7. Balloon Animals and Cuckholds

Most men would probably have an issue with fucking another man's wife right in front of him. I'm not like most men. I wasn't born with my sickness. It was acquired. This has given me the unique ability to recognize a seedy individual when I see one.

"You're so fucking tight around my cock. Is that because your husband has a small dick and hasn't stretched you out like the whore you are?" I sneer down at the busty brunette under me, then glance at her husband sitting on an office chair. He's completely unaffected by my comment.

This pretentious fuck is sucking the fun out of this for me. He's an old white guy who used to be rich and pretends he still is. Pretense is everything. Even when it comes to whoring out his wife for her own birth control pills. For some reason, his copay from his shitty insurance pays hardly anything for prescriptions, leaving him a bill of over a grand every three months. After looking through his wife's chart and my brother's notes on their encounters, I knew there had to be more. I took my digging further and discovered everything about Mr. Pennington. If anyone deserves to be degraded, it's this bastard.

He's one of those fuckers that did a reverse Robin Hood, which sounds like a kinky sex position, of robbing the poor and giving to the rich. When it all caught up with him, he was financially destitute and barely able to avoid jail. He spent all his money on lawyers to accomplish that feat.

So that leads us to today… to why his trophy wife is laid out like a dissected frog in high school biology class on my desk. Why is she still with him? I don't know. I know it can't possibly be his dick size. He probably tells her any day now, they'll be back to living the highlife, eating rare, illegal lobsters while wearing the fur of babies from an almost extinct lemur and drinking the Queen of England's piss.

While my dick is stabbing his wife's cunt like a toothpick through an olive on top of the martini I desperately want, Mr. Pennington the third is sitting on an office chair licking his fucking lips as if he's saving this moment for his personal spank bank. Not exactly what I'm looking for with these encounters. I want to make them feel degraded and helpless. His beady eyes bore into me, and I'm losing my hard-on. I need a little…stimulant. I open the ring embossed with an ornate K on my pointer finger, made to look like a family crest. It's actually a poison ring where I keep my special blend of afternoon delight and sprinkle a line of it between the fake mound of her tits. It's a mixture of crushed Adderall and cocaine, and it's basically my soul mate. She's grinning, thrilled by the excitement and adventure of all this. Hell, maybe she wants some, too, but that's not happening. I flatten my tongue against her chest and lick up the line of exaltation. It's metallic and powdery as I let it settle on my tastebuds. I don't swallow it down right away. I make sure to swish it around, hitting all the blood vessels before it's ingested. The concoction immediately races through my veins, sending a rush of endorphins to my head and my cock. Yep, that's what I needed.

What I'm doing is dirty and completely wrong. My prey isn't supposed to enjoy this, not beg for more. I want them to feel like I'm taking advantage of them. I don't want them to walk away satisfied. The only thing I want them to walk away with is a new trauma to whine to their shrinks about.

If these fake fat cats think they're coming out on top with this one, they've got another thing coming.

"Have you been taking those new birth control pills?" I narrow my eyes, trying to meet the blue eyes of the receptacle socialite I'm stuffing my wanker into. However, my dick has her in a cock infused haze, but being a great fuck is my cross to bear.

His wife moans, and I quickly clamp my palm over her mouth. Fuck. I hope Sampson didn't hear that. I slap her giant, fake titty with my free hand, "Bitch, listen to me!" I stop thrusting into her designer pussy, and her eyes finally focus on mine. "Have you been taking that birth control I gave you last month?"

Not only do I know her financial background, I know her medical background as well. She's clean of STDs, that's why I'm able to raw dog this bitch. Plus, she has a condition that means a pregnancy would lead to death. Knowledge is power, and I'm about to exploit the shit out of it.

I pull my hand from her mouth, allowing her to speak. "Yes, baby. Just like you said." She bears her teeth and pulls on the lapels of my lab coat. "Now, fuck me harder with that huge dick."

Baby? Did she just call me baby? Oh, her downfall is going to be great.

My soon-to-be-achieved satisfaction pulls my lips into a huge grin. "Good," I rumble, then let myself enjoy getting my dick wet. I sneak a peek at her old flesh bag and the small tent in his pants.

He can enjoy the show for now, but he'll get what he deserves soon enough. They both will.

