Chapter 6 – Part 11, Lost in the Abyss

This is chapter 6, part 11 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 6 – Part 11, Lost in the Abyss

That evening, Yellow sent me a small batch of party photos with a message, “I’m fine. He did figure out I had been with another man, and he blew up. Then he screwed me like a mad man, the best I’ve had from him in years. I’m ‘on probation’, he’s folded. All is well.”

I looked through the batch of photos from the parties. Many of the photos included María, probably because she was the most outrageous sexually. During the parties, she changed clothes often. She replaced her evening gowns by what could only be described as hot, fucking costumes. They were easy-to-get-on, easy-to-get-off, designed to arouse and inflame men’s passions. I got hard looking at the photos.

Her favorite position seemed to be sitting on a table or high stool, skirt raised high on her thighs, legs apart, panty visible to the world. She wore the solid stretchy panties that molded the shape of her vulva.

In several photos, men stood between her legs, and she handled the bulge in their pants. One photo showed a man on his knees, his face inches away from her vulva.

In another photo, María stood at a bar in a short, flared party dress. She faced and talked to a man on one side. On the other side, a seated man had inserted his hand under the dress, between her legs.

Two photos showed her pumping men’s penises in plain view; one of the men, white with blond hair, sported the largest penis I’d ever seen – it had to be a surgical augmentation. María held it with both hands.

In two photos, María wore only a sheer corset with bra and garter straps built in, open in the middle exposing her naval with a glittering star-shape pendant. A cut-out in the corset exposed her bare vulva sphere.

The remaining photos were more kinky. One showed María nude, attached at the neck to a hook in the wall with a golden neck iron and chain. Matching golden manacles bound her hands behind her. Her wavy hair reached down to the valley of her buttocks. Her forehead touched the wall, she faced downward, contrite, almost as if her gaze had pulled her nipples straight up. Hands from multiple unseen people fondled her body.

In the next photo, María lay on a table on a brightly colored woven streamer, nude from the waist down. Finger foods positioned around her framed her body as the main course. The toe of her black heels pushed against the base of a punch bowl. Even with her knees together, her orchid vulva protruded above her thighs, body paint spreading out over her thighs and hips, someone else’s artwork. A translucent raspberry red dildo or vibrator exited her vulva and curved straight up ending in a red ball six inches above her abdomen.

In the last photo, María stood behind a nude, seated man, her breasts framing his head. Above his head, she pulled on a thin cord, a lasso attached under the head of his penis.

Looking at the photos, I realized María was willing fuck fodder. She did it for pleasure, the pleasure of tormenting these men, of stirring their hormones until the men broke, of the pounding of penises, crazy, compulsive penises. But she did it mostly for the pleasure of the Pol, for the all-night, cocaine-fueled ride.

The look on María’s face was pure happiness – her ‘Master of the Male Universe’ face. I thought the stories she told me were of the events, but now knew most of her sexual activities happened at the after-party.

About an hour later, I received another batch of photos of the after-after-party. Yellow was the featured woman, María wasn’t in these photos. These photos were better quality. Yellow had a great body for her age, and showed it in many states of posing and sexual activity. I thought it strange she would allow photos of herself – she really did want to be exposed as a whore. I felt sorry for her husband, but knew he’d be a better man after he found out.

One photo stood out – she leaned over a table wearing only high-heels, an old man power-fucking her with several men waiting for their turn.

I wrote back asking about the photos and she replied, “I no longer take photos for political purposes, now it’s sexual excitement. It’s hard to get photos, they’re taken by my best friend, a gay man that doesn’t participate.”

* * * * * * * * * *

I showed María the photos where she pumped penises. She said, “Where did you get these? No cameras are allowed in the events.”

“What does that matter? You never told me about these activities, you said they were gala receptions with society’s poof-poof, and you went for dinner and riding with the Pol afterward. You’re clearly not being handled against your will here.”

“There’s a lot of nudity and touching in the back bars, nothing serious. I like to jerk off the obnoxious men quickly, it embarrasses them and they go away. It’s not serious.”

She lied. I showed her the photo of the humongous penis, “Did you fuck this guy?”

“Oh no, look at his face, he’s gayer than gay, he doesn’t fuck women. He’d split me in two with that monster. I did blow him once, sort of, when the girls bet I couldn’t, but my teeth scraped his penis, he was too big. I did manage to win the bet, I sticky-licked his crown to ejaculation, like you taught me. That was a mouth-full.”

“You said there was no serious sex there?”

“You call that serious?”

