Misty stood up, Oliver still seated on the floor, and taunted him with her ass, which was just barely concealed by the hem of her skirt. Oliver began to whimper a little louder, and as if on cue, Hunky Boy's whimpering ramped up just that much louder. Stereo cry-babies.
Misty looked down over her shoulder into Oliver's tear-filled eyes.
-Wanna kiss it, big boy?
Oliver was a mess. Of course, he wanted to kiss it. He wanted to die in its massive press. But what about Iris? What should he do about poor dear wifey, just down the hall, probably sobbing and definitely madder than a cornered badger by now? Worse than that, probably so hurt by all this. Where had his mind gone that the fact of her pain could not penetrate the fortress walls Misty had built up so solidly around his very soul? This was the end of everything, and he had no way of doing anything about it. As he sat there mumbling and whimpering, Misty turned on him; pissed. Without a word, she slapped him across the face so violently that he went down onto the floor on his back, still blubbering as he stretched out there before her. Misty stood right over him, looking down into his pathetic, red, tear-drenched face.
-I asked you a question, you fucking pig! And NOW I'd like to hear an explanation as to why you sit there, dumb as a fucking stump, and refuse to answer me?
Oliver looked up at the extraordinary vision that was Misty, standing over him with that over-sexed face of hers, the HOT just dripping off it, the big, solid body with the massive, gorgeous breasts popping out of her tight dress, and most of all, those indescribable, monolithic legs, rising up above him now like twin towers of destruction. All he could do was break even harder into uncontrollable tears. As he did, Hunky Boy also began crying harder. It was as if he were petrified to make any louder noises than those Misty was allowing her evening’s quarry. Realizing that he was basically a lost cause at the moment, Misty decided to take a more oblique approach to Oliver’s destruction.
-Look at you, she said. What a fucking disgrace. Big, important, hot-shot doctor, can’t even control his own mousy little wife, and has no idea what to do with the hottest fucking bitch he’ll ever lay eyes on when she’s RIGHT HERE WITH HIM in the goddamn flesh. Some big fucking deal you are. Well, Oliver boy, it’s like this; first, take those goddamn clothes off, and I mean within seconds! Bawl all you want, but get them off NOW!
Ollie looked up at her again, and the thought came to him that maybe salvation lay in her presence here after all. Let go of all that’s familiar, and go for your bliss! Yes, that suddenly sounded right. And since he was being forced to strip anyway, what difference did it make? He decided right then and there that he belonged to Misty. He would do whatever she required of him. With that realization, a strange smile came over his face, even as he continued to cry. He ripped at his formal clothing, slithered out of his coat, thrust his shoes from his feet in swift flicking motions, and pulled his pants down, his crying and whimpering morphing into a strange, haunting fit of laughter all the while. Misty, sensing that he was entering the Twilight Zone, decided to ratchet up the intensity; pushing him ever-harder. With a gleeful smile she squatted down straight above his face, pulling her dress up around her waist. As she locked into her position, she drove poor Ollie into a rather psychotic outburst. Looking up at her ass, covered only by a skimpy, see-through thong, he became hysterical, laughing, crying, utterly out of control.
-Shut your goddamn face! Misty exclaimed. You’re not following orders, you dick-brain! I said, get your fucking clothes off! NOW!
Ollie still had his shirt, his shorts, and his socks to go. In spite of his delirium, he knew ‘serious’ when he heard it. Meanwhile, Hunky Boy had started up, his own moaning and crying getting louder and more intrusive. It was quite the surreal scene having him sit there, basically mimicking Ollie, yet obviously going through his own personal hell watching his wife cuckold him before his very eyes. With his stern mistress monitoring his every move, Ollie quickly shed the rest of his clothing. Now, he lay there completely naked, but for his Rolex, with a hard-on the size of a 200 year-old fir tree throbbing intensely and oozing pre-cum in generous globs.
-Hmmm, Misty laughed, looks like someone hasn’t been laid in a while. Well, for being so obedient, I think you deserve a reward. I want you to exhale, and then, when I fart, right into your stupid face, I want you to inhale for all you’re worth. Don’t waste a single molecule! Got it?
-Thank you, Misty, the good doctor answered, still in that strange O-zone between laughter and tears.
