The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: Obsession
The Devil's Pact
edited by Master Ken
The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: Obsession
Note: This takes place three weeks after the Best Buy Incident, following Veronica Beckam and her obsession.
Wednesday, June 19th, 2013
“Oh, Veronica!” Marshal, my husband, gasped as he pumped away at my pussy. “I'm gonna cum!”
“Yes, yes, I'm coming too!” I lied, squeezing my pussy down on his cock, and shrieking loudly. I could feel my husband's cum spilling inside me, warm, thick, disappointing.
“That was great, sugar,” he moaned, kissing me on the lips.
“It was,” I lied some more; I was becoming good at it. “The best, Sir.” My pet name for Marshal. His name sounded like a military rank, so when we were dating I would pretend to be his soldier and call him 'Sir.' It made for some interesting experimentation in the bedroom, and even though five years of marriage had tamed our sex life, I had always found it satisfying.
Well, I found it satisfying until I fucked that man with his glorious cock during the 'Best Buy Incident', the terrorist attack by Mark Glassner that made an entire store full of strangers fuck each other. Memory of that huge cock filling my snatch, driving my pussy to new plateaus of pleasure spilled into my mind, remanding me just how inadequate my husband's cock had become.
My husband rolled off me and I sighed; I was so horny. Ever since we were caught in the orgy, I could not stop thinking about the stranger's cock. I spent the entire orgy fucking him. Sometimes I would be sucking on my husband's cock, or watching Marshal fuck another woman, but the stranger's cock was in me the entire time, staying hard, stretching my pussy. I felt almost virginal when he was in me.
Now Marshal's cock just wasn't satisfying, no matter what positions we tried, or how much foreplay we used. I burned with desire for that dick; it filled every waking moment of my life. I needed to find that stranger; I needed to feel his shaft inside me once again. I was a ball of frustration, and the slightest object could set me off: a banana, or any other phallic food really; sliding a key into a lock; plugging in an electrical cord into a socket. Last time I vacuumed, I tried out the sucking attachment on my snatch, sticking it right on top of my clit, and I might have cum if Marshal didn't interrupt me. At any moment my cunt would get sopping wet, that desperate ache to cum would fill me, and only the stranger's cock could really satisfy me.
I needed an earth-shattering cum soon, or I would go mad.
I loved my husband dearly. I never thought I would cheat on him, but this burning ache in my loins just would not go away. There was no way I could sleep without some satisfaction—I felt like I was going to explode. Marshal was already asleep, snoring softly, so I quietly opened my nightstand drawer, and pulled out my new vibrator, slipping off to the bathroom.
The humming vibration on my clit felt magical. I closed my eyes, picturing the perfect cock—how it felt filling up my pussy, stretching me to the breaking point. I remembered riding the man, his brown eyes staring up at me; two watery orbs centered in a squat, ugly face. But his cock! God, I needed it badly.
I slipped my vibrator up inside me, the plastic buzzing away, churning my insides and I quivered on the toilet seat. It was wider than my husband's; I bought it last week, hoping the girth would help with my obsession. At the very least I hoped I could get an orgasm out of it. While I've cum with the – small quakes that just make life bearable – it never leaves me satisfied.
Damn Mark Glassner, and damn the authorities for letting the monster roam free! Mark was in the news more and more. When I saw Carlos Gutierrez’s damning report on Mark Glassner and police corruption Monday night, I had been furious, screaming at the TV. The bastard had the FBI agents and SWAT in his pocket, bribing them with sex. He seemed untouchable. All I wanted was to go back to the way things were before I walked into that fucking Best Buy! I was happy with my marriage, satisfied with my husband's cock. It wasn't fucking fair!
I furiously pumped the vibrator in and out of my pussy. I needed to cum, badly. I needed the stranger's dick in me! Marshal's cock felt just good enough to get me going. Just not good enough to get me off anymore. My cum was nearing, I closed my eyes, imagining the stranger was pumping into me, that delicious shaft rubbing through my tight cunt. I bit my lip, stifling my moan as that delicious shudder rolled through my body and left me shaking.
