half-way through her litany of my failings, Celine had interrupted and informed her mother that we were thinking about leaving town. It was a major weather shift for Melissa; suddenly she was incredibly sympathetic to Celine's plight. It was too much to hope she would change her opinion of me but she was now willing to 'invest' in Celine's firm and take another look at our mortgage. Celine was bubbly and all I could think was that I had better perform or Melissa's good will would evaporate as quickly as it had manifested. When I knocked on the door Wednesday I had a canvas bag with the sensors I had ordered and a goodie bag for fixing other problems. I had also given Sonny's BMW two slow-leak flat tires on the off chance he was supposed to be here anyway. The look she gave me and the view I was getting told me I was on the money. "What are you doing here?" Melissa snapped. "I told you I didn't want to see you again." This was made all the more charming by the emerald green very short robe she was wearing. It was short enough to show where her black fishnet stockings ended and her garters began. The robe was also open to the point it revealed a black peekaboo bra. Ugly Duckling (Ribbons) I knew that I was homely. I knew, because my mother had been telling me that ever since I was a little girl. There was something wrong with her to do that, true or not, but she had her own inner demons that caused her to act that way, and do a lot of things that just weren't right. But, what could I do? I was a little girl, and a little girl believes what her mother tells her, especially when she loves her as much as I did. So, growing up, looking very good wasn't really a big concern. As my mother once said, and I've never forgotten, "You can't shine shit." Yes, that's what she said. To me. And about me. I'll never forget my 8th birthday. I was SO excited to be able to invite my friends over for a party, just like the other kids. I asked my mother if it would be okay if I had a birthday party, and I was thrilled when she said that she thought that would be wonderful. She added that she would take care of everything, including inviting my friends, that it would be a secret that she would surprise them with, and that I shouldn't "let the cat out of the bag," as she put it, so that they could be thrilled when they received their invitation. The two weeks before my birthday were the most exciting of my life, as I had to keep what was a big secret for a little girl, inside of me. Of course, like most any other little child, I was only partially successful, but happy that I only spoiled the secret by telling my best friend at the time, Shelley Watkins. Every day, my mother would update me on the preparations for the party, and even let me peek at some of the decorations - they were lovely, ribbons and banners and balloons in pink and lavender and white. When I told Shelley, she shared my excitement, and promised to keep it our secret, and she did. The night before the party, I could barely sleep. Finally, though, I did, and woke up the morning of my birthday eager and ready for the 1 o'clock party, it being a Saturday. I helped my mother put up the beautiful decorations, my favorite ones were the pink, lavender and white ribbons of crepe paper that ran from the chandelier over the dining room table to each corner of the table. I thought that they were the prettiest things that I had ever seen, and that I would never see anything so beautiful ever again in my life. As the time approached, I could barely contain myself. I was so honored to share my birthday with my friends! 1 o'clock came and passed, and no one showed up. I began to grow restive when there were no shows at 1:30, and frantic by 2 o'clock. My mother looked at me blankly around 2:15 or so, and said, "I don't understand. I mailed them their invitations, and several mothers called me to confirm the time. Although......the ones who called back did say, that they'd TRY to make it, but that they thought something more important might come up." I was crushed. As more time passed, and no one appeared, or even called, the gay decorations were like a bitter pill, reminding me that no one could really love, much less like, me. It seemed that my mother's low opinion of me was a universally held belief. Far from being the most wonderful day of my life (up to that point), it was like ashes in my mouth, the beautifully decorated cake sitting sadly among the ruins of the hung decorations, the ribbons hanging forlornly now. I couldn't eat it, and in my grief I failed to notice that my mother didn't bother to offer me any presents, presence of guests or no. It wasn't until later, much later, that I discovered that my mother had deliberately NOT sent out invitations, had not contacted anyone about my party, and, in fact, had told Shelley Watkins' mother, when she called to confirm that there was indeed a party, and for directions to our house, that there was certainly NOT a party, and that "Rachel is somewhat touched in the head, she has delusions sometimes." When I asked Shelley the next school day what had happened, she said sadly, that her mother had told her to stay away from me, that "there's something wrong with you." Things were never the same after that. Not for me. So, I buried myself in studies and