5 comments/ 93446 views/ 79 favorites Angry Fuck By: kaitlynB It's not in my nature to be violent. Really, it's not. Sure, I yell, swear, and slam doors, but to me these are just casual little outlets for minor irritations that go no further. But to actually physically harm someone? That would take a lot. I can count on one hand the number of times I actually feared I'd do someone bodily harm. Only twice did I actually go through with it: one man I had grabbed by the throat until my friends pulled me off, the other I punched twice in the face before his bloody nose told me things went too far. Both of them were men, and I'd never thought to hit a woman. Until now. Kelly was REALLY pushing my buttons. I sat on the couch, beer in hand, trying to tune her out so I could watch the game until she cooled off, but that only seemed to piss her off more. I couldn't believe she was making such a huge deal over nothing. Then again, with Kelly, I shouldn't be surprised. As I listened to her screech, watched our decretive household items smash against the living room wall, and waited for the storm to pass, I thought about the cute, feisty little fireball I first fell in love with. Kelly was always so exciting, and so easy to get worked up. When we first met, I picked on her all night, teasing her about whatever I could think of on the spur of the moment, just to watch her reaction. It was adorable: her eyes would flare, mouth cock slightly to the side, and you could tell she was fuming, but she kept smiling and trying to come back at me with something more offensive, further below the belt. When that failed to get her desired reaction, she'd really get worked up, her voice would get louder, and she'd rip off the nastiest string of insults that would make a sailor blush. I thought it was terrific, and wouldn't rest until I made her mine. Now that I have her, and I'm dodging pens whizzing by my head. Kelly was overreacting in a big way. She never used to get this upset over something so minor. I bought her friend a shot of whiskey that night. So what? Kelly used to love the way I could make anyone feel at home, including her friends, and she was never this jealous. When we first started dating, I remember being the confident man that she was proud to take the arm of and walk into a room. We used to meet our friends at the bar, and be that couple everyone else envied, going our separate ways but lovingly meeting up at the end. She used to cast looks across the room that said, "I adore you." Now days, it seems all I get from across the room are looks that say, "what did you screw up NOW you retarded weasel?" And that's how it was when I bought her friend a shot. Kelly, tough as she likes to pretend, can't shoot whiskey. Also, tough as she likes to pretend, she can't hold her alcohol to save her life. Two beers, and she's nearly non-functional. I thought Kelly had had enough, I hadn't, her friend likes whiskey, so I bought two shots of it. I set one in front of her friend, kept one for myself, and Kelly stared down at the empty space in front of her. The fireball in her came out with an almost immediate vengeance, eyes narrowing and locked on mine (well, as much "locking" as her drunken eyes could do): "And where's my drink, Alan?" I was shocked. "You don't need another one, Kell, you're still finishing your beer." "Well so's SHE, but you still bought HER a drink!" "You don't even like whiskey!" "Well why didn't you buy me something I DO like? What? I'm not fun enough anymore?" "What the hell are you talking about?" "I don't like whiskey, so you run off with the first tramp who does?" She back-hand slapped my arm for accent. "I'm not runni..." "Funny you don't buy your girlfriend anything, but you buy for other girls. You're trying to impress someone else, OBVIOUSLY you don't care about me." "Alright Kelly, how about we just go home." It took some convincing and a bit more verbal struggle, but I got her home. Once there, things got worse. I reconsidered my decision; perhaps staying at the bar would have been a better idea. She doesn't have much public restraint, but at least at the bare there would have been witnesses. She wouldn't stop. She just went on and on, yelling about how I clearly don't care about her, bringing up things I said three years ago that I don't even remember, and then her favorite method of frustration release: throwing things. Honestly, I was getting very sick of her little temper tantrums, so I grabbed some beer from the refrigerator to help dull my growing angst. I plopped down on the couch, convinced I hadn't REALLY done anything wrong, and sure that if I just ignored it, it would go away. But it didn't. I kept drinking, watching TV, she kept yelling, demanding my attention. When she wasn't yelling, she was stomping around, pretending to be sane and rational, but I knew the truth: she was building up steam for the next round. Now, I know this makes me sound like a sell-out, but I began formulating my apology in my head. It's not that I was actually sorry for anything, but I figured the faster I just sucked it up and apologized, the faster this nightmare would be over. That, and I was feeling extraordinarily horny; beer does that to me. At the current rate, I was sure she wasn't going to sleep with me that night, so I was willing to make concessions to improve my chances of