The edge was gone, I could sleep. But his cock still filled my mind as I laid my head down on my pillow.
I glanced at my husband's sleeping form and wished it was him. I almost cried. It just wasn't fair. Why couldn't I be obsessed with my husband's cock? Why did my body want to drive me crazy? Sleep was long in coming, and I had to slip off to the bathroom two more times with my vibrator before I finally passed out in exhaustion.
Morning arrived far too soon.
My eyes were fuzzy, my mind barely functioning, as I stumbled through the morning routine: I start the coffee while Marshal took his shower, then I'd take my shower as Marshal cooked breakfast. He was a far better cook than I ever was, and secure enough in his masculinity to not care about that. I loved him for it. Why couldn't I also lust after him?
Today was the third week since the Incident, as the media dubbed the orgy, happened. A few of the victims had organized a support group, and the first meeting was tonight at the Eagles Lodge in downtown Puyallup. I was excited to go.
I hoped the stranger would be there; if he showed up, I knew I was going to cheat on my husband. I needed to feel that cock inside me. It was all I could think of at work. I dropped a pen into my pen-cup, my pussy got wet; I poured cream into my coffee, white like his cum; I popped a quarter into the vending machine, into that slot, picturing his cock pushing into my tight slot. I spent my lunch in the woman's bathroom with my vibrator.
Finally exhaustion outweighed lust, and I fell asleep on my desk around two o'clock, and that got me chewed out by my boss. The asshole didn't bother to tell me I had a post-it note stuck to my cheek until a coworker ripped it off. I was mortified, walking around the office for thirty minutes without even realizing it.
This had to end. I had to fuck the stranger again for my sanity's sake. I only hoped my marriage could be salvaged afterwards.
When I got home, I showered right away, applied some makeup, a little more than I would wear to work, and found a cute dress. Not too fancy, but a navy-blue wrap-around that showed off my cleavage nicely. I checked myself in the mirror: my bleached-blonde hair fell in a mass of loose curls about my shoulders, the red-highlights making my hair pop; my lips were cherry red, and very kissable; and my deep brown eyes could make any man weak in the knees.
“You look gorgeous, Veronica,” Marshal said, then gave me a wolf whistle. Guilt stabbed through me; I dressed up for my nameless lover, not my husband, but that itch in my pussy was drowning out my guilt. On the drive over, my husband kept glancing at my thighs. The skirt had ridden up and Marshal was a leg man. Normally I loved it when my husband lusted after me, but it was a different man I desired tonight.
We arrived at the Eagle's Lodge, found a place to park, and walked inside. A cute, bubbly blonde stood at the front door. She wore a tight halter-top that left her midriff bare, and a pair of very tight blue-jeans. I noticed my husband's eyes roam her inviting figure; I could hardly be jealous since I was planning on doing far more than looking tonight. Standing next to the girl was a pimply faced young man in a dress shirt and slacks. She was vaguely familiar; I think she was the Best Buy employee bent over the Geek Squad counter that all the guys fucked. The guy handed me a business card, while the girl handed one to my husband.
Divine Escorts – The prettiest girls to keep you satisfied.
Kevin Mattock (253) 555-6812
Director of Customer Service, Owner
Jessie Smith (253) 555-7343
Premier Escort, Owner
“The same satisfaction I gave you,” Jessie, the blonde, giggled when she handed the card to my husband, who flushed and looked guilty; my husband must have been one of the many guys that fucked her during the orgy. Once inside, Marshal made a big show of throwing the card away.
The group was meeting in a hall at the back of the lodge, a faded, orange carpet covered the floor, and ugly wood paneling adorned the walls. Chairs had been set up in rows facing a podium with a small microphone on a bendy, metal arm; a small table with punch and chips sat in the corner. We weren't the first to arrive; a Muslim girl, modestly dressed with a colorful headscarf hiding her hair, pointedly avoided looking at a brunette who stood next to her, talking quietly and urgently to her.