schoolwork, trying to excel in that area, even if it WAS painful to look at me, and even if no one wanted to be my friend. And I'm proud to say that I succeeded beyond my wildest expectations in that area. I earned a scholarship to a highly rated, religious-based university in California. For a girl from the Midwest, it looked like it would be an amazing adventure no matter how it turned out, as I'd never seen any ocean "live and in person," and the school was only a few miles from the Pacific. Now, in high school, while I'd never made too many friends or joined too many organizations outside of academic groups, I still supported my school's activities, going to all the games and cheering our teams on. They weren't anything special, but it was fun to watch them try, and I took a little lesson from that. I should always try my hardest, even if I DID fail. But anyway, about midway through high school, I went through a BIG growth spurt, and from a homely, skinny little girl, I grew to a homely teenager with B cup breasts, and an actual round rear end, like the other girls. I could see I was getting looks from some of the boys in the hallways, but I could hear them using words like, "...bag over it..." followed by derisive laughter, so, while my body was attractive, apparently my appearance was not. But that was okay with me, because while watching our basketball and football teams try, and usually fail, I found my attention wandering to our female cheerleaders. Their long, slim legs, full breasts, round bottoms and frankly, beautiful faces were continually drawing my eye. Soon after, I found that my eyes, usually cast downward at the floor in the hallway, were now resting on some approaching girl's breasts or her ass as she walked away. While boys were looking at me and laughing, I was looking at girls, and appreciating their beauty, even if they weren't "beautiful." I also discovered masturbation then, and after a few abortive attempts at fantasizing about Brad Pitt, I found myself fantasizing about Nicole Kidman, or Hillary Swank, and other beauties, and it wasn't at all long before I discovered the shattering orgasm that began to follow the pleasant tingling sensation I was familiar with. I'm not stupid, of course, it was becoming obvious to me that I was attracted to females. I felt guilty about that attraction, but I thought that I wouldn't ever be attractive to any lesbian, just as I wasn't attractive to boys. I certainly didn't think of MYSELF as being lesbian. I guess I just figured I was asexual, as I thought I was supposed to be attractive to "get a guy," and I knew THAT wasn't gonna happen. So, I dressed really plainly, wearing blah colors, longish skirts and dresses, slacks a lot, plain blouses or shirts. I certainly wasn't drawing attention to myself. No makeup, as some boy had once said something about "lipstick on a pig," and, to be honest, it had hurt to hear that, try as I might to ignore such gibes. I let my hair hang down, not doing anything with it other than tying it out of my face so that I could see. It was long, and smooth, I guess I figured pretty hair could cover my ugly face. Well, the big day arrived. A celibate Rachel (that's me), arrived at the University on a late August day for freshman orientation, registration and move-in. Of course, I had to make the move myself, as my mother would have none of it (as she considered me to be a loser), and truth be told, I didn't want her to be there anyway, so I was spared the conflicts and added stress. I was assigned my classes, all intro level courses, then moved over to the dorm room assignments. I stood patiently in line with the other freshmen, and when I got to the head of the line, the senior level student behind the table acted as though I weren't even there. She was cute, all dressed up, and proudly wearing a flashy engagement ring. She fussed with some papers, continued to ignore me (or at least remain unaware that I was there) and I had to cough lightly to let her know I was there. "Yes," she said, looking up. "What do you want?" I was crestfallen. To the others she'd said, "How can I help you?" or similar things. With me, it was "What do you want?" But then it occurred to me that college was a break with my previous life and, while I might still offend her sense of fashion or beauty (or both), I had to start making a stand for myself if I were to survive. So I said, "What I WANT is for you to get off your fat ass, run your manicured fingernail down that clearly typed list in front of your beautiful, but blind, eyes, pick out MY name, Rachel Jones, which is also clearly displayed on my 'Hello, My name Is' badge, tell me which room I have been assigned, give me the generic package of freebies that you have sitting in that big box by your shapely leg, and then move on to the next freshman, this young man right here behind me with the thick black glasses held together by a band aid. I see that his name is Matthew Chris. Get hopping!" Her jaw dropped open as the freshmen around me began applauding and cheering. She closed her mouth, then frowning, found my room assignments and gave me my material. "Well, you don't have to get snippy," she said as I accepted the material. "Thank you," I said, and smiled sweetly at her. As I walked away, I began breathing again. Let