Again with a laugh, Misty cut a huge, gassy fart right into Ollie’s face. As programmed, he inhaled deeply, sucking down every last nuance of her divine flatulence. When he had filled his lungs, Misty made him hold it, like taking a hit of weed. Upon that command, Hunky Boy broke into loud, unrestrained sobbing. His presence was becoming quite unsettling.
-That’s right, Misty laughed, looking down between her legs at Ollie’s face, hold it in, hold it in!
As he finally exhaled, Lanier and Wifey Iris emerged from the hallway, taken aback at the scene unfolding before them. In their already disoriented and traumatized conditions, what they now beheld sent them—wifey Iris in particular—into what can only be described as a state of shock. Iris tried to cry out, but the sounds stuck in her throat. Dr. Arthur Lanier managed a little better;
-O-Oliver! Jesus Christ!
That was Hunky Boy’s cue. With the tension so thick you climb into the sky upon it, his macabre baying intensified to a melodramatic wailing that cast an even more surreal aura over the proceedings.
-Ahh, look who’s back, said Misty, still crouched ominously over Ollie’s face. Oliver boy, show little wifey how much fun you’re having, hmmm? Take that cattle prod you’ve got growing between your legs and jack it off for her. Don’t worry, I won’t let you cum yet. But keep your eyes focused on my ass. You do love Misty’s ass, don’t you?
Oliver’s attempted reply was nothing more than incoherent, hysterical gibberish as he snatched a hold of his burning cock.
-I didn’t get that, Oliver boy, Misty chided.
-Y-y-yesss, Ma'aaaaam! He wailed.
-I thought so. You know, ‘Artie,’ I really wish you’d consider joining in all the fun. I’m sure your whole mood would change in the space of a moment!
Misty’s laugh was again so sinister, so demonic.
-And poor Iris, it’s all been such a shock to you. You could sit there with my husband and enjoy the show. You two could be of great comfort to each other. Wouldn’t you love to have wifey Iris sit with you, Hunky Boy? Someone to hold your hand? Feel what you feel?
Hunky Boy completely lost control at the question.
-Oh, yes ma’am, he cried. Yes, ma’am! Please make her sit with me! Please!
Just then Misty farted loudly into Ollie’s face again and broke into laughter.
-Uhh-ohh, she said, that one slipped out! Hurry, Oliver boy, hurry! Make sure you sniff up every bit of it!
As Ollie, now jacking himself off ferociously, began inhaling wildly, Iris finally broke. She burst into hysterics and bolted out the front door. Out of her incoherent shrieks came the occasional lucid cries of ‘Oliver, My God! Oh, Oliver!’
Completely freaked by the intensity of the moment, Lanier stood there frozen, unable to decide whether to go after Iris, to rip off his clothes and join in the depravity at hand, or to simply run to his car and get the hell out of there. As he stood dumbstruck, Misty stood up above Ollie and pulled her tight tube dress up over her head and off. Now she stood before the three in all her glory, her fat, gorgeous body adorned only in intensely hot nothings of black lingerie. Hunky Boy cried out again at the spectacle of his fabulous wife, dominating 3 men at once, and ripping his soul to shreds with her phenomenal body and her contemptuous disregard for him.
Misty commanded Ollie to stop jerking before he came, and then walked over in front of Hunky Boy, turned her ass to him, and holding his head firmly in place, let loose with another blast of gas right into his face.
-Breathe! She shouted.
As Hunky Boy sucked the fart down in what can only be described as jubilation, Misty turned to face him and, still holding his head in place by the hair, reached back and slapped him across the face with the force of an atomic blast. He shrieked loudly before breaking into a tearful litany of submissive accolades.
-Thank you, ma’am, thank you! I deserve your wrath! Please don’t give up on me!
-Give up on you? You fucking moron, I gave up on you long ago. I have no interest in teaching you anything. You’re a fucking toy, get it? And a pathetic one at that!
Misty then spit in Hunky Boy’s face with brazen contempt, for which he nonetheless continued to give thanks loudly.
Staying right in step, as if performing a finely choreographed routine, she cozied up to Lanier and before he even had time to react, planted a huge, ultra-sensual kiss on his lips and then, perfect sex kitten, purred irresistibly into his face, all raunchy bourbon and cigarettes; and ALL WOMAN.