As seven o'clock drew near, more people arrived. I wasn't even the most over-dressed. One blonde with huge tits wore a black party dress that she was almost falling out of, and immediately started chatting with a few guys in the corner, who were all drooling over her like a pack of dogs. The other woman wore a slinky red dress; like me she was a bleached blonde, and was escorted in by a rather fit-looking man. The woman kissed her escort, and then walked off and started flirting outrageously with a black guy. The fit man just grinned as he watched her.
“Is that your wife?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Yeah.” He held out his hand. “I'm Bill, and that's Erin.”
“She's, um, very friendly,” Marshal added.
Bill grinned, “You have no idea.”
I didn't hear what was said next because the stranger walked in. My pussy instantly became drenched at the sight of my obsession; I must be soaking through my panties. I ignored his squat, ugly face; my eyes fixed on his crotch. His cock was in there, trapped beneath his pants and underwear. I needed to go to him, kneel, and worship his glorious dick with my mouth; then with my cunt.
I was about to walk to him when Marshal nudged me and I snapped out of my daze. I turned to my husband. “Let's sit down,” he suggested.
I nodded, my cheeks burning with lust.
“You okay, Veronica?” he asked.
“Yeah, just thirsty.”
“Be right back.” He kissed me on the cheek. What a sweet husband I had. The guilt rose up; the lust battered it down.
The punch was too sweet, but it was cold, and helped to cool the desire burning inside me. A man named Oscar started the meeting; he was the manager of the Best Buy, and he began by telling his story. It was like one of those AA meetings, confessing what we did to the only people that could understand how unnaturally we all acted that day.
I was too focused on staring at him to pay much attention. Next, Jessie Smith spoke. It really was just a pitch for her “escort” business. She was followed by a brunette named Lucy McKay, who gave a passionate speech about how special to her a certain Muslim girl was, how she felt this connection with her as they made love that day. She didn't get to finish; the Muslim girl fled the room and the brunette followed after.
My husband was listening with rapt attention, I realized, and a nasty thought formed in my mind. My obsession had gotten up, presumably to use the restroom. I knew my husband; he might not notice that I was missing for a while. I bit my lip; my pussy ached to feel that cock again.
Walking back to the men's room, part of me protested—throwing up memories of the last seven years. How Marshal and I met in college, how sweet and romantic he was, the time he drove twelve hours straight to San Francisco when I broke my leg attending a business conference, our five wonderful years of marriage. That damned itch in my pussy drowned out all of that; getting fucked by my obsession was the only thing that mattered to me anymore.
I reached for the men's room door, reaching for it, when it swung open, and the stranger stood before me. His watery eyes lit up when he saw me. My passions exploded, and I just threw my arms around his neck, kissing him. He stiffened in surprise, then relaxed and started kissing me back. I pushed him through the bathroom door, attacking him, pouncing on him like a hunting cat on her prey.
I needed that cock in me so bad. I pulled him into the middle of the three stalls. I bent over the toilet, resting my elbows on the tank, and waggled my ass at him. He needed no encouragement, and just pulled up my skirt. I wore a pair of see through, black panties, and I gasped as he roughly pulled them down.
The bathroom door banged open and a woman laughed. “I need you to fuck me, stud,” she cooed.
“What about your husband, Erin?” the guy asked.
“I want to fuck you, not him,” Erin moaned. “Hurry, in here.”
They entered the last stall, kissing and moaning. I turned back and looked at my obsession, at his hard cock sticking out. “Stick it in,” I hissed. “I need it so bad!”
I felt him rub his cock on my nether lips, the anticipation killing me. Please God, just fuck me already! The head of his cock found my wet hole, just starting to push in, when the bathroom door opened and another man and woman stumbled in kissing and moaning. He froze again.
“Seriously,” I whispered, and gave a hiss of frustration.