me tell you, THAT performance was entirely out of character for me! I looked for "Madison Hall," where my room was located, and wondered who, or what, I'd be paired up with. At the college, they had a practice of pairing freshmen with upperclassmen wherever possible, as a means of integrating them into the student body. I got to the 5th floor, and found room "C," my assigned room. I unlocked the door to find a smallish bedroom, with matching twin beds, desks and counters along the wall, small dressers on each side, and two small closets. One side of the room, almost following an invisible line, was virtually a total mess, with girls' clothes strewn all over it, mementos and kitsch on every flat surface, pictures of a happy, smiling family in various exotic parts of the world, and numerous stuffed bunnies (the fake kind). The other side, completely bare, except for the furniture. "I guess that's my side," I said to myself. I carried in my bags and boxes, which I'd had shipped in before hand (no tearful separations for MY family,) and started putting stuff away. I had a few mementoes, and pictures of my late father, and one small picture of my mother and I, in happier times (before I got so homely.) I finally got my stuff settled in, and felt a sharp pain in my intestines. "Whoops, gotta go bathroom," I said, then left the room, closing the door and searching for the bathroom. I found it down the hall, a group bathroom much like group bathrooms everywhere, with 6 toilet stalls, 6 small shower cubicles, 6 wash basins in a long vanity counter, with a long wall mounted mirror above it. I hurried into one of the stalls, pulled down my jeans and panties, and let nature take its course. I heard the door open while I was waiting, and someone walked over to the vanity, where I heard splashing. I finished, cleaned myself, then exited the stall, walking over to one of the wash basins. Already standing there, washing her face, was a petite blonde in a wrinkled sweatshirt and shorts, and sneakers. Her face was hidden behind her hands, as she was in the process of rinsing off. I turned on the water to wash my hands as she brought her hands down, and turned to look at me. Even with water dripping off her face, her blonde bangs wet and stringy, and wearing a grungy, sweaty outfit, I knew that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. "Oh, hi!" she said perkily, smiling at me. "You must be one of the frosh....right?" I had to consciously close my mouth. I couldn't believe I was in the presence of a super model (one who WASN'T anorexic), and it took me a moment to catch my breath. "Uh, yeah," I said. "Well, welcome to Madison," she said. "We call it....you guessed it.....'The Madhouse.'" "Thanks," I said. I was SO nervous! "Gotta go," I said, exiting as fast as my feet could carry me without tripping. I headed down the hall toward the room, and turned the knob. Well, TRIED to turn the knob, but it was locked. "Oops, gotta use the key," I said to myself. The key. The key that was sitting on the dresser next to a picture of my father. Oh, great. I'd now have to get someone to unlock the door. If that trip somehow took me back to that sorority queen at the registration table, my face was going to be bright red! I slumped down onto the floor, my back against the wall, to think about things. Maybe there was an RA already around, who'd have a key to let me in. The RA's room number was in my paperwork. In my room. The room that was locked, with the key on the dresser. I was pondering this turn of events, when the bathroom door opened, and the blonde walked toward me. "Problem?" she said. "Yeah, I locked myself out of my room. I don't know where, or who, my roommate is, and I don't know which room the RA's in and I CAN'T go to the registration table-" "Whoa, there," she said. "You're going to give yourself hiccups!" "Yeah, well, I've gotta get in. I guess my roommate's gonna think I'm a real stupid freshman. Ugly and stupid's no way to go through life," I said, partially as a reflexive defense to her probable conclusion that I was an Uglo-American, and partially as a tribute to Dean Wormer, in the movie Animal House, one of my favorite movies. "I don't think you're ugly," she said. "You might be stupid, but you seem pretty smart so far to me. Besides, that's my room. I mean, our room. So, I'll let you in." She grinned at me, and I couldn't help but grin back. Holy cow, a beautiful girl as my roommate! I hoped she wasn't stuck up, she seemed okay so far. I got up and she let me in, following me in to the room. I turned quickly to thank her, and was surprised to find her eyes on my butt. I dismissed the thought, figuring she'd been looking at something else. We got to talking, it turned out her name was Kira Sterling, and she was a cheerleader for the school. If you're thinking like Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, remember, this was a religious based school. They wore relatively revealing outfits, lots of leg and the ones with big tits got to show them off, but no bare midriff or unnecessary beaver shots. Still plenty sexy though, as I observed over my 4 years there. She was a sophomore majoring in theology. "I'd like to become a pastor, believe it or not," she told me. I told her that I was undecided, but kind of thought