Cake and Eat It Too

One guy was her lover, with his huge dick, and the other guy was her loving fiancee, with his average-size cock. She felt so superior, so smart, so sexy. Just a little recreational sex, before the wedding, she imagined ... maybe some, after, too.

She could 'have her cake and eat it too,' she thought.

The party was a little BBQ, just her and her fiancee plus her three girlfriend-wives and their husbands. A charcoal grill, with the glowing coals coated white with ash, right at the ideal heat to cook the meat. The wine was flowing freely and they all were all a little buzzed, talking together. Her almost-wedded guy was filming the event with his little video-can on a tripod, so he could film and cook, too.

He liked to film her, there in her tight-buttoned white silk blouse and mini-skirt. The outfit he'd peel her out of, in the dark, tonight, as she'd insisted.

She was, though, pretty well buzzed, and babbling on with her girlfriends, while the guys looked on, grinning, when the topic of our former boyfriends came up. Everything in good fun, Eventually, all the girls all talked about what the boy friends were like, before they met their husbands.

It was when the guys stopped grinning and started giving their wives frosty looks, that her girlfriends suddenly realized, husbands don't like to be compared to memories of former boyfriend's cocks. The girl talk quickly ended.

All except her, as she babbled on in the silence ... ignoring the pleading looks of her friends ... as she talked about her most recent lover, whom she'd supposedly given up to accept the marriage proposal of her wonderful fiancee. Sitting, wine glass in hand, pretty buzzed, as she openly remembered what it had been like to have her most recent lover jamming his huge cock into her.

"Oh, it went in so far, right through my hot love tunnel, and deep into my womb. I came and came and came." She sat there in the silence, eyes closed at the memory, unconsciously slipping a blouse button open to feel the suddenly distended nipple. "Oh, God, he was soooo big, and thick, all 10" shoved 'way in there, and then he filled me up with gallons of cum, so that it leaked out and soaked my legs and butt."

All of this into what was an icy silence, as she gulped down half her remaining wine and smiled, loose-lipped, squeezing her thighs together and in a dreamy voice, saying, "Ahhh, he was the only man who could completely satisfy me. My fiancee, well, he's OK, but that huge cock filled me up, better than any one else, as he grabbed and sucked on my tits, too, ohhhh, Wow."

Then she added the final damming piece, as she hiked up her short skirt, to display her prize, a little scarlet-red tattoo of a heart, put on her upper right inside thigh, as she said, slurring her words a little, "He insisted I get a tattoo as a reminder of what his cock did to me, right there on my leg."

"Why, just this morning, before I came over here, he kept my panties and bra, to remember him of me, before he gave me his last good-bye fuck."

Eyes closed in former and recent sexy memory, still crooning, she didn't see or hear her fiancee—with the wedding less than a week away—get up from his chair by the BBQ grill. He pulled his engagement ring off his finger and dropped it onto the white-coated coals, to melt.

Three quick strides over to her, he looked down at his suddenly admitted cum-slut, and, using only a casual motion, he slapped her across the face, front-handed and then back-handed. She fell from her chair, backwards, and hit her head on the cement, stunning her.

He grabbed her blouse front and ripped it open, buttons flying, to reveal her no-bra naked breasts. Boobs clearly marked with love-sucks on each. Boobs with large, distended, well-sucked-on nipples.

He grabbed her skirt at the waist and ripped, tearing the button and zipper away, to reveal a shaved, no-panties nudity and more love-marks around her flanks, to compete with the swollen lips of her recently sucked and well-fucked pussy. The shock of the slaps and stunning fall caused her tight vagina to loosen and the gray-white cum left there by her lover oozed out between her pussy lips.

There, too, was the little, scarlet-red tattooed heart, clearly marking her big cock lover's claim on what was to be her fiancee's wedded-territory alone.

Picking up the pitcher of cold wine, her fiancee dashed the contents into her face and upper body, then turned and, speaking to no one in particular, in an icy, frozen voice, not shouting, he said, "No wedding. No marriage. No more slutty shared-with-another-guy sloppy-seconds sex. No more trust. No love, any more." Then he kicked at her exposed leg, high up on her inner thigh, bruising the spot where the little scarlet-red tattoo was imprinted. He grabbed up his video-camera, turned away and strode out of the back yard, to get astride his Honda Goldwing motorcycle and peeled away, off the front lawn, onto the suburban street and disappeared from town.