She's getting close, so I rub her clit, pushing her closer to the edge. Her mouth opens again, and I know she's going to scream, so I grab the testicle-shaped stress ball off my desk and jam it in her mouth. I slap her massive silicone breast again, and hard, red welts rise in the shape of my fingers. A spark of electricity shocks my spine, settling into a heavy weight in my lower back. I love seeing my marks on women. I use them as a canvas for my macabre art.

Her pussy begins to flutter, alerting me to her upcoming orgasm so I completely stop all my ministrations. No more thrusting or clit rubbing, but I keep my dick buried deep, giving her that small amount of satisfaction to keep her on the edge.

She lifts her head, removing the makeshift gag. Her brows knit in confusion as she glances down at the lack of movement in my hip and fingers. "Wha… what's going on, baby?"

What's with this baby shit?

Digging my digits into her pelvic bones, I drag her naked body down my desk. A loud squeak fills the silence, akin to fingernails on a chalkboard, as her sweat-dampened naked flesh slides against the wooden desktop. The noise loudly reverberates off the walls of my office, and I grind my teeth at the annoying sound. I position the chick, so her ass is slightly off the edge, then I lean over, caging her in with my forearms so she can't move. I jerk my hips forward in a powerful thrust, getting deeper inside that cunt. Then, I speak loud enough for her and her husband to hear.

"I checked your chart right before you came in."

Thrust.

"Turns out you're ovulating right now."

Thrust.

Her gaze is locked with mine as her mouth hangs open in a mix of pain, pleasure, and a hint of uncertainty. She's searching for that orgasm as she grinds that shaved pussy against me. Sadly for her, she's not going to discover anything I don't want her to. I continue, "That new brand of birth control pills I gave you last month…"

Thrust.

"...they were placebos."

"Placebos?" Confusion is ripe in Pennington's voice from across the room.

"Yes." Thrust. "They are fake." Thrust. "Sugar pills." Thrust.

Taking in the full meaning of what I just said, Big Tits's eyes go wide with realization. "I'm ovulating right now? And you're fucking me without a condom on?" Her voice peeks in a high-pitched screech at the end of her question.

My chuckle is low as I answer, "Yes." That tight point of pressure coiled in my abdomen sinks lower into my balls, releasing all that pent-up tension. I grunt, "Good thing, I love impregnating snooty bitches." Then, I land the final blow. And by blow, I mean I jizz inside of her as she squirms beneath me, trying to get away.

"This wasn't part of the deal!" Her husband's face reddens, and his thick hands ball up at his sides. Sweat rolls down his chubby cheeks, giving me exactly what I'm looking for.

Let's up the ante a little more.

"I wasn't having fun, so the deal changed." Her husband's eyes flick to mine, and his mouth slackens, displaying his full set of bright white dentures. With a tilt of my head, I ask, "Did you mistake me for an honorable man?" Then I snicker at his stupidity. Apparently, my question concerns him because he crosses the room, his faux rich man stank assaulting my nose.

Her horror, combined with his anger, is exactly what I need to curb the monster inside me. "I'll give her the morning-after pill." I keep my gaze on the face of the woman under me who's struggling to free herself from my baby batter injector. "Under one circumstance." It's then I drag my attention to the man. "Drop your tighty-whities and stick a finger in your ass."

He sputters, and the body beneath mine stills.

The pair stops breathing. The moment would almost be completely silent if there wasn't a fly buzzing in one of the fluorescent lights overhead. Any delight Mr. Pennington received from watching another man fuck his wife has completely vanished.

He chokes back his emotion by clearing his throat. "You want me to do what?" Intimidation vibrates through his limbs.

"I'll give her the morning-after pill to take care of any King Juniors swimming toward her fertile eggs. But here's the stipulation, buddy boy. If you get hard while your finger is up your ass, the only way you'll get that pill is if you show your face in the local, family-owned pharmacy." But that's not enough. He deserves physical pain along with mental anguish. With a bit of emphasis, I include, "And I'll twist your tiny cock into a balloon animal. Deal?"

I arch a brow, knowing that his little digit tapping against his prostate, he won't last five minutes. My hands twitch at the urge to inflict bodily harm upon this pompous fuck, but physical altercations aren't my style. His classist wife cranes her neck to look at her husband. Her shoulders shake with desperation to get away, but there's no way I'm letting that happen. Her tanned skin turns ashen from fear.

"Rudy?" His wife questions as my cock slowly deflates inside of her, my creamy concoction leaking out. She's probably out of her mind, thinking of all the possibilities that could go wrong. Her eyes focus on me again. They're glassy with unshed tears.

