Chapter 3
"Did you put those glasses away?" Tyne said in her bitchiest, most demanding little voice.
She couldn't find their best crystal anywhere. And it would be just like Mandy to pack those glasses after the last time she used them. That damned girlfriend of hers was just too careful for her.
"I only put them on the top shelf," Mandy said, coming into the room with a red negligee wrapped around her statuesque frame.
"Well, get up there and get them," the little princess said, tossing her blonde curls around like Miss Muffet holding court. "You're the only one who's tall enough. And wipe them down before you put them on the table. God knows how much dust they could be collecting up there."
Mandy opened the cabinet drawers and reached up to the top shelf. She wrapped her hands around the crystal goblets one by one and set them on the kitchen counter,
"I'm going in to take a bath," Tyne said, sounding particularly angry this afternoon, "and I don't want to be disturbed."
There was a lot to be done still. That meant, with Tyne off her feet, that she would have it all to do herself. Nothing new there. All summer long it was the same old story. She worked her tail around here. And for what? To be humiliated every chance Tyne got?
The girl had turned so bitter, so savage lately. There was something bothering her, but Mandy couldn't figure out what it was.
She'd always had that little edge of bitterness to her, even from the first.
Mandy bustled around the kitchen, getting the appetizers ready and thought back to their first year together. A wonderful year. A crazy year. A year of discovery for them both.
He had gotten into her panties. They were too small. So Tyne had brought him a pair from her lingerie boutique. He had tried them on. They fit fine. And he loved the effect. So did she. She said.
It was early evening. They had just gotten engaged, in fact. She had a ring on her finger the size of an ice cube. Big enough to cut a figure eight on if the girl had kept up with her skating. But she had let it lapse.
That always made Matt wonder if maybe she didn't have much more than making a good marriage on her mind. He grabbed a dish towel and wiped the glasses mechanically as he remembered that afternoon. It loomed up sharp and clear in his memory, even now.
He was about to burst with anticipation as she brought out the little brown paper package and unwrapped it. She spread out an array of under things for him to look at and examine. She hadn't just stopped at buying panties.
There were bras, padded, semi-padded, under-wired of various colors and textures. There were garter belts, stretchy ones, seamed ones, brief ones and bulky ones. And nylons, plenty of styles to pick from there.
And of course, panties. Loads of soft, filmy things that sprang back when he touched them. Those soft, feline garments. He would try them all on, one at a time.
He had never before had the chance to do it. To paw through this delicious mountain of lingerie in private, taking all the time he wanted to sample, smell, touch, feel, wear any or all of them, as he chose to.
And Tyne was there, too. Watching, commenting, approving, criticizing, helping him on with panties, helping him hook a bra in the back. She had been great that first night. Really understanding.
How he had longed for her. Ached for her. His cock throbbed just thinking it, even now. That delicious little blonde cunt. She had made life so fucking impossible. Turning into a vengeful little alley cat, baring her claws at the least provocation.
He had put all that stuff on, one garment at a time, strutted in front of the mirror. Modeled them for her and for himself, too. But mostly with her in mind. And she seemed to be really into it. Kept handing him more stuff. Showing him how to stand, how to walk, how to sit down in those flimsy little panties without busting the seams, or ripping them to shreds.
When he got all decked out in a three piece black lace lingerie combination, she had sat there and applauded.
"That's fabulous," she said, nodding her head with enthusiasm.
He was wearing a black garter belt with all-black sheer seamless stockings tucked under them. A deep sea dive of a bra, slightly padded to give his chest convenient, nubile little mounds over his own stiff nipples and a pair of erotic, naughty little panties, cut dangerously low down on the hips. They gave his cock precious little room.
And, once it began to swell, practically no room at all. That part Tyne really went wild about. She got up and slipped off her dressing gown to reveal her own hot set of matching bra and panties. Lavender, sheer, brief and tantalizing. She sauntered over to him and put her hand down over his panties. Cupped his thick cock and heavy, crammed together balls lovingly under her hand and pressed them in to his groin.
That was just about the wildest, hottest feeling he had ever experienced. Having that woman's hand press into his nylon panties and down onto his massive throbbing man meat.
