Hello guest! (Level: guest) Log in

You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?

[ default ] [ 10% ] [ 20% ] [ 30% ] [ 40% ] [ 50% ] [ 60% ] [ 70% ] [ 80% ] [ 90% ] [ 100% ]

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version  |  Mark story  |  Mark author

Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!

Reltney McFee has been interviewed! Click here to read interview.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Another friend from high school, also attending our college, put me up for a couple of weeks, until I could arrange other living accommodations. I still owe him for that breathing room.

Being college students, we had next to no assets, benevolent fate had NOT given us children, so the divorce was (relatively) painless and (relatively) uncomplicated.

Fortunately (for some values of "fortunately"), Annie's Great Reveal had occurred near the end of the semester. Higher powers alone know how I passed my finals, but I did. By the time school resumed in August, I had managed to develop enough of a callous over the metaphorical scars in my heart, that I could focus and successfully finish my degree, write my boards, and successfully get licensed, and get to work.

Eventually, I met a woman, we dated, and I brought her home one evening. Emily Luce saw the wedding photo of Annie and me (Crom alone knows why I had it up on my wall!), and commented on how flattering it was, how handsome I looked, and how sweet, youthful and innocent my ex-bride appeared.

I laughed, and scoffed. "Thank you for your compliment, but I am merely average in looks. As for my ex, that photo does not do her justice. It conceals her inner decay, does not reveal how shallow and self centered she is. But, then, how could a picture reveal a persons awful personality? If it could lay that sort of thing bare, who among us would ever allow anyone to take a photograph of us?"

My friend looked at me, appraisingly, for a minute. I, of course, went to Basic Guy Response Number One: "What?"

She looked at the image, and back at me. "Suppose that picture could reveal all her awfulness? Suppose, in revealing that awfulness, you yourself could be, and appear, righteous and noble? Suppose it could reveal her inner ugliness, and allow you to delay your own body's deterioration?"

Cue Guy Response One, again. "What? What are you talking about? That sounds like some old play or short story or something! How are you going to make some O. Henry story real in the 21st century?"

She smiled at me, sweetly, and corrected me. "First of all, it was Oscar Wilde, not O. Henry, who wrote the story. Secondly, it isn't 21st century engineering that makes this work possible, it's old timey black magic. My uncle was my grandmother's oldest son, and she was an old school Louisiana enchantress, schooled in the old ways, in the black, and white, arts. She taught him everything, and, well, Uncle owes me a favor or two. Would you like me to call him up?"

I needed some time to consider this. It had been a few years since the divorce, and while I felt pretty alright, well, it still hurt. My protestations of righteousness aside, I was still bitter towards her and her betrayal.

"Let me give that some thought. In the meantime, may I show you my etchings?"

Her musical laughter filled the place. "Etchings? Really? Do you have any other cliches to inflict upon me, in what I can only assume is a failed attempt to smoothly seduce me?"

I affected a hurt expression. "Failed? Cliches? I am hurt! That is my best line, and you have seen through it without a seconds hesitation! How can you possibly resist my masculine wiles?"

She laughed, again. "Who said I was going to resist your wiles? I simply let you know that your attempt to seduce me was going to fail, because I had already decided that you did not have to seduce me, I was going to fuck your socks off tonight! Now that you have let me into your home, you are defenseless before me! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!"

I smiled back at her. "Well, since my fate is sealed, perhaps it would be helpful in furtherance of your evil plan, if you knew where it is that I keep my socks, that are about to be fucked off of me. If you would be so kind as to follow me?"

Emily followed me up the stairs.

We turned into my bedroom, and I thanked The Merciful Deity that I had policed up my laundry (although it was still awaiting my attention in the hamper in the laundry room), and had made my bed. I released Emily's hand, and stepped over to my dresser.

"Here, fair lady, is my sock drawer. Simply so that, in your quest to fuck my socks off, you know where to begin! I thought I would try to make it easy for you!"

She held my gaze, and everted her blouse over her head, tossing it towards my chair. Her bra shortly followed, and she shook her hair loose, which had entertaining effects upon her firm bosom.

She struck a pose, and smiled at me.

I, of course, admired her figure: firm breasts, looking like just more than a handful. Hard nipples protruding, swell of her hips, flat stomach disappearing into her jeans. She spoke.

"Sweetie, the only thing ‘easy' about this evening, is going to be you."

As if to illustrate her mesmerizing effect upon me, she shimmied. My gaze followed her breasts, as a cat follows a laser pointer. Once she was still again, she laughed.

"You should see the look of hunger you have! If I can get your dick as hard as your stare is, you will be showing me a very, very good time!"