The old man sputters, "I…this…what? You can't do this!"

His wife sputters as well. "Rudy! Do… do as he says!" Letting go of the squishy nuts, she plants her palms on my shoulders as she attempts to push me away. When I don't budge, the sad desperation that consumed her expression turns to ire. "And you! Get out of me, you evil creature!" She gasps and increases her efforts to escape my depravity. Evil Creature is way better than Baby.

I breathe in the tension of the room. The animosity. The rage. It fuels me. Makes me feel alive. Palpable hostility charges the room. My dick twitches and hardens inside of her. It's not a bad recovery time for a forty-year-old.

The moment she realizes my dick is growing, the malevolence in the room thickens. I can almost take a bite out of it. Her whole body stills, and she pleads for me to stop behind tear-filled eyes and a trembling bottom lip. The look of absolute horror that washes over her face seals the deal, and once again, I'm rock-hard and ready to go.

Her tiny fists begin thundering against my chest. "Don't you dare! Rudy! Get him off of me! He's hard again!" She cries. Fuck she needs to shut her mouth. I fumble around briefly for that testicle and shove it back in her mouth.

He takes a step forward like he's going to do something. In response, I slam into her, my previous release getting shoved farther inside her. A muffled moan of pleasure leaks past the stress ball as she throws her head back.

Dammmmnnnn. A low groan settles in my chest as I examine Mrs. Pennington with heavy-lidded eyes. Her jaw slackens, and she loses the makeshift gag once again. It rolls off the desk with a soft plop onto the hardwood floor. Well, that's great. I can't count on her to slurp on the family jewels if she can't even hold fake ones in her mouth.

She catches me savoring this moment. Her eyes are like heat-seeking missiles that are locked onto mine. "You're a monster," she mouths.

I smile and give her a wink. "You have no idea, darlin'."

At her gasp, I let the power wash over me, pushing me into an addictive high. I jerk my hips into her hard. I am dominating this pussy. After several plunges, she can no longer stay silent. The groans, moans, and whimpers she"s trying to squash down only prove she's loving it. And she hates herself for doing so.

As she shoves her hands under my shirt, desperate to find flesh, she claws her long pink talons across my abs. There's a slight sting as she breaks skin, and I'm sure she's drawing blood, but I don't care. I'm going to stuff this bitch full of swimmers.

"Please… don't…" she gasps as I return my thumb to her clit. I think I'll finally reward her with that orgasm I denied earlier. As her core clenches and her flailing arms become less active, her husband speaks up.

"Now, son…" he starts, attempting to connect with me. His hand is mid-way to being placed on my shoulder to give it a squeeze like I'm one of his good boys.

"Son?" I snarl, cutting the fucker off. The thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. Good thing the only concession I make when fucking is to unzip my fly. I don't get naked. Being completely naked leaves you vulnerable, and that's one thing I never allow myself to be. I submerge myself deeper. Thrust faster. "I'm not your son. Would you let your son stick his dick in your wife's pussy? Let him come inside it?"

He takes a step back. My words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I didn't think so.

"Now, do as I say!" I demand on the verge of flooding his woman's womb again.

"Rudy, do something!" Her whining is no longer believable as she's trying to gyrate along with the motion of my thumb.

"You know," I say as I get an idea, "a woman's orgasm increases her chances of getting pregnant." Her bottom lip trembles as what I said sinks in, and my nuts tighten at her despair. She doesn't need to know that's only a theory. However, what's not a theory is if you push on a woman's lower abdomen, you are pushing on her bladder, which in turn pushes on her g-spot. This increases her chances of orgasm. So, that's what I do. There's an immediate response as her eyes roll back in her head.

I flick my eyes to Mr. Pennington's and see the indecision there before his fingers find their way under his beer belly to unclasp his belt buckle. I watch with rapt attention as his khakis and underwear fall around his expensive boat shoes. What a dolt. Does this office look like a boat? Or did he have plans afterward to meet Pdiddy on his yacht and go for a quick spin up the coast? It takes him no time to fully disrobe. He even removes his shirt, which I didn't even ask for. After getting situated, he bends over, utilizing the same desk I'm fucking his wife on.

"You'll give her the pill?" he asks cautiously.

"Do as I say, and she won't get pregnant," I respond.

