The Call of Blood

Amy gasped out the words, "Fuck my ass."

A big smile grew on my face. My balls were on fire. I pulled the head of my cock out and then rammed it all the way home as I came. The funniest thought ran through my head, that I'd have to raise her anal grade.

It was time to be the nice guy. I helped Amy up and led her, crying all the way, to the shower. I washed us off and dried us. It's amazing how sexual excitement is keyed to a situation. My wife had admitted she was cheating, I had told her I would divorce her, and my cock wouldn't stay down. "What the hell," I thought.

Amy was beyond speech as I lay her on the bed. Top marks for on her back fucking. I put my mouth on her clit and gently sucked, not to get her off but to see if her pussy would get wet. It did, so I mounted her. She lay there, arms limp, legs motionless. So I kissed her. Her mouth was dead. I kissed her again and she responded. Her hands rose to my shoulders as her hips tilted to meet my thrusts.

We made love without saying a word. I caressed her, fucking her pussy in time with the probing of my tongue in her mouth. I put my arms all the way around her and rolled to the side until she was on top. I pulled her up so I could suck on her nipples.

Top third in cock riding. I like when a woman rides my cock. Next wife will have to be better on top. Amy burrowed into my neck as she came. I came a minute later. My cock was wearing out.

Amy breathed in my ear. She quivered.

All good things come to an end. "Are you going to pay?" I asked.

"I don't know what to do." She lifted her head. "I've lost you."

I nodded. She tried to smile, then she kissed my shoulder. "You're in a real mess," I said.

"What should I do?"

"They asked for how much? $10,000? They'll never stop."

She rubbed her nose against me. "I know," she said. "I wouldn't care if I still had you."

I rolled onto my side and raised my hands to her tits. I squeezed them.

"I'm a slut," Amy whispered.

"No, you're not a slut." I rolled her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers. "I can never trust you again. The scars are still raw from last time." I kissed her. She slid up and pressed her breasts against both sides of my face.

Friday afternoon slipped into Friday evening. I fell asleep. When I woke, Amy was in the den, staring at her computer. I rubbed her shoulders.

"I can't pay," Amy said. "I just can't."

I grunted. I expected that. $10,000 is a lot of money to splash out with no guarantee.

"Maybe they're bluffing," she continued. "If I tell everyone I know about the pictures, it would be just like they were sent."

I kissed the top of her head.

She twisted her head to one side and tilted it back. I brushed my hand across her cheek. "I really blew it, didn't I?" she said.

"Yeah well," I replied. What could I say? "I'm sorry I was rough with you." I wasn't really but I wanted to be nice. And with the weekend ahead, my cock wanted a place to stay.

"You're the only man I've ever loved." Amy kissed my fingers. "You're by far the best lover. I'm glad you . . . I'm glad you did that to me. I couldn't face you if you hadn't."

"I wanted to hurt you. I can't believe you did this. We were going to try for a baby. I don't know if I'll ever get over this." I said this gently, not wanting her to break down. We kissed. "Is your ass okay?"

"Hurts. Hurts a lot."

"Sorry." I was actually pleased.

Amy stood and we embraced. She looked into my eyes.

"I need you to help me." She touched my mouth. "I have to make it through this weekend. Will you help me?"

"Within reason, sure," I answered. Her finger played across my lips.

"Use me." She kissed me. "Fuck me until I can't walk. Make me your sex slave."

Oh yeah. My dick was already getting hard.

"Do anything you want to me."

I realized that Amy was going to go out acting. She wouldn't, perhaps couldn't deal with the reality of her situation without playing a role. With our history, she knew our marriage was over so she transformed me, her betrayed husband, into the fantasy she needed. I would be her master, punishing her for her wrongs, taking her mind off what might happen Monday. I knew she would put her all into this new part.

"All right, slut. You've had it easy so far." I put my hands on her ass. "Here's what you're going to do now. When I'm finished, you say yes cock master and go do it." Amy held me tight.

"Put on your sexiest dress, no underwear, stockings not pantyhose. Put on your make-up like you were going to a fancy party. Put on your best jewelry. Fix your hair. Perfume. I want it all. I'm going to use you. Understand. Hurry up. Run."

Amy said, "Yes, cock master," and ran.