scoring. I finished my bottle in a long swig and tried to come up with a response to her inevitable accusation: "you don't even know what you're sorry FOR!" I set the bottle down, stood up, and went to her as she came back in the room. I stood right in front of her and put both my hands on her shoulders. Faking the most caring, love-sick puppy face I could, I looked deep into her raging eyes and said, "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry for upsetting you. That was never my intention, I love you too much for something like this to come between us; I'd really like for us to have a nice night together." "So you're sorry for upsetting me, but you're NOT sorry you bought the shot? See, you don't even know what you should be sorry for!" Damn I'm good. "Kel, I didn't think I was..." "No! That's just it, Alan! You DIDN'T think! You never do! I'm always the LAST thought!" She failed her arms to break away from me, but I tried to hold on to her even as my resolve to apologize was waning. "No baby! Come on now! I was just trying to be nice to your friend! What harm is there in that?" "So I have no right at all to be upset?!" "That's not what I'm saying! But Kell, you're flipping out over nothing! Gosh, when did you get to be this crazy?" "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?" Uh-oh, I struck a nerve. She can't stand it when I call her crazy; it makes her feel like I'm "invalidating her feelings". My apology was lying in the gutter, and I had enough beer in me to pursue plan B. "You're crazy Kelly! Storming around, throwing stuff like a five year old because I DIDN'T subject you to alcohol poisoning tonight?! Come on, baby, I was only looking out for you, this is crazy! You're crazy!" "Shut up!" She screamed and started to cry, on the verge of hysterics. "Just admit you did something wrong, and say I'm not crazy!" "Get you act together, and maybe I wouldn't call you crazy! But hey, you're acting crazy, Crazy!" "Shuuttt.... UP!!!" And with "up", she slapped the left side of my face. Hard. The sting hadn't faded and the handprint hadn't formed before I grabbed her wrist and gripped it tight, my entire body shaking, locked, and ready for a fight. My eyes sparked with immediate anger that I tried to burn into her skull. I don't know what it is, but being slapped was an unexpected insult that instinct refused to tolerate. And she knew it: the anger she had a moment ago gave way to fear. Her eyes weren't apologizing in the silence between us; no, she wasn't sorry, but she was worried what I was about to do in return. After a few seconds passed, I knew I had to be the better person. I let go of her wrist, still seething, and watched my handprint fade from her delicate skin. I gave her a final cautionary glare before I sat back down on the couch and opened another beer. I needed to cool off. And then there was silence. Not good silence. Silence before a tornado type silence. She had gone to the kitchen, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. She hit me. I had never laid a hand on her. Now every nerve of mine was on edge, knowing she wouldn't leave well alone. I just drank my beer, pretending to watch the game, although my head was too filled with angry thoughts to absorb anything else. The adrenaline of the moment had caused a raging hard on that was fighting for my attention, but I just adjusted it angrily before she came back in. She leaned in the doorway. "Why can't you just admit you did something wrong?" "Oh cute," I thought to myself, "so she is going to try to come of as rational now." In my opinion, it was too late for conversation. She had been pissing me off all night, and SHE'S the one now who stepped way over the line. Even with the hard on pressing in my jeans, I wanted nothing to do with her. I wasn't going to say anything else to her. I just kept staring at the TV. "Oh, so now you're not going to talk to me? Way to be a non-communicator." The fire was burning hotter in me, testosterone pumping. "Not my fault that you can't handle situations like a normal adult, Kel," I growled. "Grow up, then we'll talk." "Ah, there we go, at least you're talking now. So I have to really piss you off to get a response from you? Huh? Is that it? I scream and cry and you don't care, but I strike a nerve with you then you'll talk to me, huh? Well maybe if I..." She leaned over and lightly patted the side of my face just to antagonize me. I jerked my head away, fuming. "Knock it off," I spat. "Or what? You'll treat me bad? Find someone else? Go right ahead, I know that's what you want to do anyway; you made that clear earlier tonight. How about you just come out and tell me." She tapped the other side of my face with the back of her hand. "I fucking mean it Kell, knock it off!" I jerked away and moved further down on the couch. "Oooh, so touchy!" The bitch seemed to be enjoying this! She was smiling which laced through her voice. "Big bad man doesn't listen to me when I tell him what I want, but now expects me to do what he wants! Come one baby, I'm just trying to help you," she said, mocking my explanation and tone, "I just want to get you to open up." She moved closer, and I glared at her as hard as I possibly could. Each of us stared the other down, trying to feel out the other's next move. My twitching cock hinted at a suggestion. She broke the silence (surprise) first: "Just say you're wrong and I'm not crazy and we'll call it a night." Huh-uh. "I'm not wrong. I didn't do anything wrong, and you ARE crazy." SLAP! She hit me even harder than the first time! That was it: I snapped. Pouncing on her like a cat on a bird, I grabbed her wrists behind her and leaned forward. It forced her head into the couch cushions, and oh my goodness did she fight me. She flailed like her life depended on it, shrieking and twisting, trying to wrench her hands free, turning her head to bite at my arms. As I gripped her flesh and fought for control of her, I subconsciously found it symbolic: she had been fighting me all night, I've had it, and I was about to let her know it. She gave the fight her all, but I once I got a good grip on her upper arms, she was easy for me to position. I can't even say I smiled. My teeth were clenched and lips pulled back, but I wouldn't exactly call it a smile. Hardly even a sneer. It was more like a snarl, an animalistic action that spoke to my abandon of reason and restraint. I gathered her arms in one hand by the wrists and lifted, bending her over, then kicked her feet apart, placing my legs inside of hers. Controlling her was becoming easier and easier; I could my body weight to keep her bent over, and as if to give her a little hint of what was to come, I rocked my hips just a little into her ass. My free hand reached around to the front of her jeans. Struggling against her continued efforts to free herself, I grabbed the front of her pants, and with a little maneuvering my fingers were able to undo the top button. An evil chuckle escaped me as I pulled down the zipper. "What the hell are you doing?!?!" She screamed at me, her voice laced with anger and fear, her struggles becoming desperate. "Guess." The way she was bent over, her ass was naturally pressed against my crotch. I knew she could feel my cock's hardness and heat, and all that wiggling she was doing was only egging me on. Pulling her pants down just a bit, I reached for my own fly. "I'm gonna give you exactly what you've had coming to you." "You can't possibly be serious, you sick son of a bitch!" "Now now" I said, undoing my pants and dropping them to the floor, "no need to make things worse for yourself by name calling." I grabbed a hold of my cock and gave it a few pulls, letting my precum moisten my tip. I leaned in and guided my cock towards her pussy, which I was surprised to find a little moist itself. "NO!" She struggled harder, but I won. Finding the little indent I was looking for, I pushed my hips forward, letting myself enjoy that tight sensation of the first stroke slipping over my head and down my shaft. I pulled out slightly, then pushed in deep and held it there, "oh yeah, that's right", I groaned to myself. "Get the fuck off of me!" "Oh no, bitch, you're going to learn a little lesson." I wasted no time, and started pumping in and out of her. I wasn't gentle from the start, but the feeling it gave me made me want to fuck her harder and faster each passing moment. Soon I was pounding away at her little cunt with every bit of strength I had. I still had her arms in one of my hands, the other was free. Fucking her hard and fast wasn't enough for me. I drew back my arm, and landed a slap hard on her ass. She yelped, but I didn't care. "You like that? You like hitting?" I growled. "Not so fun on the receiving end, is it?" I slapped her again, getting her to yelp once more. I pounded at her extremely fast, hearing the staccato slaps of my hips against her ass. I let go of her to get a better hold on her hips. To my surprise, she didn't fight me once I let her go. No, instead, she placed both hands in front of her, holding herself up doggy style. I kept pounding away at her fast and furious, muttering incoherent insults about the lesson I was teaching her. It seemed everything man in me had finally come to the surface to put this little bitch in her rightful place: at the tip of my cock. But I was still pissed she had hit me. I grabbed her hips tighter, and started sharper, slower, more deliberate upward thrusts. I used them to accentuate my words: "Don't! You! Ever! Hit! Me! Again!" Then by all things sacred, she put her head back and moaned. My little feisty fireball was actually enjoying me standing up for myself. "No," she moaned, "I won't....I'm sorry..." "You're not sorry yet!" "Yes, my love, I'm so sorry..." "Fucking take my cock!" "Oh....harder Alan...yes..." "Oh..." I almost passed out. An orgasm was building in me like none I have ever felt before, and such intense pleasure was making me see red. Here she was, finally apologizing to ME, enjoying the intense masculine prowess my body was inflicting upon hers. She even started rocking her hips back to match my strokes. The sheer primal sexuality of it was too much for me to take, and with three or four more hard thrusts, I gripped her flesh tightly and unloaded everything I had into her in jerking spasms. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until my lungs screamed for air, and taking in deep desperate breaths, I leaned my sweating body across her back for stability. I truly thought for a moment I was going to black out. She held her position there and waited for me to recover. I don't know if she was afraid to move, or just didn't want to bother me. But it wasn't until my limp, slimy cock slipped out of her that she moved a muscle. I was still panting hard, and she helped position me to sit back down on the couch. I was covered in sweat, and she ran her fingertips across the beads on my forehead. She looked at me timidly, but sweetly: "Do you want me to get you some water?" I was panting too hard to answer, but I nodded. I couldn't place it, but she looked content. The little minx stood with catlike grace and continued her feline movements out of the room, returning momentarily with some water and a washcloth. She handed me the drink which I downed in only five gulps, then she set about to wiping my forehead. She was looking at me in a way I haven't seen in months: admiration. She took the washcloth, then, and started wiping up some of the cum still left on my cock and balls. When she was finished, she stood up and smiled down at me for a minute, biting her lip in a girlish way. Finally, she leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. "I'm sorry I slapped you, sweetheart. That was very wrong of me." I almost laughed, and would have if I wasn't so spent. "Say that again." "I'm sorry for what I did." With deliberate playfulness, she pursed her lips and winked. I didn't think she was really sorry at all. I'm not sure who won the fight, but I am kind of looking forward to the next one. Angry Fuck Sue Williams was not happy. In fact, she was angry. Very fucking angry. Sue Williams was not normally very pleasant by nature anyway, but when she was angry, well, the world was prone to cower in her path. Sue had just come from a mediation hearing for her pending divorce. She had to endure the embarrassing public disclosure of quotations from her husband's deposition, stating less-than-complimentary things about Sue's sexual drive and performance. According to the affidavit, not only were she and her soon-to-be-ex 'sexually incompatible' but it was due to Sue's 'frigidity' and 'unilateral unwillingness to try any new, creative ideas' to freshen up their sex life. Worse, the bastard had gone so far as to also garner quotes from the only man that Sue had dated briefly during the separation. Truth be told, Sue had only dated this guy to begin with in an ill-fated attempt to make her husband jealous, to show him that she could still attract virtually any man she wanted to, and she knew the man was a close golfing buddy of her spouse. She really didn't have any true interest in him, and he turned out to be a real limp dick in the sack, although like most men, in his own mind he was a sexual super-hero. In reality, he was hung like a baby chipmunk, had no stamina, a lousy tongue, and after about a half-hour into their first attempt at sexual aerobics, Sue wondered if she were ever again going to find a man who knew his way around a woman's body. She gave him a second chance a few weeks later only in the meager hope that no one could actually be THAT bad. He was. Unbeknownst to Sue, this former boyfriend, if you could call him that, confided to Sue's ex-husband that Sue was a 'wet fish' in bed. They shared notes on Sue's seeming lack of interest in all things carnal, and Limp Dick had volunteered to testify on her husband's behalf. The quotes from this Benedict Arnold included, "We only had sex twice in the three months that I dated her, and the whole time her legs were stuck together as if glued." Followed by this scathing rebuke: "Sue acts as if she is God's gift to man, that her intimate parts are made of gold and not to be shared." In and of themselves, the characterizations had not painted Sue as the world's most giving and enthusiastic lover, but it got worse. Sue had to endure the diagnosis of a psychiatrist that her husband had insisted on entering into these contentious divorce proceedings, and the alleged expert concurred with the synopsis of her two former lovers. 'Hypoactive sexual desire disorder' was the quack's conclusion. 'HSDD', as it is also known, was defined in the deposition as "a lack or absence of sexual fantasies and desire for sexual activity for some period of time." It was rather apparent by the mediator's body language that he was more than swayed by this compelling evidence that portrayed Sue as the ultimate sexual 'ice queen'. As the hearing ended, the mediator made it known that the parties would be given one week to contradict evidence presented today before he would render his decision. Sue fumed. After the legal session had concluded, she overheard the lawyers on both sides, suddenly chummy with each other, invite the mediator to a cordial, off-the-clock happy hour at the Blue Bell Inn later that afternoon. These pompous pricks had balls the size of onions to rub it in her face like that, she thought. But yet, that knowledge also brought opportunity. Sue wouldn't need a week to present evidence to shatter her husband's slanderous methods. She would do this today. For Sue, millions of dollars, real estate, cars, boats, et al, hung in the balance of Mr. Mediator's judgment. Her hubby had utilized his substantial financial resources to try to keep his significant wealth that had been accumulated over the years from getting into Sue's clutches. Thus far, he was playing the game with a winning flair. But Sue had two innate resources that her husband could never hope to capture, not any more, at least. Her body. And her smarts. Both