Mean

You hesitate only for a second.

“Mean.” You say with the lustful confidence fueled by the taste of cum on your lips and your own throbbing untouched cock.

She lounges back on the pillows, thighs still parted, the lips of her pussy swollen and slick from your tongue and the stranger’s cock. A faint sheen of sweat clings to her collarbones. The room is thick with the smell of sex as she watches you kneel there, cock jutting up like a flagpole, a single bead of precum trembling at the slit.

“Mean,” you rasp again, her calm stare unnerving you. “Please, Carrie. Make it mean.”

Her smile is slow, almost tender, which somehow makes it worse. “Of course you want mean, baby. I wish I knew earlier how subby you were...” She swings her legs off the bed, bare feet slapping the hardwood, and stands. The pink sundress is still crumpled on the floor.

“Stay.”

You stay.

She pads to the dresser, opens the top drawer, and pulls out the little silicone plug you bought her a couple weeks ago when you were focused on fucking her ass, never used, still in its plastic sleeve. She tears it open with her teeth, tossing the plastic packaging at your feet.

“Hands and knees, cuck. Face the mirror.” She says, pointing to the full-length mirror on the closet door. You crawl forward until your reflection stares back: red-faced, cock bobbing, the faint smear of another man’s cum still drying on your chin. Behind you, Carrie slicks the plug with her spit, sucking it like a lolipop while she makes eye contact with you in the mirror, and nudges your thighs apart with her bare foot.

“Arch.” You do. The plug is cold, it feels a lot wider than it looked a second ago. She twists it in slow, savoring every wince, until the flare pops past the ring of muscle and seats itself. Your breath hitches; your cock leaks a fresh string onto the floorboards.

“There,” she murmurs, patting your ass like you’re a dog that just learned a trick. “Your little obsession with my ass makes so much more sense now, doesn’t it cuck? Remember getting this for me to train my ass for you? Now, get on the bed.” She points to the wet spot on the mattress where the man finished inside her, and her cum (and probably some of his) soaked into the cotton in a pale, sticky bloom. “That’s where a real men got to cum. You? You get the leftovers. Hump it.”

Your face starts to blush as she stares at you, waiting. “Carrie…”

“Hump. It.” She folds her arms, nails tapping her elbow. “Or I lock the bedroom door and you sleep in the bathtub with that plug in until morning. Your choice.”

You lower yourself, legs flat, chest to the mattress. The wet spot is cool and tacky against your shaft. You rock forward; the wet spot is cold at first, but warms quickly. You’re taken by the depravity of it, literally humping the wet spot your girlfriend made for another man less than a half hour ago.

You thrust again, and again, the plug shifting inside you with every stroke, the pressure on your prostrate adding to the sensation and bringing you close quickly. Carrie circles, phone in hand, recording. The little red light blinks.

“Tell the camera what you are.” You freeze, seeing the camera. “Awww…is my little beta boy shy? You better get over that quickly, because your girlfriend’s going to be VERY popular VERY soon…and I’m not going through the trouble of hiding you every time a real man comes over.”

“I, I'm, I.” Your voice cracks. “I’m your cuck. I’m humping another man’s cum because my girlfriend won’t let me fuck her anymore.”

“Louder, and keep humping.”

“I’m a cum-humping cuck!” It comes out a sob. Your hips jerk faster, the plug driving deeper, the wet spot smearing up your belly. The camera catches everything; your flushed ass, the black base of the plug winking between your cheeks, Carrie’s hand on your ass cheek, encouraging you to hump faster. She stops at the dresser again, pulls out a thin leather belt. She slaps your ass with it lightly, still recording the show. You speed up, now furiously fucking the mattress. The next few smacks are harder, probing your reactions. You don’t dissappoint, now moaning as the leather hits your ass. Finally, she ends the recording and puts her phone down. She pulls the belt back in both hands, doubles it over and snaps it once, sharp. “Slow down. I want this to last.”

You **** your hips to still, trembling. The ache in your balls is a living thing.

She kneels beside the bed, close enough that her breath tickles your ear. “You’re dripping, baby. So close to adding your pathetic puddle to his. Just precum…your loser dick didn’t even get to make a real load, did it?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Stop, get up.” You slowly stand, cock pulsing against the soaked fabric, orgasm a heartbeat away. A thin whine escapes your throat.

Carrie walks you to the bathroom, pushing you to your knees in front of the toilet. “Now stroke it. Here on your knees. This is where loser cum goes.”

You obey, the plug still shifting in your ass. Your cock juts over the bowl, angry and a little red.

“Sixty seconds,” she says, thumbing her phone timer. “That’s all the freedom your cock gets tonight. After this, the cage arrives tomorrow. Did I forget to tell you?” She presses start. The digits blink: 1:00… 0:59…You seize yourself, stroking frantic, sticky with the Carrie’s juices from the bed, mixed with his cum and your own mess. The plug bumps your prostate with every jerk.

“Fifty seconds,” she sing-songs, filming again. Her hand glides down to her own clit as she watches the show. “Better aim for the bowl, loser. I don’t want your DNA on my floor.”

Your fist blurs. The pressure coils, unbearable. At thirty seconds your hips buck involuntarily, a dry spasm rocking through you. The first rope shoots hard, splattering the back of the bowl. You milk yourself desperately, three, four, five weak pulses. Carrie calls out the time (28 seconds) and ends the recording.

“Pathetic. Flush it.” You stare, dazed. “I said flush it.” She nudges your ass with her toe. “Say goodbye to your cummies.” Your hand moves to the flush, and you watch your cum swirl in the bowl and disappear.

You stumble out of the bathroom on shaky legs, plug still lodged deep. Carrie follows, sliding into a silk robe. She tosses you a towel. “Wipe the mattress, you get to sleep on the wet side. The cage gets here at noon. Until then, the plug stays in. It looks cute on you.”

You drop to your knees to clean, the towel gets the excess, but does nothing to stop the mattress from still being damp. Behind you, she climbs into bed. You turn around to spoon with her.

“Night, cuck,” she murmurs, voice soft now. “I still love you.” The lamp clicks off.

“I love you too.” You whisper, the warm comfort of her body snuggled to yours warring with the strange feeling of the plug, the taste of cum still coating your tongue, and your racing heart. It felt…good.

“I love you so much, Carrie…” You both drift off to sleep.