-Take your clothes off, asshole, Misty demanded, and go sit on the couch.
Lanier almost broke, but instead darted out the front door after Iris. Misty smiled and turned her attention back to the still prone Oliver boy.
-All right, faggot, she said, get your ass up. Get up onto your knees.
As he was moving into position, Misty drained the rest of her drink, and then came back to stand before Ollie, her powerful thighs directly in front of his quivering face.
-Read ‘em and weep, Oliver Boy, she said. What do you think, hmmm? These gorgeous legs, or wifey’s? Which do you want?
-Oh, g-god, he stammered, yours! Only yours!
Misty snatched him by the hair and punched him hard in the face, bloodying his nose.
-Where are your FUCKING manners, douche-bag? You can at least do as well as Hunky Boy over there! It’s MA’AM, asshole! Yours, MA’AM! Now you try it.
-I’m sorry Ma’am. I want your legs, Ma’am. Pleeeease, Ma’am!
-You see? Now that wasn’t so fucking hard. You wanna kiss my thigh? Way up high here at the juiciest, fattest part? And if you do, I want you to pant like a fucking dog and beg. Now, do you?
Oliver boy immediately stuck out his tongue and began to pant vigorously. Then, he alternated between puppy dog begging and human begging.
-(Whimper, whimper) Oh, please, Ma’am, please let me kiss your lovely thigh. Please, Ma’am!
Misty stood over his pathetic figure, contemplating her decision.
-No deal, she finally said. But I’ll give you the nose.
She grabbed him again by the hair and forced his face into the fat flesh of her upper thigh, more or less rubbing his nose there. She pulled him away as quickly as she had brought him to contact. For Ollie, it was a millisecond in heaven. Or Hell, according to taste. When she pulled him back, he came unglued, crying out in loud screams, and yelling ‘Oh no, no! Please, no!
Still holding him by the hair and getting quite a chuckle out of his outburst, Misty reared back with that leg and brought it forward with a vengeance, slamming her powerful thigh into Ollie’s face and knocking him for a double somersault across the living room, and up against the brick wall next to the fireplace.
-Better shut your trap, dick-for-brains, she said. In my presence, you will stay under control. And I warn you, Oliver Boy, don’t fucking test me again!
Hunky Boy started wailing louder.
-Go to the front door, Hunky, Misty said. See what the hell’s going on out there. See if wifey and Doctor Dufus have left or what.
-Yes, ma’am, Hunky cried, rushing to the door in obedience.
Misty stood over Ollie’s fallen body, watching now as he bled profusely from the nose and mouth. His cock was still an oaken wonder.
-All right, pig, she said, let me ask you another question. Do you think that such behavior as this is going to make me want to grant you privileges, or punish you harder? You may answer now, please.
-Oh, shit, that hurts, he groaned, holding his face. It’ll make you want to punish me, ma’am.
-Very good! So why’d you do it?
-I-I, because I’m a stupid shit! I’m so sorry, Ma’am!
Oliver Boy was crying real tears now. He was hurt.
-That’s right, pig-man, you’re a fucking dumb-shit. I didn’t think you could get to be a doctor being that fuckin’ stupid. You must’ve cheated on your tests.
She held her glorious, massive thigh again directly in front of his face.
-I’m not as heartless as you think, you know, so, I’m going to give you one more chance. Now go ahead. One nice, sloppy kiss. Right on my upper thigh.
Ollie dug in ravenously and kissed her thigh. In the process he smeared a good deal of blood on her leg, which actually seemed to excite her considerably. But it was far too much for him. As he pulled away, he looked at her body with the most far-away look of astonishment and his body began to quake. His mouth was wide open as if to scream, but nothing was coming out. A perfect Francis Bacon portrait if there ever was one. Misty looked down at him, ready to burst out laughing at whatever was coming. He spit out some more blood as he sat slouched against that brick wall, quivering wildly, until finally he began to emit a high-pitched squeal, like some bizarre high-frequency electronic feedback. Misty stared into his gyrating eyes, casual and curious, almost mirthfully watching him disintegrate. As the squeal intensified, Misty laughed harder and harder.
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