I might get a degree in economics. "You must be really smart," she said. "I took an Econ class first semester, and I didn't have a clue what they were talking about. I dropped it for a marketing class." Kira told me all about her family, about how close they were, and the various trips they'd gone on. When she asked me about mine, I hesitated. "What's the matter?" she said. "You looked so sad when I asked about your family," a look of concern on her face. "It's just that....my father died when I was pretty young, and life with my mom was pretty rough." I couldn't believe I was spilling out my heart to her, someone I'd just met. By the time I was through, I could see tears welling in her eyes. "I can't believe she said those things to you about how you look! And they're just not TRUE!" "They're not?" I asked. "See, you grew up with that crap, so you never thought to question it. I bet if you just learned a few things that every other girl already knows, you could get a look on, girl!" Kira smiled at me, and I smiled back. "Well, thanks for cheering me up, I'll think about it," I said. We went to our own sides of the room, and began attending to our own responsibilities. I was looking through my books, which had cost a small fortune, and Kira began putting her clothes away. Later, Kira invited me to go with her to the cafeteria, and we ate together, she introduced me to a couple of her friends. A week later, we went to a dorm meeting in the lounge on the first floor, where the RA went over the ground rules. Just think a normal 1950's college and the rules in 2000 were the same. No guys in the dorm outside of the lounge, no liquor, etc. Kira and I went upstairs after watching TV, and got ready for bed. I usually wore flannel pajamas to bed, they weren't exactly sexy, but who would care? They WERE comfortable. Kira stripped down to her panties, and took off her bra. "God, those things are uncomfortable," she said. "But you can just imagine what the faculty would say if your nipples started poking out of your blouse, huh?" I had had plenty of chances to steal peeks at Kira by this point. We'd been roommates for a week, now, and I guess I probably had a crush on her, if only for her willingness to be friendly to me. But honestly, she WAS the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. 5' 0" tall, 110 pounds, medium-blonde hair that she always had tied back in a ponytail, cute snub nose, even white teeth, a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, sparkling blue eyes, a constant smile, long, graceful neck, shapely 34 B breasts, with the loveliest small pink nipples, a flat stomach, nicely rounded hips and full butt, a moderate thatch of curly blonde hairs in a natural v-shape at her pussy, slim thighs and calves, pretty, smooth feet. So seeing her in her usual nightly get up of cotton panties, usually with some kind of little animals on them (tonight was teddy bears) wasn't unexpected, but a constant, small pleasure for me that, in honesty, gave me fuel for masturbating sometimes when I was alone in our room, or in the toilet stall. Something about her that night, though, got me wet almost instantly. I could feel a warm tingle between my legs as we said good night, and she turned off the light. I lay there, awake, for what seemed the longest time, in the dark. Thoughts of the lovely Kira ran through my brain. Her body seemed to take up every bit of RAM (sorry, I was taking Intro to Personal Computers LOL) in my head. Eventually I heard soft snoring coming from her side of the room. I snaked my hand under the elastic band of my pj bottoms, over my thankfully flat and smooth stomach and 'innie' belly button, then under the thin elastic band of my plain white cotton panties, through the patch of curly brown pubic hair above my own slit, lightly touching my sensitive clit, my legs jerking slightly already from the contact, to my labia on either side of my pink slit. Moisture had already gathered inside my pussy, and with the contact of my finger tip touching the silky interior walls, the moisture ran down to the part of my opening closest to my rear end. My vagina gratefully accepted the intrusion of my slim finger, and I slid it in all the way up to my hand, until it could go no farther. I hissed my breath out at the thrill of pleasure that ran through my body, and I fantasized that it was Kira sliding her finger inside me. I wanted her deeper inside me, and more of her. I whimpered as the finger slid in and out, faster and faster, and as my thumb stroked across my sensitive clit, I groaned, and whispered "Kira," cumming again and again as waves of ecstasy splashed over me. My body quivered with my multiple orgasms, momentarily kicking off the blanket and sheet, exposing my hand thrust down inside my pj bottoms. I lay there supine for a few moments ( I thought), then awoke some time later with the realization that I'd fallen asleep. My pj bottoms and panties had slipped down over my hips, my pussy clearly exposed, my finger coated with my fluids. I pulled up my panties and pjs, then I looked over at Kira. By the dim light from the Snoopy nightlight we'd won at the Student Carnival earlier, I saw that she was asleep, though she'd also kicked off her coverings, her perky breasts so attractive and erect even in that dim