She released her jeans' button, and wriggled them off her hips, one foot, then the other. Since she had worn tight jeans, her panties came of along with them, and the entire mess wound up on the floor. She kicked everything in the general direction of her other clothes, and then stood there, looking at me. I was immobilized by her beauty, my eyes following the sway of her breasts as she settled each foot back on the floor.

"Hmm...were you planning on joining me in this party? It appears that your costume is all wrong!"

"Be right with you!", was my reply, as my own clothing joined the pile.

I admired her taut butt, as she bent to turn down the covers.

She stood, and turned to face me. Glancing towards my groin, she smiled.

"So, you *have* decided to join my party! Do you want to begin with a tour of my pleasure centers, or would you rather get some head first, and then return the favor?"

"Sweetie, if you go first, from how hot you look, and how hard my cock is right now, I do not know that I can show you the good time you deserve, once you have reduced me to a puddle of male release. How about I do you first, then you can take your turn with me?"

Emily hopped back onto the bed, scooted towards the center. Her legs opened, and she smiled at me. Her swollen sex glistened with her arousal.

"So, sailor, where would you like to begin?"

I crawled up next to her, kissed her, and then revealed my plan.

"I do think that some kissing would be a good first step," and I kissed her: a probing, wet, searching kiss.

"And then, I want to inspect your lovely breasts more closely!"

And I leaned over, kissing, then licking, one breast then the other. Then I started to suckle on one breast, then the other, then the first, her nipples erect, her breaths became short and quick, and her fingers scrabbled for purchase in my short cropped hair.

My fingers toured her curves, caressing the unoccupied breast, finally drifting southward, coming to rest adjacent to her sex. I caressed her labia, tickled her joy button briefly, then curved my fingers, introducing first one, then a second, then a third into her hot oily sheath.

She purred her approval of that maneuver.

I withdrew, and my fingers again entered her sex grotto. I repeated that motion, extending my thumb to brush her clitoris with each movement.

She like that, as well.

Shortly, she pushed my hand away, and murmured her demand: "Fuck me! Fuck me! Enough fingers, give me your cock!"

Alrighty, then!

I shuffled over, lined up my prod with her quim, and eased my way in. My throbbing cock was enveloped in her steaming sex oils, her secret muscles rippling along my shaft. It was delightful.

Emily reached up, drawing me to her, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and neck. Her breasts crushed against me, she whimpered, and whispered, "Fuck me!"

Great plan. I lingered at full penetration for moments, then eased my dick almost from her sheath. I returned to her depths, simmering in her hot juices. In, out, in, out. I stroked into her pleasure center, and she panted her approval.

It occurred to me that changing up our position might enhance her pleasure, so I raised myself, still joined at our sex, and reached beneath her knees. I grasped her elbows, and, my "angle of attack" now changed, began again to stroke my love piston in and out of her.

She moaned her approval. "Yeah, that's nice! Now, just a bit harder! Yeah, fuck me! Do it! Fill me! I want it all! Give it to me!"

Her sex muscles grasped my prick firmly, her cunt honey was lubricating my strokes, and she was evidently panting her way to her completion. I opened my eyes, and her breasts cyclic movement back and forth in cadence with my penetrations of her core captured my attention.

Her throat was becoming flushed, and the tops of her breasts were as well. Emily's eyes were wide, and she looked at me as if I held the key to her sanity.

I accelerated my pace, fucking her as I began to reach for my own climax.

Emily began to moan, inspiring my efforts. She called my name, begging me to finish her, to fill her.

"Ooh, Bob! I'm almost there! Fuck me! Fill me! I want it all! Pour it all out inside me! Hmm, give me your baby! Knock me up! Oooh, I want it! Finish me off!"

I myself was approaching liftoff, my balls tightening, my dick tingling, every nerve taut, my focus narrowing to a small circle, Emily's lust filled face, and surrounding it only my own pleasure, dark red and contracting, nothing else existing except my looming climax, the storm front of ejaculation that was just about to rampage down my vas deferens, past my prostate, barreling down my urethra there to inundate her vagina, her ovaries.

And, it arrived. Nothing existed except for the pleasure streaming out of my cock. Faintly, as if in the distance, Emily's cries of climax existed at the edge of my consciousness. My dick felt her contractions, as her pussy attempted to caress every life giving spermatozoon from me.

We existed in that state, together, for I do not know how long. It felt like a healthy slice of forever, but, of course, it was not. All too soon, we came back to here and now, and I fell to my side, rolling her over as well.

Her hand sought out, and entwined with my own. She turned her head, "whoof!'-ed a strand of hair from her eyes, and smiled at me.