She tickled and teased his cock by bringing her tongue down to the panties and sticking it flush up against his cock basket. The exchange of their steams-his cock heat and her tongue heat-roasted his brain. And made his cock bang against its thin nylon case, signaling that it wanted out.
He had fucked her savagely that night. Fucked her even as they stood upright, gazing languorously into the mirror. She had pulled a neat little reversal on him.
She lifted back the elastic leg hole of his black sheer nylon panties and let his massive cock pole clank out. It stuck out absurdly at right angles to the floor. She diddled the tip of it by standing on a footstool and sticking her panty-clad cunt on the end of it, moving it slowly, agonizing back and forth, around and around.
He was getting his cock skewered by this woman's hot, nylon-bathed cunt. It was dreamy. Hot, wicked and dreamy.
"Let's fuck," she said, yanking her own elastic leg band back and exposing that hot little blonde mound of love to him. Her Wispy blonde hairs folded over each other every which way, some of them sticking out the gauzy material holes of her red panties.
He loved the way her pussy looked like that. That erotic pink crevice, framed with white skin, thick, hair-covered lips and sheer red curtain of nylon. The peekaboo effect was dazzling.
"Hold still," she bossed him. He had gotten used to her bossing him. He liked it in the beginning. She was such a sure and commanding woman. Such a take charge type person.
Always made their little decisions. Whom they would see. Where they would go. And when. Maybe he gave her too much rein. But he liked her style. And he loved her pussy. He loved fucking it. Loved the tight hold it put on him whenever he rammed his crown up inside the tiny, parting lips.
As he was about to do now. He held her shoulders fast with his mighty mitts. She held his panty leg out, permitting his cock the freedom of getting still harder as it poked ever toward her beckoning cunt slit. She held her own elastic leg band out, too, with her other hand, guiding his cock toward her opening by moving her hips around to adjust to its flailing changes of direction.
"Come on," she commanded, "fuck me."
He loved that teasing way she had whenever she did this. Played with his cock. Played with his head. Played havoc with his head.
He aimed his dick tip up, up into the tiny hole she had targeted for him. A tight squeeze, but a perfect fit nonetheless.
"Oh, Wow!!!" she said, forgetting herself a moment. She rarely forgot herself. It was only at times like these she let herself go completely. Wild and free. He loved that. She was the best fuck he had ever known in his life.
She thrust her hips up eagerly, hungrily to grab his dick tip and tuck it tighter, deeper into her cunt hole. Still no hands. A smooth trick, if ever he felt it.
Now, with his man dick thrust up far inside her, Matt felt the meeting of nylon against nylon. Bra against bra. Stockinged leg against stockinged leg.
She held his panty leg back, just as he had the first day he had fucked her on his crimson sofa. She held it back a delirious moment more, then let it snap down onto his pumping cock shaft.
He thought he would cream right then, but he held fast. Held fast and pumped harder, deeper inside the bitch princess's wet, wild hole. He felt her pussy lips encircle the base of his dick.
He felt the warm, live moist tissue of their panties exchange heat. He reached back and gripped his butt, only to feel again the surge of nylon against his thick, surly hand.
"Pump me." She said beginning her sexy little litany again, as she always did when she was getting a really good jacking.
"Pump me."
"Fuck me."
"Plug me."
"Plug me with your big dick."
"Fuck me silly."
"Come on, Matt. More. More. That's good. Oooh, that's great. That's it!"
She wound her pussy lips so tight around his cock base, she wrinkled it. She felt the soft life texture of the nylon under her savage cunt lips as she around and around and down onto his thick, dark cock pole.
Like something alive, the nylon band around his cock stung him to the quick and kept on gripping tighter, tighter.
Matt brought his hands down to his inner thighs and rubbed them against his sheer, moist stockings. Moist with the sweat of heat, arousal, sex, his woman's come running down on them.
Then he rammed his hips up high and hard and held onto the come he knew would arrive in a flash as long as he could. Gripped his hands around one of his legs and around one of his woman's and buried his cock up to the hilt inside her. He let go. He accepted the mounting build up of come load and released himself to the onrush of jism coursing through his cock, aiming toward his pecker tip.