light, her own hand between her thighs, though outside of her panties (of course). I gazed for a few moments at her beautiful, slim, feminine form, wished that I were so lucky, then hurriedly readjusted myself, pulling the covers up and finally returning to sleep. Ugly Duckling "You are going to regret this, Deviant," she panted. "I'll have the last word; wait and see." I pushed up and over to my side. "It isn't even noon yet, Ms. Miserable Bitch," I taunted her. "I am going to enjoy seeing your eyes roll back in your head as I rake a few more orgasms out of your vindictive, hateful ass." "You leave my ass alone," she challenged. I didn't rush it; I moved my hand down her slightly paunchy belly, through her pubic hair and on to her puffy, tender pussy lips. I drove two fingers in several times, switched up to other fingers. "This ass," I pressed against her pussy, "or this?" I drove a finger forcefully against her sphincter. "No, no," Melissa moaned, which she contradicted by spreading her legs further apart, and tilted her hips up so I had better access to her butthole. I played with her for another minute before slipping out and off the bed. "What...running away?" she growled wearily. I didn't run far; merely to my bag to retrieve two vibrators – one slender and one normal sized. I returned to the bed to find Melissa still on her back, eyes closed. I poured some lotion over both instruments and made sure they were nice and slick. She stirred when I pushed the larger vibrator into her pussy. "What is that?" Melissa asked as she put her elbows under her so she could see what was going on. I cut the vibrator on and began to move it up and down. She gave a startled cough followed by a groan. A minute of that, and I snuck the slender dildo up between her thighs, cut it on, and poked her in the hiney. "Stop," she moaned, as I wiggled it around until I sunk the small device into her rectum. "Oh, no, that's...oh...God," she panted. I now was working her over in tandem. "How utterly cruel," Melissa sobbed in ecstasy. She kept shivering, throbbing, and blubbering until she finally cracked. She bellowed out in primal fury because at some level she knew she had lost – temporarily – to me. I pulled my tools out of her, planted a kiss on Melissa's lips and went to take a piss. Seeing that Melissa was still down, I trekked to the kitchen to get some stuff. Melissa stirred when I put the tray down next to her. "Red wine...with cheese and crackers... how droll," Melissa commented venomously. "Do you want me to shove the bottle up your cunt or are you going to drink some?" I grumbled. "You forgot to get any glasses, Idiot," was her snarky reply. I popped the cork and took a swig straight from the bottle, then handed it over. "That's gross," she recoiled. "Now it has your spit in it. I don't want that." "Drink it or I'll force it down your throat, Melissa," I menaced her. Reluctantly, she took it and took a swig. She didn't spit it back at me so I guess my lowbrow stunt was something she could live with. I was smart enough to eat over the serving tray; no crumbs on the bed that way. Melissa followed suit. When we were done I put the tray on the floor and together we finished off the wine. After a minute, she settled back on the bed and looked my way. "Don't look so smug," she glared. "So many orgasms in two and a half hours; that's not bad for a Neanderthal," I smirked. "You think you are clever, don't you?" she responded a moment later. "No; it was your screw-up on Monday that brought me here," I grinned. "How did I screw-up on Monday?" Melissa looked curious. "You invited Celine to lunch, you offered to help her out, and you didn't attempt to make your affections contingent on my being out of the picture," I revealed. "That showed me that you were looking forward to me coming over today." I could see her working that out in her mind then nodding. "That's very conceited," she stated. "No; if Sonny was coming over instead of me, you would have done nothing," I pointed out. "After all, you have done nothing for the past two years to keep us in town." "But why would you come today if you thought Sonny was coming?" she quizzed. It dawned on me this was the most civil discourse we had ever had. "Honestly, I don't believe Sonny was ever coming over," I said. Something I said amused her; I had missed it so I went for the back-up plan. "I also punctured two of his tires before coming here and changed the security code at the gate if he did make it." That confession made her happy; her smile broadcast her cat-like superiority even if her words told a different tale. "I knew you were a criminal," she chuckled wickedly. "I told him not to come over yesterday." "I knew you were evil; now I also know you are a heck of a good screw too," I joked. She looked me over, wanting to slap me down at the same time she wanted bask in the glow. "I want you to know two things; I have never thought of cheating on my wife with anyone at all until this came up, and I'm not shining you on about the sex. I certainly don't hate you any less and I'm sure you feel the same way," I told her. "Why do this, then?" Melissa studied me. "Not that I care if you believe it, but I love Celine and I'd do anything to make her happy," I explain. "If I can do something, anything, to make you