were equally impressive. You see, Sue was a former runway model in New York City, albeit more than two decades ago. That's where she had met her husband, a wealthy hedge fund manager who also had connections in the fashion world. As they courted, her husband convinced Sue to abandon the modeling career, and Sue took him up on the offer, eventually raising two children of their own while Sue turned her focus on family matters and academic pursuits. After years of copious studying, she had acquired a masters' degree in psychology herself from Columbia University. Not that she had ever ignored her sensational God-given body, however. Through the twenty-plus years of matrimony, child-rearing and higher education, Sue worked out diligently, mainly at her selfish-prick husband's less-than-subtle urgings. She maintained and even improved upon her figure so that she could assume her rightful role, at least in her husband's myopic vision, as the proper 'trophy wife' for a successful Wall Street mogul. Sue stood a lean and statuesque five-feet-eleven, and even today, in her mid-forties, she still tipped the scales at only one-hundred and twenty-two pounds. Her long legs seemed to stretch forever, as one photographer once said, "until they made a perfect ass out of her." It was meant as a compliment. She had her boobs lifted and enhanced a few years back, again at the urging of ex-hubby, and even though she often did her best to conceal them whenever possible nowadays, almost in spite, they still measured a firm 36C with pink nipples the size and shape of Skittles candies. Her long, silky, natural honey-blonde hair was frequently bound up in a tight bun or ponytail, but when she let her mane loose, the curly locks reached the middle of her back and cascaded down over her sizeable breasts. Even Sue had to admit something to herself, though. She really hadn't been very interested in sex during the last several years or so, but not because of any bullshit psychological malfunction such as 'HSDD', as diagnosed by her husband's paid-for-hire so-called professional. No, Sue's libido was in recess for a much more fundamental reason. Her deep animosity towards her husband, combined with a rather obsessive focus on stripping him of his assets, had duly distracted Sue's attention from her sexuality in recent years. It lay dormant, maybe, but it most certainly was not flat-lined on the sexual EKG. It was time for things to change on multiple levels, Sue decided, and she went straight to her computer upon arriving home to research two things. The first project was a review of this alleged ailment she was suffering from, 'Hypoactive sexual desire disorder'. Sue sniffed as she poked the keyboard, "Have you ever heard of such shit?" Sue read and discovered that there were four basic subtypes of this affliction, according to a medical journal: General (general lack of any desire); Life-long (the person has always had little or no sexual desire); Acquired (begins after a period of normal sexual activities and relations); and finally, Situational (person still has normal sexual desires, but lacks interest in current partner or partners). The last two types could reasonably be applied to Sue, she had to admit to herself. Yet, the first two were laughable as far as pertaining to her, Sue thought. Before she met her husband, Sue was more than sexually active by anyone's definition. At one point in her modeling heyday, Sue figured she might have fucked about a third of the West Side's eligible bachelors and a handful of her fellow female models. Back in the day, Sue would never have been accused of any such 'lack of sexual creativity', that was for sure. Sue wouldn't shy from the occasional stray piece of hot pussy herself. Maybe it was time to hop back on that saddle, she mused. With a willing cowboy as a companion, of course, just to spice things up. And that's when she let her fingers do the walking, so to speak, tapping the keyboard with urgency until, in only about an hour, she had secured two dates to meet her at the Blue Bell Inn about six-thirty that very evening, one from each gender. An equal-opportunity three-way rendezvous. The first site she visited was, for lack of a better term, a 'cougar site'. Within minutes after posting some pictures of herself that she had long sequestered, Sue had arranged for Sean, a twenty-five year-old hunk who resembled a young Colin Farrell, to be Bachelor Number One this evening. Boy, was THAT easy, Sue thought, smiling. Of course, her choice was finalized only after carefully reviewing the mandatory cock photos, which Sean gleefully and expediently provided. The Internet had certainly thrown any decorum or respectable etiquette out the window, Sue mused, but what the hell. Eight-and-a-half was always her lucky number, and Sue was indeed legitimately impressed and nearly drooled, knowing that thick, elephantine rod would be impaling her various holes and tunnels later in the evening. Solely for evidence's sake, you understand. After all, this was sport-fucking at its most contrived. Shortly thereafter, she had also contacted one of her former 'close' modeling girlfriends who Sue knew now resided locally, told her the plan, and was delightedly aroused when her buddy had agreed to meet up and join in the fun and frivolity, with one caveat. She could come over to Sue's house first and get duly 'reacquainted'. Sue agreed to her terms happily, and excitedly. Sue again perused the damning deposition from the hearing as she basked in satisfaction with her plan. She began to lightly stroke her fingers over her now-tingling clit as she read the phrase that pissed her off as she had never been. 