He let go and relieved himself of his mighty spunk load. Emptied it all into the thrusting, pulsating girlie cunt that gripped him. That free fall of passion. That glowing spurt of ecstasy. It warmed him, toasted him golden, consumed him.
"Aaaaahhhhhh," he said, letting his man come load out his dick tip. He braced himself tightly against the female being in his arms and pressed out every drop of come inside he Tyne amazed herself by coming a second, a third time in his arms as he pumped his cream load inside her.
"Oh, Baby," she shouted gripping the tips of his bra like love handles and wriggling her hips uncontrollably over his body.
"What a rush!" she said quietly a few minutes later as they separated and lay down on the carpeted floor. "You're positively indecent, you know that?"
It was good to know that sex with her with him dressed like that was so good. So complete. He felt it, too. The wholeness, the necessity of the costume, his desire to make her feel great.
But, shortly after that evening, she had changed. She started insisting on having sex with him, with him done up in sheer, sexy under things. Things that she picked out and made him put on.
She became downright demanding. About how they should have sex. What he should wear. How she should come on to her. What he was to do with his hands, his feet, his cock even.
That infuriated him. He grew tenser and more confused as the weeks stretched on. By the time of the wedding, he was a ball of frustration. And rage. But that little girl had him right where she wanted him. She coaxed him into having sex with her a lot before they were married, right up to the day.
And always, always with him first dressing up in brief under things and parading around for her. Feeling her up before, during and after she got dressed up similarly.
Lording it over him. That hurt. She would command him to suck her stockinged feet. Or lace her up in a long-line corset, as though she were a fine Victorian lady. Even bringing her a drink or a cigarette or a negligee, whatever she wanted before she would have sex with him.
She demanded it. Insisted on it. Or else she would deny him sex. That really dug him. If only his experience with girls hadn't been so limited before he met her. But it had. He knew few others before her. Had come to adore, admire, worship her. Loved her cunt above all others. Knew her more intimately than anyone. Knew exactly how to please her. Sensed her moods, her little coves of arousal. Knew how to put his hands in the small of her back when she was coming to make her shudder through her whole climax. Knew the most intimate details of her life, her deepest, darkest sexual tastes and secrets.
She had a lot on him, too. She had been the one who encouraged him in this hot little game of dress up and play house. And now she wanted it to all go her way. Fulfill her desires and needs.
He married her all right. With her mother crying her eyes out the whole time. Weeping like a leaky faucet throughout the entire ceremony. Boo hooing how her little girl was giving up her fabulous skating career to marry this athlete fellow, whom she barely knew.
As if her daughter were marrying beneath her. Ha! Her darling girl had long since abandoned her discipline of being a skating star. She had let it go by the wayside. Had wrapped her whole life around his and was making inroads into his career already.
The wedding had been fun. It wouldn't have been much, except for the fact that Matthew Davidson had worn a pair of white silk panties under his tux pants. White silk panties with a thin blue ribbon sewn in the panty legs. Well, he had heard that old saw about "something borrowed, something blue" and it stuck. He didn't want to be out of step. Not on a big, important day like the day a guy ties the knot.
That knot was sitting in the marble tub right now soaking her precious little pampered skin to a wrinkle.
Matt opened the refrigerator door and hauled out a huge silver tray of goodies.
He eyed the clock on the wall and quickened his step. It was getting late. Tyne liked everything laid out a certain way on the buffet table. He would have to see to that right away.
He opened the pantry closet and took out a large linen table cloth and padded into the dining room with it. He opened the oak table, set another leaf in it, closed it and spread the huge cloth out over it. Such unseemly work for a big, athletic man to be doing. So why was he doing it?
What, had happened to make him serve her? Bow tow to her every whim? Why in the world was he letting her languish in the tub right now while he was doing all the work?
To piece it together, he had to think back, back. Back to the day after the wedding. Things had really started to turn vicious after that. It was on their honeymoon, in fact. God, how that day had been burned onto his memory.
They had gone to Chatham. Their first trip to the resort together, as a matter of fact. They got a huge room in a lodge overlooking the ocean. He was beginning to feel that he had made a good decision about marrying her.