Swallowing thickly, he nods and shoves a finger up his rectum. The little pink head of his cocktail weiner twitches, causing me to smirk. Just as I suspected. Shit, I should have thought this through because now I have to watch this guy's dick. The things I do for my love of balloon animal artistry. Too bad I don't think I'll have much material to work with.

Titty McGee's climax is nearing, and her cries are getting louder. Damn, I wish that fucking testicle was still shoved into her mouth. I lean over her, her body that's taut from being contorted in this awkward angle.

Getting close to her ear, I spit, "Shut the fuck up, or I'll wrap my hands around your pretty neck and strangle you until you're nothing but a sack of meat hanging from my cock."

I pull back slightly and watch the kinky bitch bite her lip. I'm inclined to believe she enjoyed that comment by the way her walls begin to squeeze around my cock. The pressure in my lower spine is more intense than before. With the promise of violence on the horizon, I come, filling her up a second time. Her body becomes rigid as adrenaline courses through her. Mine does the same. The waves of euphoria take over as I surf the high, my vision turning white for a moment.

"I know you aren't doing this shit again," Sampson hollers from the threshold of my office doorway, waggling a finger at me.

When did that fucking door open? I grind my teeth, drawing in a breath to try and calm myself. The Penningtons freeze at the intrusion, aware of their display. Rudy with a finger in his ass, pants around his ankles, and me buried to the hilt in his wife. We are a sight to behold, a perverted comedy show. Sampson doesn't find anything about this situation amusing. No, his eyes are slits as they narrow in on us, but I don't miss how his eyes snag for a moment on Mounts Titsmore. It's eerily silent to the point everyone can hear Mrs. Pennington's vagina squelching as I remove my now twice-exhausted dick, then I yank up the zipper on my slacks. The sound is like a gunshot going off in the room with how everyone jumps but me. I poke my bottom lip out slightly, and I'm damn near sulking like a cat that lost its mouse. I'm not upset per se. I'm more annoyed with the fact I have to deal with Sampson's judgment. Again.

Nope, this isn't the first time he's caught me dick-deep in a patient. And it probably won't be the last. Sampson's face is beet red, a shade darker than the ruby red it was last time he caught me being a patient fornicator. His nostrils flare. I don't think I've ever seen him this angry. Sampson takes a step forward, and his foot must have found my stress ball because a flesh-toned nut skitters across the room. There's my makeshift gag.

A metal-on-metal clanking sound and clothing rustles from the general direction of where Rudy is standing. He's grumbling, muttering under his breath, but my full attention is on Sampson. He has his hands on his hips and his head down like a disappointed father scolding his child.

Who does he think he is? My daddy? If he's looking for respect, pretending to be a jackass isn't the way to go. I'm not a child and don't need to be chastised like one. Is this what my brother dealt with daily? No wonder he had a stick shoved up his ass. His stance causes a fury to burn hot behind my ribs. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out on showing Sampson Simmons precisely who I am. He's so arrogant he uses his first name on this building. I know the fear I'll make blossom in his pupils will be satisfying.

Rudy trudges beside me, his lips drawn back in a snarl. "We'll be in touch soon."

His wife's actions tell me she wants to stay with me. She lingers, taking her time strolling past. By her expression, I can see she's rebelling against the idea of exiting without her pill and leaving her possible demise in Rudy's hands. I wouldn't want my life in his hands either. What she doesn't realize is I would kill her, too. When she reaches the door frame, she glances over her shoulder with round eyes filled with anguish.

"Susan!" Rudy roars like a dog owner, pointing to the space beside him, waiting for his bitch to heel. Huh, her name is Susan… I think I like Titty McGee more.

Mr. Pennington wears self-confidence like a cape. I assume he doesn't want to seem weak or that he wasn't in control of the situation in front of Sampson. Doesn't he realize Sampson probably thought he wanted his finger up his own ass? Once the Penningtons are gone, Sampson steps inside, closing the door behind him. His nose wrinkles in disapproval. "It reeks of sex in here."

I take a loud, obnoxious sniff. "Smells like regret and desperation to me."

Sampson holds up his hand, motioning for me to stop. "I know the divorce with Michelle has been hard on you, but you're starting to act like your no-good brother." He huffs, exasperation obvious in the way his shoulders droop. There's a beat of silence before his chest expands again with renewed anger. With legs planted wide, he proceeds to chew me out. "If you do anything, and I mean anything like this again, King..." His threat lingers like exhaled water vapor in the air on a cold winter's day.