She looked fantastic. And she was totally turned on. I ordered her to take a long coat out of the hall closet. I told her to go to the garage, but stopped her as she started to walk away. "No. I go first." I walked to the door and waited. "Open it." I walked to the passenger door of her car and waited. "Open it." I got in. I told her to drive to her office, which by now would be empty except for the cleaning staff. I rubbed her tits through her dress as she drove. Once we were in the parking garage, I ordered her to get out and open my door.

She held every door for me. When we reached her office, I stood behind her desk and unzipped. "Lie on your belly across the desk and suck your master's cock, slut." She reached for my dick. "No hands. Put your hands on your ass and squeeze your butt."

I fucked her mouth. If ever the words "greedy cocksucker" applied, it was then. "Look up at me, slut." She was on her stomach, hands on her ass, mouth wide open, her eyes locked on mine as I probed and prodded my cock in her mouth. "You know what you're wearing slut. You're wearing your master's come rag." I let that sink in. "When I come in your mouth, you don't swallow. Hear me slut." Amy made a noise.

Considering the amount of sex I'd already had that day, I mustered a fairly sizable load. "Sit up. Now spit all my come into your hands. Look at me while you do that. Now rub it all over your nice dress, right on the chest where I can see it." Amy complied without hesitation.

I ordered her to take off the dress. She was wearing a lacy black bra and stockings. "Rub the dress between your legs. Is your pussy wet?"

"Yes cock master. My pussy is wet."

"Good slut. Your next task is to make me fuck you before we get home. I'll drive. You have to get me hard and entice me to pump cum into your pussy before we get home or I'll make you get out naked on the freeway."

Amy looked wild, her eyes shining with pure sexual abandon. On my instructions, she left her coat open and draped her sperm coated dress over her shoulders as we went to the car. She opened the driver's door for me, closed it, ran around to her side and immediately put her feet on the dashboard and began to masturbate. Nice idea.

Halfway home, Amy started biting my chest and whimpering for my cock. She had me. I pulled into a church parking lot - where else? She mounted me. Her pussy was incredibly wet. Good thing we were in her car because I didn't want stains on my seats.

She didn't need any prompting to dance on my cock. She undulated. I was turned on and blew my load quickly.

"Take off your bra and get out of the car." Amy stood in the church parking lot naked except for her stockings "Tie your bra to the church door. Run."

Amy ran, her tits jiggling. She did what I ordered and ran back. I was having a great time.

The rest of the weekend was a frenzied sexual blur. On Saturday, I took her to a sex store to buy two large dildoes. I attached one to a table edge and made her fuck it while I pumped her ass. She took my cock in her ass without complaint, though it must have hurt like hell.

I tied her to the bed using her favorite blouses and tickled her. I peed on her in the shower. I stuck a feather duster in her ass - this was a riot - and had her prance around like a show pony.

I made up elaborate call and response games. If I grabbed her left tit, she'd sing "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition." If I grabbed the right, it might be, "Thank God I'm a country girl." I made her count my strokes out loud and shout, "Yee ha, ride me cowboy!" every 10th pump. She did the YMCA dance, forming the letters with her arms as I humped her standing. I fucked her ass as she did the chicken dance, with her singing "First you do the wings, then you do the beak, then you fuck my ass, do-do do do do."

Things that might be impossible to say to a wife can be said to a slave. I made Amy beg my forgiveness for the years of my life I'd wasted on her. I told her of my pain. She spread oil on my body and then massaged me with her hands, breasts and mouth while telling me how wonderful I am.

We may imagine vengeance as a single emotion, an anger that drives you forward every step, but the truth is more complex. I had wanted to hurt Amy - and still did - but I also understood that we loved each other. As much as her affair had driven a permanent wedge between us, my revenge had brought us that much closer. She stood naked in front of me and masturbated at my command. She revealed herself to me, psychologically and emotionally as well as physically. I'd never been interested in domination before but now I understood the power of giving yourself.

When Monday morning arrived, I kissed Amy goodbye and watched through the front window as she drove away. The final phase of Operation Destructo was ready, an email with all the pictures and a selection of the worst of the sex talk. I didn't hesitate. I sent it to everyone in her contacts list, including all her family, friends and business associates. I didn't even wait until noon. Why bother? It's not like the bad guys would be maintaining a relationship with Amy and it would take time for the email to run through the foreign servers I was using.