“Where did you get those puta clothes, I’ve never seen them before?”

“The Pol takes me shopping in Sacramento, there’s lots of hookers there and many specialty shops. I leave them at his apartment. We use them later for ourselves.”

“You certainly like to show your panties – where are your Italian panties?”

“I change them after the main event, they’re dangerous, they make me hot and I’d be fucking everybody. It’s my job to show my legs and panties, that’s what the Pol wants.”

“The clothes you wear are fucking clothes. I can’t believe you wear those outfits at the events and the men leave you alone. Tell me the truth, do you fuck at these parties?”

“Why do you ask these things – you really want to know? The Pol sets me up occasionally for a quickie when he needs a favor. It’s a five minute in-and-out deal, usually a blow-job, no one knows and no one is hurt, except my husband who asks stupid questions. It’s not about you, it’s puta stuff. Those men are all whores, you’re my husband, that’s different, please leave it alone.”

“Are you a whore?”

“‘Whore’ is a man’s word. Whore, slut, prostitute, puta, ramera, golfo, they’re all men’s words and they mean nothing but pain and slavery to women. I’m your wife, and a damn good one. Please, leave it at that.”

I was hurt she never told me about the after-parties, the costumes, or the quickies, but I said nothing more. The current arrangement pleased María, and I didn’t want to upset her. She didn’t see the Pol had made her a whore. Not your common garden-variety whore, but a noxious weed, the worst type – a political whore. I hoped at least the votes she bought with her vagina would strip the loot from the filthy rich. And she’s right, she is a damn good wife, a great wife. The rest is just puta stuff.

* * * * * * * * * *

After María’s latest ride with the Pol, she told me anus-fucking grew on her, becoming a relaxing way to end the night. She now understood why he called it a ‘Ride’. They did an extra line of coke, and he rode her anus, caressing her breasts and vulva, leading his mount, my slut María, into a long, smooth, profound orgasm. As she told me, she drifted into a lost, wistful look, and her back arched. He rode her again, and I had lost her, at least for a moment.

That was the last straw – I gave up, she was going to leave me no matter what I did. My testicles hurt most of the time, and fucking Yellow made me feel like a man again. I decided to damn the rules. I needed a woman. I needed to fuck. I thought about Yellow but found a more convenient woman right in my house. The Nanny had been flirty with me for several weeks, and I caught her cleaning in the house. Before I even finished my proposition, she stripped down to her panty. She took my hand and walked me into her bedroom, passing an astonished Satyr playing with Brett in the kitchen.

She kissed me so deeply her tongue touched my soul. María had never kissed me so passionately and I was shaken and melted. We fucked nicely, and after her final climax, she spooned into me and said, “Te quiero.”

María went with the Pol frequently, and Satyr stopped coming around so often, so we kept fucking regularly. Nanny wasn’t even close to María in beauty or sexiness, but she had something sensual about her that kept me going to her. She still slept with Satyr most nights, and when she fucked him, I stood outside their door and silently cheered them on, pleased to hear the distinctive sounds of her orgasms.

And then, that magic privilege of women happened to us – as I licked and tickled her clitoris, she lost her consciousness of self, she entered that state of biology far beneath thought, the state of pure emotions and hormonal drives, what I called the Zone. This was the first time I took a woman into the Zone – I had only seen it a few times before between María and her lovers. I licked and sucked her clitoris, kept her in the Zone until my mouth was exhausted, pushed my penis into her and held her as she shook back to herself. She clamped her vagina hard on my penis and said, “Te amo. Te amo mucho.

I didn’t want this, didn’t want her to love me. Even though I knew it was inevitable María would leave me, I didn’t want to give up hope of keeping her. But I realized Nanny, despite her humble origin, was an incredible woman, more woman than I deserved.

Josey scrolled our years with Nanny across my memory. Nanny took good care of the house and she adored Brett. She fucked me when I needed it and she didn’t whore around indiscriminately like María. Passably pretty, a little plump, but sensual, she kissed me deep into my soul. I could Zone her easily with my mouth, the only woman in my life that had Zoned for me. She loved me and she would give me the girls I want. It seemed like a no-brainer. I should tell Nanny I love her; I should melt into her and surrender. I teetered on the brink, then decided – I would give up María and stay with Nanny. A great relief washed over me. I felt new and alive again, my life suddenly made sense. Nanny chose me, I would accept her. I wondered if maybe that’s what love is, surrendering to the women who enters the Zone with you.