have some use for me then maybe you will stop bullying her about being my wife and she'll be happier. That's all that matters to me. If you were a total hag, I'd have still done this; you being the second best woman I've ever been with was a plus." "You only want the money," she accused me. "Fuck that noise," I laughed. "This family isn't worth ten times your fortune, Melissa. Since the wedding all I've wanted to do was move as far away from your crowd as possible. I fucking hate you, Sonny, and Kerry. Kerry and Sonny want your money; I want Witness Protection, new names, and to never have Celine and I ever have to see you again." "You want to take Celine away from those who love her," she snapped angrily. "That's bullshit!" I snarled back. "If you really loved her, you would either acknowledge the fact that she married someone out of love or you would tell her you will never accept me and allow her to make the choice between us. Stop letting her decieve herself that she can be happy here with you." "I will never accept you as part of this family," Melissa declared. I looked up at the ceiling, then got out of bed. "Where are you going?" "I'm going to have a talk with my wife," responded. "I gave this my best shot. That didn't work so I'm going to leave before I do something else I am going to regret." "What happens if I call the police and accuse you of rape?" Melissa got pissy. "Ha," I laughed. "I'm married to one of the best lawyers in the state. I am not even remotely afraid of that threat." I started putting my clothes back on, sitting on the edge of the bed. I was reaching for my shirt when, "Waylon," Melissa murmured. This was the first time in my recollection that she had ever used my name when it was not immediately preceded or followed by an expletive. "I...you are smarter than I gave you credit for." I took a deep breath, flipped over on the bed then crawled between Melissa's thighs. She spread them like a bitch in heat as I lapped up her juices as well as some of my own. I pushed her legs farther and farther up so I had superior access to her cunt. Soon I was taking sojourns and tongue flicking her asshole. Melissa was so 'horrified' by my dirty deed she hooked her arms around the back of her knees and pulled them tightly to her chest. "You have a far better tasting pussy than I ever would have believed," I slurped. A few nibbles on her clit and Melissa squirmed, bucked, and screeched at the top of her lungs. I pulled myself away from her pussy and retraced my steps off the bed. "Waylon, Celine deserves to be happy," Melissa admitted. "I don't understand why she is with you but I'm willing to accept that her needs come first." Melissa took a deep breath and swung her legs off the bed. I was slightly pleased that she wobbled on unsteady legs too. "I need a shower," she stated, but it was directed at no one. "Bitch, I don't recall saying you could get up," I grinned. "The game is over Waylon," she grumbled. I started moving toward her. "That talking back is going to cost you," I persisted. "There is no..." then it dawned on her; I wanted her; I wanted to continue the game. She balled up her fists tightly and confronted me. "You don't scare me," she growled, but her courage appeared to fail her at the last moment and she turned and fled. I grabbed her arm and tossed her back on the bed. We wrestled around until I had one arm pinned behind her back, stomach first on the bed, and began taking my hand to her already warmed up backside. "I've still got seven hours with you," I gloated. "You're terrible," Melissa sobbed. That didn't stop her from letting me push her into the bathroom and hopping in the shower with me. I was even 'careless' enough to stand between the strong spray of hot water from impacting her ass. The pain would have been pretty bad, no doubt. I was insistent that she suck on my cock until I was rigid again. Melissa ran her hands over my body as I used some hideously expensive body soap to clean her body and was really getting into it until I pressed her against the glass and began rubbing shampoo along her ass crack and anus. When I positioned my cock there, she began to push back and try to shove me off her back. Laughing so hard at her futile efforts, I almost missed her plea. "Waylon," she whimpered, "Waylon, not that, not today." She was serious. "I'll nail you later when I'm ready to fill your ass with cum," I used as a cover story. "Right now, let's get out of here." I withdrew my cock from danger, cut off the water and playfully shoved Melissa toward the shower door. "I'll never let you do that to me," she declared angrily, even as she ceased moving and let me crash into her backside once more. At this point we had our understanding. I could hold her down and fuck her because I was the working class scumbag but she wasn't allowing it because she was the rich, upper-crust bitch. Melissa was fine with the illusion provided by that lie; she didn't have to compromise her snobbish values or pretend to like me to get what she wanted. As long as Melissa kept making Celine happy, I would dance around this moral quagmire. At that moment my main concern was that it was 12:45. It took twenty-five minutes to drive home and I had to be home by 9:00 pm. That meant I had over seven and a half hours to screw my Mother.