'Unilateral unwillingness to try any new, creative ideas', huh? Fuck that. Fuck him. There were two lawyers and a mediator who, in a few hours, were about to receive some compelling eyewitness evidence to the contrary. But first, there was some pleasurable catching-up to do with Sue's old 'friend' Bridgid, who walked up the path to Sue's front door right on time, precisely at four-thirty, and found Sue's hand-written note. "I'm in the jacuzzi, darling, please come in. Naked." Always the accommodating one, even after nearly twenty years since having seen the first woman she had ever made love to, Bridgid followed directions and peeled off her clothes and lingerie, leaving them in Sue's master bedroom closet, before entering the steamy love tub. The interior fog hindered Bridgid's vision at first, and she heard Sue's sultry voice from deep inside the mist. "Mmmm, you look even yummier than I remembered." Bridgid followed the sound of Sue's voice, already dripping wet in anticipation of this impromptu rendezvous with her old bi-sexual mentor. Bridgid Boisseau had just turned forty-one, four years younger than Sue. Three ex-husbands and an affair with the best plastic surgeon in Montgomery County had left Bridgid well-endowed both financially and from a beauty standpoint. She was a walking, talking, breathing, very sexy real-life Barbie Doll. Five-feet, eight inches, 130 pounds with hot red hair and very seductive green eyes. Bridgid also had impossibly flat stomach and a firm muscular ass with not a hint of fat anywhere, any such traces having been sucked away in liposuction, which she had paid for in turn by regularly sucking off Dr. Plastic. Bridgid was French, still with the hint of an erotic accent. She had a full, firm 38C chest with nipples that stood out almost an inch when erect. They were appropriately stimulated now, even though she hadn't even yet laid eyes on Sue, who was partially submerged in the hot water pool, admiring the view of her old lover. Sue accurately recalled that Bridgid was always the lady when in public but in the bedroom she was the ultimate slut. She was willing to do anything to give her partner pleasure and was not shy about telling you what she needed to fulfill her own needs. In other words, the perfect accomplice, both emotionally and physically, to implement Sue's master plan. Sue rose from the jacuzzi like an apparition through the steam, and without saying a word, she kissed Bridgid deeply, the two women savoring each other's tongues and lips, twenty years of long-lost chemistry resuscitated instantaneously by hot, wet, impassioned kisses, their taut bodies pressing and melting into the other woman as one. With a wicked glint in her eyes, Sue took Bridgid by the hand and led her out to the second story deck, which was obscured from any neighbor's view by a series of mature shade trees in the back yard. Positioning Bridgid against the railing, leaning over it with her back turned to Sue, Sue squatted down on her strong haunches and began to work Bridgid's magnificent ass cheeks with her mouth, taking care that Bridgid's torso was in full view of the surveillance recording camera that Sue had positioned beneath the top of the awning. Turning Bridgid to face her now, Sue began to cup Bridgid's breasts and pull her nipples. As Sue had relatively small hands for such a tall woman, Bridgid's huge tits overflowed in Sue's hands, and it looked as if they were trying to escape. Bridgid moaned and closed her eyes as Sue expertly rubbed her nipples around and around, making them get puffy, then pulled them to make them stand up. Sue next took Bridgid's left breast in both her hands and lifted the nipple to her mouth, laving it with her tongue, and gently sucking the nipple. She did the same thing with her right breast, this time biting her nipple gently and loving the tingles running through her sexy body. Although it had been over twenty years since enjoying the charms of any woman, Sue took to the task enthusiastically, even momentarily forgetting that this was on tape. It was like riding a bike, muscle memory and sincere sexual desire had taken over, further reinforcing the folly of the 'HSDD' diagnosis. Sue lowered her fingers as she sucked on Bridgid's heaving chest, and gently eased two fingers into Bridgid's already sopping snatch. Sue made a mental note that she would again have to begin clipping her fingernails. Sue learned a long time ago that one of the easiest ways to detect a lesbian or bisexual woman was if she had trimmed nails. Well, that, and if she wanted to lick your pussy. That was always a tell-tale sign, too. Another two fingers soon joined the first two within Bridgid's responsive French cunt, she now had all four of her fingers inside Bridgid. Sue's free thumb began strumming Bridgid's clit. Flashbacks of Bridgid's engorged, oversized clit stormed back into Sue's mind. A clitoris was one thing that the plastic surgeons couldn't alter, at least not yet. Twirling her fingers around and in and out of Bridgid's pussy, Sue quickly