I packed my things and loaded them into my car. Some people might imagine remaining on the scene to gloat, but watching Amy struggle with the consequences would only make me sad. We could no longer pretend the world outside was the illusion. It was time to make my exit, stage left.

Amy's life fell apart. She had to quit her job. She was humiliated professionally and socially. But if our sick society has taught me anything it's that public humiliation is not necessarily fatal. Amy wasn't someone you naturally hate. People laughed at her and some turned their backs, but most were fairly sympathetic. We've become inured to scandal.

I have a theory that we don't crack down on drunk drivers because each of us is afraid we'll get stopped coming home from a barbecue or a cocktail party while a little tipsy. We let drunks kill thousands every year for the selfish reason that almost all of us at some point may have a drink or two and drive. Scandals, especially sex scandals, are following the same path. What if it's me? It could be anyone I know. My daughter, God forbid. My sister. Well, she was a little wild in college. My wife. You take a few pictures, store them on your computer and years later they may pop up on the internet.

Love is complicated. I loved Amy and she loved me, but she wasn't able to control herself and that meant we couldn't stay married. We stayed in touch. To be honest, we fucked regularly even as the divorce was in process. I worried about her getting pregnant to trap me but we worked that out because neither of us liked using condoms. Amy's anal and doggie grades became so good I actually presented her ass with an embossed certificate of appreciation. I wonder if she still has it.

We didn't have much stuff to divvy. We sold the condo and split the money. I bought Amy a new sexy black dress. She wore it to dinner the day the divorce became final, with only stockings and a black lace bra underneath. I fucked her in that dress and then out of it. As we lay together in bed, Amy repeated what she'd said before, "If I had you, I wouldn't care about the rest." She couldn't have me.

Her lover had a worse time. His wife couldn't forgive him for humiliating himself professionally or for cheating on her after the emotional trauma of her miscarriage. She took him to the cleaners. I felt no sympathy for the guy.

Amy and I started to grow apart when I met the girl I later married. We both had trouble maintaining a relationship with my being happy with another woman. Amy sent me a note when she got married again. She said she still loved me. I haven't talked to her in years. To be honest, I don't care what she's doing.

Pilar and I have two kids, ages 3 and 5, and we're having a good time working on making number three. My wife is Cuban, part of an original refugee family from the time of the revolution. They are extremely proud of their heritage and weren't happy about bringing any Anglo into the fold, but especially one whose Spanish consisted of de nada, gracias and chinga tu madre.

Not long after the wedding, Pilar's father took me fishing near his home in Miami. He thought I was soft, that his daughter had married a weak Anglo who would cater to her, who would treat her as an exotic flower. Pilar, he said, needs a man strong enough to stand up to her. She has a powerful spirit. "Are you that man?" he asked.

I told my father-in-law a story. I told him about the call of the blood, about Hamlet and his father's ghost. I told him that I have seen the darkness which lives in the soul, that I am a man. He listened. I told him about revenge, not all the specifics but enough. I told him how it feels, the good and the bad: "Too much and you fill with bitterness. Too little and your thirst remains strong." It's just a story, I said, but he understood. We've been close ever since.

I didn't tell my father-in-law that his daughter gave me her virgin ass on our second date or that Pilar has my initials tattooed in the curly black hair above her mound. I own her and she owns me. That's the power of giving. She's my number one cock rider of all time, with a round firm ass and small tits with perfect brown nipples, and she loves to suck my cock as much as I love eating her tasty pussy.

Pilar knows everything about me. She knows the whole story of what happened with Amy. She knows I'll kill her if she cheats on me and I know she'll do even worse to me if I ever cheat on her. We call it mutually assured destruction, like the arms race with the Soviets. She purrs in my ear, "Keep your finger on my button and we'll both be happy." I love that woman.

Maybe Shakespeare was trying to say that you have to keep revenge in perspective. Heed the call of the blood, but don't let your desire for revenge become an obsession, don't let the role you're playing take over your soul. Kill your father's murderer but don't lose the kingdom.

Taking revenge on Amy made me a stronger and I think a better person. I have visited the dark well of pain and climbed back up to the daylight. I have felt the raging fury which seethes in my soul. Now when I hold my precious little girls, I know the total encompassing beauty of unconditional love.