"I do not know who fucked whose socks off, but, gotta say, that was some gooood! Nookie!

A few days later, Emily sent me a text, with a phone number. "Give my uncle a call. He's interested in helping you!"

I called, and the number had a name, Andy Boudreaux, associated with it. We agreed to meet for lunch.

His booming voice had not been an artifact of the phone. He was sparkling with vitality, and bade me sit. We chatted for a while, eating, until he pushed his plate away, and asked me what his niece had been talking about.

I told him about the photograph, and how, in hindsight, it had been a deceitful sham. He winced when I told him about Annie's "change of career plans", so to speak.

When my narration of woe had run out, he looked pensive for a moment, and then asked me, "Are you out for revenge? Or do you simply wish that you had known, then, what you know now?"

That required some thought.

So, I thought, a while.

"Andy, I'm not sure. If I knew then, what I know now, would I even have married her? And, as regards revenge, what does that even mean? How does that change my life for the better? What sort of form might that take?"

Andy gave me a malicious grin. "Well, you had talked to Emily about photography, photographs that fully revealed her personality. Suppose, oh, I dunno, I could hex her. You know, now that I think about it, maybe a hex that would make every crappy thing she did, show up in her face, every shitty decision she made, show up in her posture, in her joints, in her voice, maybe that would be right. What would you say to something like that? If she abruptly ‘saw the light', and lived forever more a life of righteousness, and charity, and being nice, no bullshit and therefore no foul. If she chases pleasures of the flesh, and gives no thought to other people, and how they are hurt, well, if this hex works, it will show up in her face, in her life, in her gestalt."

I reflected on his idea. I didn't really think for a minute that she would change her ways. After all, she herself had said, "You saw what you saw, and now you know what sort of wife I am. What are you going to do about it?"

Yeah, I had divorced her. Now, with this possibility before me, I had to wonder: what was I going to do about it?

With that recollection, it became clear: THIS was what I was going to do about it.

I looked up. "Andy, I'm in. What do I have to do?"

He told me that he would do some research, and get back to me, maybe in ten days, and have my assignment ready for me.

Two weeks later, he sent me my directions. I was to collect some nail parings, and some of my hair. Placed into a cloth bag, and joined by some coffee filter paper onto which I had squeezed several drops of my blood. I had found an old hair brush of hers, and several hairs pulled from it joined everything else in the bag.

I met him several days later, and handed him the bag with what he had required.

He phoned me, another week later, and told me that I needed to move that photograph from the dining room, and place it on my bedroom wall. I did so, and then forgot about it.

I had forgotten about that photograph. To be truthful, it was on my bedroom wall, but I had grown accustomed to it's presence, that it made no impression on me. After all, I had been divorced from my ex for years. I had not seen her for most of those same years.

Therefore it was very surprising to see her, eventually, at a mutual friend's wedding, and how she had aged. Her hair was gray, her skin was lined, and her walk was fatigued, and halting.

At the time of the divorce, she had been in her early twenties. She had been fit, trim, and, truthfully, very pretty. It was difficult to tell that the elderly wreck before me had once been the same woman. And, nearly my age, at that.

I had brought Emily as my "plus one", and she nudged me.

She whispered, "Who is that old woman? She looks familiar, somehow. Where do I know her from?"

"I don't think that you two have met. That is my ex. You might recall her from that wedding photo, although she looks almost nothing like that photo."

I drew Emily close to my side. She reached up and whispered into my ear, "She looks like the poster child for poor life choices. Didn't you talk to my uncle?"

I replied, "Yes, sweetie, I did. It appears that his hex power is strong, and that she has persisted in, well, pursuing pleasures of the flesh, and using people around her without heed to their desire or needs. It appears that kharma is, indeed, a bitch, and that kharma's misbehaving subjects catch hell."

Emily corrected me. "And, look like hell, besides!"

Do you like this story? If you do, you may be interested to know that the author also has several other stories on the site that are available to the members of the EroticStories.com FanClub!
Click here to read more about the FanClub.

Request from webmaster Art:
Don't forget to vote for this story in the yellow voting box below!
Authors really appreciate the votes and it only takes a few seconds!

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version for easy saving or printing

ESmail: Click here to send a private message to Reltney McFee (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)

Authors appreciate feedback! Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!

Profile for Reltney McFee, incl. 22 stories Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email

Give your opinion about this story: select here 1 (terrible) 2 .. 3 .. 4 .. 5 (reasonable) 6 .. 7 .. 8 .. 9 .. 10 (excellent)

Send feedback to this author: Your name: Your message to Reltney McFee:     (You are not logged in, so you can't send private messages) Public: post this message in the public feedback below