The new couple got into the first stall, and the woman moaned like a banshee as the man just pounded away at her cunt. God, I wished my obsession would fuck me hard like that. Marshal would never have frozen in this situation; he once fucked me in the bathroom at a Seahawk's game, not caring that the restroom was full of guys. Well, if he wouldn't fuck me, I'd take care of business. I shoved my hips back and drove his cock into me. It was long, hard, filling me up.
And it was such a huge disappointment.
It was like Christmas, grabbing grandma's present, tearing open the wrapping paper, fumbling with far too much tape, and finding a pair of socks. Not any of the pretty clothes you asked for, but a pair of ugly, badly knitted socks.
This is what I've been obsessing over? This average dick. He may have been a little longer than my husband, a tiniest bit wider, but not much bigger. Fuck, the vibrator I bought was bigger! The guy started fucking me; it was alright, like when my husband fucked me these days. No, my husband knew how to fuck me, how to hit the spots that made me purr. He just pounded away, not caring about my pleasure, and grunting like a pig every time he bottomed out in me.
God, this was a mistake. I was cheating on my husband and not even enjoying it. In the stalls on either side of us, the women sounded like they were getting the greatest sex of their lives, moaning like banshees. My excitement melted away, this was so wrong. I shouldn't be doing this.
“Fuck me! Oh, fuck me hard! Umm, your cock is filling me up, stud!” Erin screamed. “I'm going to explode! Oh fuck, harder! Yes, yes, yes! I'm coming. I'm coming, Bill! I'm coming in the last stall!”
God, I wish I could cum like that, but my obsession wasn't hitting any of the right spots inside me. I slipped my finger down to start frigging my clit, rubbing my little button was going to be the only way I was getting off.
My obsession froze when the bathroom door crashed open. God, please don't stop fucking me! I just wanted him to finish so I could forget about the entire incident, go back to my husband, and pretend this never happened.
“Where the fuck is my wife!” a man roared.
“Oh, shit!” Erin said, very loudly. “My husband's crazy! He nearly killed the last guy he caught me with!”
“What?” the guy fucking Erin gasped. There was the sound of pants pulling up, a belt being buckled. The stall door opened and the guy fucking Erin made a panicked run for it.
Erin laughed richly. “You scared the shit out of him, Bill. Now get in here and give me a good fucking!” There was a wet, squelching sound and Erin let out a throaty moan. “That's the cock I love. It makes me so hot when you're all jealous, Bill!”
God, why was I even letting this guy fuck me? Why was I even obsessed with his cock?
In the first stall, the third couple was pounding away, the woman gasping, “Cum in me, stud! Umm, I can't wait until my wife eats your cum out of my pussy!”
Was everyone at this meeting a sexual deviant? Is this what Mark Glassner did to us? I didn't feel horny any more, I just felt dirty. I stood up, his cock popping out of my pussy, and I started pulling my panties up.
“What the hell?” the stranger demanded.
“This was a mistake,” I told him.
“Like hell it is, cunt! You get me all hot and bothered, then try and leave me with a case of blue balls! You fucking finish what you started, whore!”
He pushed me up against the stall. “No, stop!” I cried out. He was trying to force my thighs apart. “Someone, help me!” There were four other people in the bathroom. Someone would help me. He forced himself between my thighs, his hard cock searching for the entrance to my pussy. “Please!” I sobbed.
The stall door burst open and Marshal was there, fury in his eyes. I had never seen him like that, ever. He grabbed my obsession, my rapist, and hauled him out, throwing him hard against the sinks. My obsession struggled to keep his feet, as my husband balled up his fist and slammed it into the guy's face. He fell to the floor and my husband kicked him in the balls.
I was sobbing as Marshal led me out of the bathroom and out a back door. It was cooling off outside, the sun just disappearing behind the building. In tears, I confessed to my husband what happened. How I couldn't stop thinking about the guy; that I was so horny for him I was willing to cheat on my marriage just to get some satisfaction.