I knew this would devastate Satyr, her lover of many years, so I would ask him to impregnate her first, to show my respect. A black girl would be a perfect start for us. Maybe he’d be the father of all our girls.

I slid up her body, pulled her legs up, and penetrated her in a single plunge. I wanted this, my surrender to her, to be special. I stroked her slowly, I would deep kiss her deeply a dozen times, tell her I loved her between each kiss, then just when I couldn’t hold back any longer, I’d ask her to marry me, then explode into her when she said yes. But on the first deep-kiss, Bunk chipped-in, “she can tell you, she can get you María back.”

I continued slow stroking, slow kissing, cariños on her neck and face and nipples. I betrayed her goodness, her trust, her love, “Yo te quiero también.” (I want/love you too.) Then I induced her to betray María’s trust. I questioned her gently about María and the Pol. Yes, she was still María’s confidante, and yes, she would tell me everything because she loved me. I thought perhaps she can teach me what love is.

Over several subsequent sessions of Zoning, I learned several important things, and the key to breaking María away from the Pol: I learned a penis isn’t necessary to Zone a woman, a mouth works perfectly, and Nanny Zoned increasingly easy.

I learned Nanny wanted me desperately for many years. She arranged to always be in the house available when María went out with the Pol, and she seduced me ruthlessly. She wanted the Pol to take María so she could have me.

I learned María and the Pol were stuck in a race condition, a who-goes-first trap. They had a private engagement with a beautiful engagement ring that María showed to Nanny. But María wanted the Pol to publicly announce their engagement before she left me with a promise to marry as soon as our divorce completed. María thought if he announced their engagement before he discovered Brett, it would be politically difficult to retract the engagement, especially if I had sole custody of Brett.

The Pol wanted María to leave me and live separately from him without a public commitment for a while. This contest had been going on for weeks. Now I began to suspect the Pol was just playing María, even though I had to admit she was the perfect public wife for him.

And I learned the Pol didn’t know about Brett. María was sure he’d abandon her if he found out before announcing their engagement. This was my key to breaking them up. But I had to do it in a way she would never suspect I was involved. I had to arrange an accidental revelation of Brett.

I wanted confirmation of what Nanny told me, so I searched María’s things. After picking the lock on María’s diary drawer, I found the ring. It was beautiful with a huge diamond. I was tempted to read her diary, but resisted – that was a betrayal even too extreme for me. The drawer contained letters, her black book, dozens of business cards and a few keys. I didn’t touch anything.

In the meantime, Nanny, Satyr and I needed to maintain normality in the house. It would be easy – I swore Nanny to secrecy, and Satyr would fuck Nanny loudly and frequently.

* * * * * * * * * *

María returned home from a gallop depressed and distraught. She let slip she had deep-throated years ago, and the Pol jumped on it and insisted they try. His penis was much larger than Deep-Throat’s, and she repeatedly gagged and finally became stomach sick. The Pol was mad, told her she was a trashy whore and could be replaced. Their night was wasted, only the initial shower fuck and the ‘Ride’ had gone well. He stuck his penis in her anyway, but she was listless and the coke made her stomach worse – he just masturbated inside her. She looked green, still buzzing from the coke and her churning stomach. The Pol told her the next time they met, she would expertly throat him, she should practice with her husband, boyfriends, or bananas, if necessary.

I was torn in two, depressed and angry at his abuse of María, and secretly overjoyed I would finally enjoy what she always refused me – my penis stroking into her throat. This would be my opportunity to start sexual contact with María again. I buzzed about and watched her the whole afternoon while she slept, I could already feel my penis sliding deep, deeper into her mouth, her throat muscles contracting around it as she swallowed it.

When María awoke, I asked her if she wanted to start practicing the deep-throat, and she agreed, but she told me it was not for my enjoyment but for the Pol. I didn’t care. We got positioned on the bed, I felt like my penis was bursting, and it was an abysmal failure. My penis is only a little smaller than the Pol’s, and she gagged and choked repeatedly until I stopped her. No amount of practice or lubricant helped. Throating would never happen, not with me nor the Pol. María was really upset – she was sure she’d lose the Pol now and she started crying. I asked her to let me fuck her vagina, and she cursed me. She said she wanted to go talk to Terri, asked me to take care of Brett, and she left.