Spittle is shining on his chin, and his lips are pressed together in a hard line. His expression reminds me of an English bulldog, especially the way the deep wrinkles around his mouth stand out. Whether stress has taken a toll on him or my eyesight's a little blurry due to the fifth of Jack I chugged right before the Penningtons came in. Sampson shakes his head at me with distaste. I'm assuming it's from the big whiff of liquor on my breath because his nostrils flare even bigger.

Although Sampson and I have known each other since childhood, he's always been my brother's friend. With me, we were more like acquaintances. He knows the father who raised us. That relationship garnered me Sampson's pity, and I hate it. His pity has been a burden I've had to carry my whole life. The load was heavy, and the strings attached were oppressive.

That is until I lost my job. I rejected his sympathy as much as that bitch wanted to reject my baby batter. The only thing he had left for me was loathing at how I lived my life. Without Sampson knowing, I've taken on my brother's position, invading his and Sampson's practice seamlessly. Now, he has no choice but to care because he thinks I'm Jeremy. I took over Sampson's best friend's life, and I'm just biding my time until I can extend the same courtesy to Sampson that I afforded Jeremy.

While he and Jeremy went into gynecology, I chose neurosurgery. I did it to make a difference, to save lives, and to do some good in the world.

Ha! Who am I kidding?I did it for prestige, power, money, and drugs.

Did I mention drugs?

Everything in my life was going great. I got out of medical school with my handy dandy diploma and bid a fare-fucking-well to my residency in the ER and went where the money was. Well, the real money is in fake lips, titties, and asses, but plastic surgeons are the red-headed stepchildren of the medical field. They get all the money but none of the respect. And respect is what I craved.

Also, did I mention the drugs?

Ketamine on the streets pays a pretty penny and affords a lot of favors. My palms were greased by the highest and most powerful people in the underworld. My life was great for a few fantastic years. Until it wasn't.

I was kicked out of my practice and put on the Medical Board of Directors' no-hire list. They claimed I was botching the surgeries. Which wasn't true. I would never mess up in surgery. Sure, I may have dabbled daily in my delights of coke and ketamine with a scotch chaser, but my skills were always superb.

Perhaps the reason for my forced departure was the issue of me borrowing drugs from the hospital, but they couldn't take my license for that. All they'd be able to do is send me to rehab then they would have had to deal with my sour ass again in a few short months.

"King," Sampson says, exasperated.

I blink at him a few times. My brain reels in from the past and gains speed on the present. I should at least pretend to give a shit about Jeremy's job.

"Just please, get your shit together. I don't want to lose this practice, and if you keep screwing the clients, the board will be on my ass. Can you please, just…" He runs his hand through his graying, dark brown hair. "I know you have some shit to work through but take this hobby of yours outside of the office."

I traipse over to him, clap my cum-covered hand on the shoulder, and give him a little squeeze for reassurance. Probably a little too hard. My hatred for him spills over into my grip, and he winces. "Yeah, man. Whatever you say."

He takes a step back, swatting my hand away. I wonder if he smells the whore that's now tainting his white coat. "No, I'm serious this time. Friendship or not. If it happens again, you're gone."

His eyes meet mine, moving back and forth as if to find the truth hidden deep within my brain. I'm not actually his long-time best friend. I'm the twin that killed his long-time best friend. Thankfully, he finds nothing there, and that small inquisitive light in his eyes dies.

He drops his gaze, and the lines on his forehead ease ever-so-slightly. With his hand on the knob, he whispers, "You don't want to end up like that deadbeat brother of yours."

And that's it. All the goodness in his heart is dried up like the desert, and I, the sun, who drained him dry. He exits, slamming the door behind himself. I'm left standing in the middle of my office with a dick that's exhausted and hands that are eager to pursue more damage. I'll have to wash them first, of course. I am a little disappointed that I wasn't able to make a little puppy dog dick balloon animal.

Oh well, Time for another drink. I open my desk drawer, pulling out a heavy crystal tumbler and my bottle of jack.

"Just you wait, Sampson," I whisper to myself, and my lip lifts in a half-grin before I guzzle down the amber liquid. Only because I'm out of my favorite concoction, but that will be taken care of once the day is done. I have to go pick up my own prescriptions and meet with Archie.

When it comes to the Penningtons, though, I'll let them stew in anxiety and worry over the potential of dying in childbirth and the financial strain of bringing a tiny human into their broke world. My chest shakes with a suppressed laugh.

I shoot blanks.