found her G spot. With her thumb still rubbing back and forth over the swollen clitoris, and two of Sue's fingers rubbing the redhead's G spot, she felt Bridgid's release rapidly approaching, and feeling the burst of nectar onto her fingertips, Sue raised her hand to Bridgid's full, pink lips and together they shared her delicious juices. "Oooh, thank you, Susan, my long-lost love," Bridgid purred, still writhing from the after-shocks of Sue's manually-induced orgasm. "You are like no other, still." She kissed Sue passionately in gratitude, and started to lower her face to pleasure Sue's own beautiful, tempting breasts. "Now it is my turn to please you, yes?" Reluctantly, Sue had to pull Bridgid's auburn mane gently, resisting the urge to have the sensuous beauty tongue-ravage her needy tits. "We must wait a bit, my good friend, we have a mission to fulfill, remember? In due time." She inconspicuously turned off the deck's camera as she took Bridgid, still naked and needy, inside. Sue led Bridgid to her master bedroom, where they took turns dressing each other in tonight's strategically planned wardrobes, while kissing and nuzzling and fondling throughout, as Sue elaborated the circumstances and Bridgid's role in the plot. Bridgid got as wet hearing about it as Sue did in explaining it, and soon, two steaming wet pussies attached to two scorching hot cougars were more than ready for playtime. The two gorgeous women rode together to the upscale bar in Sue's Mercedes, alternating lifting each other's hemlines and playing with each other, to assure their cunts were wet, their faces flushed, their nipples erect. Their intoxicating scent served as an olfactory aphrodisiac as they would enter the bar separately. Sue had to peek around the vestibule of the bar's entrance to identify the targets to Bridgid without being seen by anyone, which would be very difficult because of the way she was dressed. She wore a tight, black strapless Sherri Hill mini-dress that molded to her toned torso and displayed her prominent nipples poking through the sheer material of her blouse. No bra was necessary, so Sue prudently decided that any thong or garters would just be window-dressing, anyway. There was nothing between Sue and her Sherri Hill. Brooke Shields and Ralph Lauren would be proud. On her slim ankles, Sue wore four-and-a-half inch Stuart Weitzman designer black pumps with red patent leather crisscrosses. The heels might as well have come with a don't-just-fuck-me-but fuck-me-up-the-ass warning label. There was no duplicity in the attire, but just to make sure, Sue wore a deep black onyx five-strand choker necklace from Tiffany's that gave the illusion of teardrops at midnight. An ebony-attired wet dream with honey-blonde locks cascading down her bare back like a Nordic waterfall. She spotted her prey quickly in the crowded room. The two lawyers and the mediator, who already looked more than half-in-the-proverbial bag, red-faced and portly, were in a rear circular table, leering at the young waitress who barely looked out of her teens. On the other side of the bar, looking like a young, anxious Adonis, Sean poked at a tray of peanuts and sipped his imported lager. "Why is it that youngsters think it's sophisticated to order imported beers? God forbid they have a fucking Miller Lite once in a while," Sue thought. But then again, she was still angry, so she let the fleeting thought pass and remembered Sean's magic number. Eight-and-a-half. Aaah, that's much better. Sue scurried outside where Bridgid was waiting impatiently in the car, idly diddling herself with her legs spread with a tiny pocket-rocket tucked in her hairless twat. Sue couldn't help but be a little bit envious of Bridgid's tits as they spilled out of her pink blouse like two watermelons bursting from the vine. Sue wondered just how many hummers Bridgid had traded for such surgical handiwork, and having already feasted herself on the prodigious puppies a few hours ago, she knew that they seemed to have a string attached directly to Bridgid's clit, too. She made a mental note that she would have to get the number of the fine surgeon, especially as a treat to herself if tonight proved successful. Sue described the legal beagles to Bridgid, went over the game plan in one final run-through, kissed her on the lips, and told her she'd see her in five minutes. Her pussy dripped as she entered the bar and saw Sean's face lighten in recognition. She didn't know which excited her more, the reality of she and Bridgid team-fucking Sean on videotape or mind-fucking the lawyers. She decided that it's never a bad thing either way to fuck a young stud or an old lawyer. The mediator saw Sue first, poking the barristers in the ribs, as her ass swayed in an exaggerated wiggle as she purposely walked closer to them than she needed to, but never let on that she realized they were there. As Sean rose to greet her, Sue made it a point to grab him lightly by his tapered hips and spin him so that he faced the men in the rear table. As she leaned in to kiss him on the lips, she placed her open palm directly on his crotch and squeezed, letting her fingers trace the outline of his bulge. Sue gasped involuntarily as she felt Sean's massive cock rise to her touch. She was legitimately turned on, this was no ordinary cock. Angry Fuck Sue had chosen wisely. Sue let