Marshal didn't say a word until I finished, and then he just said, “Let's go home.”
He wasn't angry, disappointed, heartbroken. He wasn't anything, just calm emptiness. Did he not care enough about me to even feel disgust? Did he hate me that much? A pit grew in my stomach, swallowing more and more of my calm, as we drove home in silence. When we pulled into our garage, I turned to my husband. “Please say something. Anything. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's come over me.”
He stroked my face and said two words: “Mark Glassner.”
I froze; it was all Mark Glassner's fault. My husband was right. None of this would ever have happened if my brain and body didn't get screwed up by that asshole. I started sobbing in relief; Marshal wasn't angry with me. He picked me up, carrying me into the house and up our stairs, gently setting me down on the bed. How could I be so lucky to have such a great, supporting husband? Why did I ever want to cheat on him, to hurt him?
He kissed my lips, gently, his hands sliding down my dress to give my breast a gentle squeeze. Then he slipped his hand in, and I sighed into his lips as I enjoyed the feel of rough callous on hard nipples. Lust was stirring in my loins; for the first time in three weeks, my husband was making me horny. Why now? Then it struck me like a bullet, Marshal's cock was almost as big as my obsession's, and, unlike my would-be rapist, my husband knew how to use it. My perceptions had been skewed by that day, only fixed when that asshole stuck his cock in me.
Marshal reached behind my neck, untieing the string that held my dress up, exposing my round breasts to his hungry gaze. He knelt down and sucked a hard nipple into his lips. The pleasure surged through my body, ending in the pressure growing in my womb. He kissed down my body, pushing my dress down, leaving me in only my black panties.
My husband gently pulled them off, running his finger through the soft down of brown hair that surrounded my pussy. I was soaking wet, my pussy aching for his cock. I needed him inside me. I burned for it.
“Fuck me, Sir,” I gasped. “I need you inside me so badly!”
Marshal crawled up my body and my hand fumbled at his belt. I needed to free his cock. His shaft was hard, the head a dark purple and leaking pre-cum. He kissed with heat as I guided his dick to my aching hole. It nudged my pussy lips, then he was inside me, and it felt earth-shattering! Marshal's hazel eyes stared down into mine as he began to slowly make love to me. Joy blossomed inside me; my husband loved me, how could I have ever wanted to throw this feeling away?
“I'm so sorry,” I whispered, tears starting to roll down my cheeks.
“Shh.” He kissed my tears, still thrusting gently into me, stirring my passion. “There's nothing to forgive. We both had to struggle with what happened to us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I went back to the Best Buy, the first week it reopened.” There were tears brimming in his eyes. “I fucked that Jessie girl in the bathroom. She walked up to me and started flirting with me andI couldn't help myself. I remembered all the guys taking turns with her, and I wished I had stuck my dick in her too. And there she was, wearing a shirt that was two size too small, her nipples pointing right at me through her shirt, blinding me to anything else like a pair of high beams. I was weak, helpless. Can you forgive me?”
I hugged my husband, wiped away his tear and kissed him on the lips. “There's nothing to forgive, Sir.”
We started pumping our hips, striving to give each other pleasure. His cock hit all the nice places inside me, and his every thrust bringing me closer and closer to exploding. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him in harder, urging my husband to go faster.
“You feel so silky,” he moaned in my ear. “I love you, Veronica!”
“Oh yes, oh yes!” I gasped as my orgasm exploded through me, a massive quake of pleasure, leveling thoughts as it rolled through my body. I finally got my earth-shattering release, and he kept fucking me, triggering aftershocks. “I love you!” I gasped, as waves of passion flowed through me.
He grunted wordlessly, slamming his wonderful cock into me. His semen spilled inside me, warm and sticky. Then he collapsed, his weight pressed on top of me, solid and comforting, and we kissed. He nuzzled my neck, and I happily fell asleep in my husband's arms.
I didn't dream once about my obsession.