When she returned hours later, she wore her post-orgasmic glow. She said she thought of Terri’s former boyfriend, Drew, as she left, and knew from Terri he had a smallish penis. She went to the coffee shop and asked Drew directly to fuck her. Drew removed his apron and walked out with her, as his manager fired him. They went to his hovel, and he took her around the world. She told him she needed to practice deep-throating, and that’s where they started. Drew had chocolate-flavored edible lubricant, and she achieved deep penetration within an hour of practice. He licked her to orgasm while she took multiple deep strokes. She said she was so happy, she sat on his penis and rode him until he ejaculated. She asked him if he had some coke, he did, and they did a line together. She pumped him erect again, they did another, easier, session of throating, and he licked her to orgasm again. He asked her if she anus-fucked, they did another line of cocaine, and she taught him how a man ‘rides’ a María, this time sans enema and sans condom. She said she wanted more, but Drew was exhausted, so she came home, still buzzing from the hormones and the coke.

I was furious, she gave her anus to a loser barista, but never to me. I told her in explicit language what a nasty whore she was. The fiery Latina emerged and we had a ugly fight in front of our son. Yelling, cursing, name calling, crying. She said I knew she was a slut before we married, she had slutted ever since with dozens if not hundreds of men, and I allowed it, encouraged it, and got my rocks off from it. If she was a nasty whore, I was a nasty pervert.

She ordered me out of the house, she meant it, and I stopped fighting immediately, my body turned to ice – I realized I was losing my whole life. I sit down, my body shaking and tried to compose myself, to calm down while she continued to scream at me.

I dropped to my knees, begged her to forgive me, but she wouldn’t calm down. She continued crying and cursing at me, she said she hated me and slapped me several times. I spread my legs, bent over and offered her my testicles. As she rushed at me, I saw our son cowering terrified in the corner. I thought this was not right, he shouldn’t see us fighting, shouldn’t see her smash my testicles. María grabbed my hips and I closed my eyes just as her knee hit me. I dropped to the floor, María rolled me on my back, squatted on my stomach and began slapping me. I took the first blows then covered my face. She turned and pummeled at my genitals until I managed to turn over underneath her.

None of her blows were solid, and I got up within a few minutes. I went into the bedroom; María cried on the bed, hugging and kissing Brett. I knelt at the bed side and begged her forgiveness again. I swore she wasn’t a whore, I was just angry and said stupid things to hurt her. I told her she was my entire life, I couldn’t live without her, I would never interfere in her sex life again, please, please keep me. She sobbed at me to get out.

My life was over, I wanted to die.

I began crying again, blubbering, unable to even say her name correctly. I started kissing her feet, such small beautiful feet. I cried on her feet, then licked my tears off. I felt her hand on my head, fingers moving through my hair. As through an echo chamber, from far away, I heard her say I could stay, she didn’t want me anymore, just for our son. I continued kissing her feet, her ankles and calves, her thighs. She opened her legs and guided my face to her vulva. She was wet, perhaps aroused that she had just destroyed me so completely. Sticky glops of Drew´s semen oozed from her vagina. She told me I could clean her, and I licked and kissed and sucked for a long while because my very life depended on it. I stayed there until she climaxed weakly, or maybe she faked it to finish with me. I decided it was real and I was forgiven. I would live, but now she owned me. And our son, in her arms, saw all of this.

I was not forgiven. I had forced her into conventional morality where she was a nasty whore and I a nasty pervert. She didn’t belong there and she didn’t like it. I almost lost her there.

In later years, as our son passed through adolescence into manhood, I often wondered if he remembered that fight. I hoped so, I sincerely hoped those final moments were seared into his brain – that the proper place for a man, for all men, is on their knees, crying, their faces buried in the vulvae of their women.

* * * * * * * * * *

María hadn’t forgiven me. I was just a guest in her house, a babysitter for her son. We lived like roommates. On the surface, she was the same. She fixed meals, cared for our son, went to work, went with the Pol, with Drew, and maybe another man or two. We slept in the same bed. I still caressed her while she slept, and she sometimes masturbated as I watched. She had no passion nor concern for me. I lived in abject terror of losing her. I passed hours imagining my life without her, and I was nothing. She had grown to fill my entire life. She was the essence of me.

Every time she went with the Pol, or even with Drew, I was terrified she’d never return. A single word or gesture from the Pol would have taken her. I’d be nothing, nothing at all. The black void, the abyss, terror. In the house with María, the terror crippled me. I left to go to work or took Brett to noisy places to escape the terror. But the terror was greatest when she went with another man. My limbs would contract, by body ached all over, my vision blurred. Scenes of wild sexual debauchery filled my head. Nanny took me to her bed and tried to comfort me. We fucked and told each other it would soon be over, but it was a sham. I was lost in the abyss.

End of book content.

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