her long legs dangle over Sean's. She took Sean's strong, large hand and placed it as high on her thigh as she could without exposing her bare quim, knowing full well that she had a captive audience of not just the three pricks in the back of the tavern, but most of the other bar patrons as well, male and female. This further excited Sue so much that she almost forgot that this was all for a specific purpose, mainly to set her up financially for the rest of her life. This was a good fucking plan, Sue thought, just as she saw Bridgid, or more appropriately, Bridgid's tits, walk into the bar. Bridgid's blouse looked as if it had been brush-painted on, and her bouncing chest resembled a tandem dribbling drill in basketball. The seams of her nude-colored thigh highs were easily visible just under the bottom of her beige micro-mini, and she walked in the direction of the rear of the bar, slid herself down in the table next to the attorneys, smiled at them, and took a lipstick tube out of her purse and rubbed the small cock-shaped head over her lips provocatively. "Jesus, this is turning out to be quite an interesting bar crowd tonight," the bartender thought to himself, adjusting his own crotch under the privacy of the bar, mimicking the actions of most of the men in the place. It was suddenly a group 'Hard-Ons-R-Us', thanks to Sue and Bridgid. Sue took the occasion of Bridgid's entrance to lift Sean's fingers up the hem of her skirt and stuck two in her steaming slit, and with her other hand she pulled him up so that he was standing, and she again glanced at his dick tenting his pants. "Wow," she thought. "Jackpot." Sue took Sean's hand in hers. "C'mon with me, big boy, there's someone I want you to meet." Bridgid feigned delighted surprise when she saw Sue and her yummy young beefcake friend approach her at the table, timed so perfectly so that it didn't even give the men at the table next to Bridgid a chance to deploy any lascivious advances, not that they had a prayer anyway. "Suuuu-zeeee, what a surprise," Bridgid squealed, jumping up from the seat and placing a bear hug around Susan's lean body, mashing her jugs into Sue's own beautifully proportioned globes and then locking her freshly-painted lips onto Susan's, her tongue snaking out of her mouth in a kiss named after her native country. She stepped back and admired Sue's dress as the men's jaws seemed to crash against their table in astonishment, as Sue saw out of the corner of her eye. "You look fabulous!" Sue never acknowledged the attorneys even though she was less than ten feet from them, close enough so that they could hear every word. "Let me introduce you to my new toy, Bridgid, darling!" She took Sean's hand and extended it towards Bridgid, though Sean barely noticed, his eyes riveted onto Bridgid's tits like a puppy ogling a chew toy. "Sean, this is my dear, dear friend, Bridgid." Sean's hand extended to roughly the length of his dick. "Um, nice to meet you, Bridgid. Uh, I love your blouse." Bridgid placed her arms tightly on either side of her chest and pushed her cleavage together. "That is so sweet of you, Sean. I am so glad, because we have a surprise for you tonight, don't we, Suuu-zeeee?" For the first time, Sue looked directly at the Three Stooges, focusing her enraged gaze on first her own attorney, who blushed and turned away in shame, and next to her husband's representative, and finally, to the mediator, who held the cards to Sue's ultimate fate. "Plans? Why, yes, we do, Bridge! Why don't you tell these nice men behind you what we are going to do with Sean tonight? They may have an interest in knowing." Bridgid turned to the men, acting as if she hadn't known they were even there. "Why, hello, gentlemen," Bridgid said in that lilting sing-song accent. "Yes. Yes, I will tell you. I will share our little secret with you, it is quite fun!" Bridgid interlocked her arms under one of Sean's strong forearms and faced the men as Sue did the same on the other side. "My friend Suuu-zee and I, we are going to suck Sean's big cock and fuck him silly all night." They pirouetted in perfect synchronicity and walked out of the bar with Sean, who, not surprisingly, went along with the ladies' plan. The mediator got two tapes marked 'Confidential' sent to his office the next day. The first was a short tape of Sue pleasing Bridgid to orgasm on the deck. The second was a full-length film of Sue, Bridgid and Sean in staggeringly extraordinary sexual acts and positions that would have put any mainstream porn movie to shame. Sue edited the film so that the last image on the screen was an overlay of a stop-action sequence with Sue's mouth wide-open in the throes of obvious orgasm as Sean filled Sue's anus with eight-and-half inches of thick cock. At the same time, Bridgid licked Sue's clit while fondling Sean's balls with one hand and pinching Sue's distended nipples with the other. It said, simply, "HSDD? Or not? You decide." Six days later, the mediator ruled in Sue's favor to the tune of two houses, a beach-front rental property in South Carolina, a boat, three cars, and four million dollars. For those of you counting, four million is quite a lucky number. Even more so than eight-and-a-half inches. Sue hasn't been quite as angry these days. As for Sue's ex-husband, well, for some reason he has been very pissed lately. The angry fuck.