Tyne seemed radiantly happy. and of course, sex between them had heated up, if anything. She insisted on buying the wedding trousseau. Tight sports clothes for him. Natty, stylish clothes all tailored for active men and very, very expensive.
She always cared very much about he looked. She had some hot little duds all picked out for herself, too. Guaranteed to turn heads. He had never been too comfortable about all the attention she got whenever they were on the street.
And she got even more when the two of them went out as women. When they went out as man and wife, few male heads would turn around because they hadn't wanted to risk angering the tall, well-built jock walking with her. Then, too, a lot of men recognized him as being on the team of the All City Pro Hockey Stars. Some even stepped past her to ask for his autograph. He was always shy about meeting his public, but Tyne protected him.
And on this week, as the two of them strolled out from their lodge digs as man and wife, he felt especially proud, if a little nervous that fans might spot him. Tyne looked smashing in a little tuft of blue cotton. A summer dress that dipped revealing low in front and showed the round tops of her giant tits, now tanned and glistening in the moonlight.
He looked great and felt good, too. He had such high hopes for their future together. But those hopes were soon dashed to the earth. Shattered in a million scared pieces.
She had begun to taunt him at dinner. "Look at that hunk, will you," she cooed, pointing to a tall, blonde beach boy type coming into the restaurant in an open shirt and white sports pants. "I'd like to meet him under a beach umbrella anytime, anywhere."
That hurt him. He was a solid, handsome man, a good catch and he knew it. So what was she bragging up other men for, right here in front of him, on their honeymoon for Christ's sake?
"How about that bulge in his pants?" she said, sipping her soup loudly, "Ever see anything like that on a man his size?"
Matt felt his face burn to his eyeballs. Fucking little cunt was not going to get away with any more of this talk. No way.
"Look, Tyne," he said, controlling his voice only with the sheer force of his will, "if you want to fuck around on the honeymoon, go to it, but don't expect me to sit here and listen to you talk about it."
A long pause. Then she drew her fork up and stabbed it into the table. He stood up to go.
"Sit down," she said through clenched teeth. "Sit down or I'll make the loudest, wildest scene you ever saw. I'll have photographers down on us in less than five minutes. How'd you like that spread all over the sports page?"
He eyed her hostility. What the hell did she have in mind? He stood near her, glaring down hotly.
"I don't think you would."
"Try leaving here and find out," she called his bluff.
Matt weighed the consequences. He had seen her do some pretty crazy things in their time together. She was mean-spirited, uncontrollable and petty when she wanted to be. And this might be one of those times.
"Now, listen and listen good," she crowed up shrilly. "I'm gonna fuck that blonde beach rooster over there. Tonight. And you're gonna help."
"Don't push me too far, Tyne. It wouldn't be healthy."
"I'll push you as far as I like any time I like," she said, exhaling mean hot air with her vile words.
Matt dug his shoe leather into the carpet of the dining room and eyed her curiously. What the hell did she think she was doing?
He didn't have to wait long for an answer.
"You wrecked my career by marrying me and I can wreck yours if you don't do what I like. It just so happens I am in a position to do it. To wreck you. To scandalize you. Don't forget, I happen to know something about your private tastes, in, shall we say, various pieces of brief apparel?"
She grinned her wretched little cat grin. The one he wanted to slap right off her face.
"You wouldn't," he said low into her face, "there's your good family name. And a mother who would have a heart attack if ... "
"Forget it, Matt. I have pictures. Pictures you would blush if I even told you about. In some of them your face is plainly visible. I don't even need to sign my name to them or reveal who sent them if I just want to send them in to Hockey Corner or the Chatham Town News if I don't want to wait till we get back to the city."
Matt found himself eyeing her neck. The slender tanned little neck that he wanted to crush right now.
"So sit down and let's have dinner. You know I'm never in the mood till after we eat. You're not, either."
Matt gripped the back of his chair so hard, he heard the wood crack under his palm. This insipid little bitch. This hotsy totsy princess with the honey words oozing out of her mouth, the honey come oozing out of her cunt had suddenly, swiftly beaten him to a pulp. And with so few words. And no fists. No fists whatsoever.
Life for him made a turnaround that day. That first day in Chatham. Their whole relationship changed. And it would never, never be like it had been again.