He never came back, although he did send her a DVD copy of the video he made, which more than proved the verbal memories of her 'good-bye' big-cock fuck: her talking sexy about her big cock lover ... fingers tugging her under-blouse nipple ... thighs squeezing ... her voice crooning lust for remembered fucking ... cum in her pussy oozing out ... love-suck marks on her boobs, flanks and legs ... her now-permanent little scarlet tattoo ... and ending with his final damming pronouncements on 'no wedding' due to 'sloppy-seconds' he was to receive.

Her friends and their husbands took a little while to collect themselves and then bundled her into a car and drove to the hospital's emergency room. She was in overnight only for observation of a possible concussion and bruising from the kick. However, complications of the bruising resulted in significant sub-surface scarring, not visible from the surface but easily felt by touch.

But, in doing the routine blood work at the hospital, it was discovered that she had a couple of STDs, specifically an untreated case of gonorrhea and a long-term untreated case of chlamydia. Later tests revealed that she was now sterile. Her big cock lover, having had lots of unprotected sex with her, had given her the clap and stolen her child-bearing capacity.

Over the course of her recovery from her collapsed wedding plans, all her women friends finally revealed that they, too, had 'sampled' her lover's big cock, even though they were married, since she'd bragged about his huge size and capabilities so much.

Their husbands had insisted on getting blood tests, all of which revealed long-standing cases of gonorrhea and chlamydia, which they'd passed on to their men. All the husbands and their wives were now damaged and sterile.

Two divorces happened.

The big cock boyfriend took money off everyone he could contact and then skipped town. He, too, was never heard from again.

Too late, she realized that her lover was just a big cock ... and nothing else: there was no love, no touching, no trusting, no caring when she was blue. Just a cock-fuck when she thought she needed it, to 'scratch an itch.'

Her last friend was already 2 months pregnant, and her husband stuck it out with her, until she birthed a gonorrhea-scarred monster. The child lived only about 22 days. A week or so afterward, her friend's husband went into the back-yard and blew the back of his head off with the family shotgun. The wife followed her husband's suicide by a year, when she took an overdose of vodka and sleeping pills and died, laying on his grave.

A couple of months after that death, the woman received a packet of papers, sent anonymously, which revealed that her former fiancee had got himself tested and discovered he, too, was infected with her chlamydia and gonorrhea, resulting in a sperm count that was all but zero. He'd wanted kids and now, there was no chance, with anyone.

Another copy of the DVD was included, which proved that her video-recorded behavior had gone out in the Internet; she had no privacy left.

The rest of the papers revealed that she was the beneficiary of a surprisingly large life-insurance policy payout, her former fiancee having died in a 'hunting accident' (a euphemism for suicide).

The woman, cured of both STDs but now disowned by her family, slut-shamed in town and completely friendless, left her home and eased her way across the country. With no other skills, she learned to be a stripper and an exotic pole dancer. She found she had a talent for erotic body display and liked it, orgasming easily on or off stage. Her dancing, naked body display and occasional escort-fucking paid surprisingly well and she saved her money, making her own costumes, staying away from drugs, bad-boy dates and alcohol.

Except for frequent strong sleep aids, to quell the nightmares.

The scared tissue from the complications of her kicked-bruising had formed a deep lump within her leg. Taking it out would have meant she'd walk with a one-legged weakened limp and she wouldn't be able to climb the pole again. She had to leave the under-skin lump alone.

She never again found the right man for a fiancee or husband, as she felt herself a probable cheating cum-slut, still tattooed with a little scarlet-red heart on her thigh, forever bruised in her mind and spirit, as well.

A few years later, she moved to San Diego, California, working as a resident manager of a small apartment complex, plus frequent showings as a guest stripper and exotic pole dancer at up-scale gentleman's clubs in the Los Angeles and San Diego areas.

Now, when she has a lover, she has one at a time, and doesn't play the comparison of lover against lover game, concentrating on the best parts of the person at hand, for as long as he or she remained.

Felt morning and evening, the fist-sized lump of internal scarring remained, as a reminder of her utter stupidity in trying—and failing—to have both a loving fiancee and her big-cock 'cake and eat it too'.

—THE END—