Jillian had never doubted she was a lesbian, until she accidentally stumbled on the online rape video, and it made her question everything she knew.

It wasn’t a real rape video, of course.  It was entirely and unconvincingly staged.  She had found it because she was searching for lesbian porn, and this video had been labelled “lesbian” because it had two girls in it, and sure enough at the start of the video the girls were engaged in a lesbian soul kiss, their lips locked passionately as they fumbled to rip each other’s clothes off.

But no sooner had the girls stripped down to their panties then a man burst onto the scene.  The girls reacted in mock terror to this new intruder, and flailed helplessly as the male attacker used handcuffs to secure one girl’s hands behind her back, and then ripped the panties off the other girl and began to rape her, while her girlfriend watched helplessly.

Jillian’s pussy had already been getting wet from the earlier, innocent lesbian action, and her hand had strayed to her cunt to gently stroke her clitoris.  But when the camera focused on the mock-anguish on the face of the lesbian getting raped – and then jumped to her girlfriend, whose expression mixed feigned outrage with a definite tinge of slutty lust – Jillian felt her pussy throb with sudden urgency, and nothing would do but that she grab the dildo on the computer desk beside her, shove it forcefully up her fuckhole, and then pinch and pull at her clit until a powerful, shuddering orgasm overtook her.

Afterwards, she closed the video immediately, overcome with guilt and disgust.  What had she just watched?  What had she just orgasmed to?  The thought of sexual behaviour with men disgusted her.  She was revolted by even the thought of a penis.  And yet she had just reached climax from watching a man shove his cock non-consensually into a lesbian’s vagina.  

She felt sick.  She hated herself.

She called Joel.


Under normal circumstances, when Jillian was upset, she would have talked to her wife, Brielle.

The two had met in their first year of university, and gotten married in their second.  Both girls were devastatingly beautiful – Jillian a buxom brunette, and Brielle a lithe, virginal blonde – and they knew from the first time they kissed in public on the university common lawn that they would feature in the erotic fantasies of many of their male friends.  

“Let them dream,” Brielle had whispered mischievously between kisses, their faces close together, their cheeks flushed with passion and arousal.  “We have reality.”

They had moved in together shortly before their wedding, spent a blissful year as newlyweds, and celebrated their first anniversary only a month ago.

But the two girls were not without their differences, and the most prominent of these was religion.  Brielle was a devout Christian, and she still went to church every Sunday.

“How can you?” Jillian had asked.  “Your pastor stands up there in front of everyone and says that gay women are sluts who are going to hell.  He looks right at you as he says it.  How can you still be part of that hateful church?”

Brielle had been frustrated and angry.  “The fact that Pastor George has a particular interpretation of the Bible doesn’t change the reality of God, Jillian.  We can have a difference of opinion on homosexuality and still worship the same creator.  This is important to me.  It’s part of who I am.”

But Jillian noticed that when Brielle came home from church she was always a little more reluctant to kiss Jillian, and she blushed a little when she did.

It was bad enough that Brielle vanished to church every Sunday, but a week ago she had announced that she was going to attend a four-day church camp at a rural community.

“Why?” Jillian had asked, baffled.

“I just have been feeling cut off from my religion,” said Brielle.  “Like, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but that means my Christianity feels like something I just do on Sundays, rather than part of my life.  I know why it’s not for you, and I really accept and understand that – but I just feel like I want to do something to reconnect.  It’s a four day retreat, with a lot of prayer and meditation, and singing and community building, and I think it will really be good for me.”

Jillian hadn’t liked it.  She felt jealous.  She felt angry at Brielle’s church.  She was worried that Brielle would be brainwashed, or that there would be some kind of conversion therapy, and that Brielle would become more ashamed of her sexuality. 

And so they had fought, and heated words had been exchanged, and Brielle had ended up leaving for her camp while the two women were still angry at each other.

So Jillian couldn’t call her wife, and tell her about the upsetting porn she had seen, and her equally upsetting reaction to it.

So instead she called Joel.


Jillian had known Joel longer than Brielle – ever since her last two years of high school.  Tall, lanky, and bespectacled, Joel had been the epitome of a nerd at school – but over the intervening years he had filled out to become what Jillian supposed a heterosexual girl might called “roguishly handsome”.  

He had originally gone on from high school to the same university as Jillian, to study computer science, but in his very first year he had been headhunted by a major tech company, dropped out of university, taken a position paid in vested stocks, and now two years later he was independently wealthy, living in an expensive modern mansion that featured not one but two swimming pools, and a view looking down over most of the city.  

Meanwhile Jillian was still struggling through her arts degree, and trying to keep up with bills on the minimum-wage-plus-tips of a waitressing job.

Joel took Jillian’s call instantly, and invited her over to his mansion, and within a half hour he was welcoming Jillian at his door with a warm and reassuring hug, and inviting her in to his spacious and decadent lounge.

“So what’s up?” he asked, as he installed her on the couch, and mixed himself a drink.

Jillian, of course, had no intention of telling Joel about the porn.  He was entirely too interested in her sex life – and that of Brielle – as it was.  He missed no opportunity to make a joke about how sexy their lesbian relationship was.  Jillian should have found it off-putting, but instead she kind of liked it.  It was nice to know that someone found her attractive – and acknowledged she had found an equally gorgeous wife – and the fact that Joel knew he would never have a chance with either of them made it safe.

“I was just lonely with Brielle away,” lied Jillian, “and I heard a noise in the house and got spooked.”

“Well, you know you can come over any time,” said Joel, sitting beside her with his drink.  “Is that really all, though?”

Jillian paused.  Actually, there was something.  And it was entirely possible Joel could help.

“We’re struggling,” she said.  “Financially.”

“Ah,” said Joel.

“Like, I don’t mean to whine about it,” said Jillian, “but neither of us are making much money, and our studies don’t leave us much time, and the bills keep stacking up.”  She took a deep breath.  “We’re four months behind in rent.  If we don’t pay it soon, the landlord will kick us out.”  She paused again, and then said, “Brielle doesn’t know.  I handle the money and… I’ve been afraid to tell her.”

Joel took a long sip of his drink.  “That’s really shit,” he said.

There was a silence.

Jillian felt a surge of guilt.  She knew that what she had said may as well have been openly asking Joel for money.  And Joel had the money, certainly.  But was that really their relationship?  

“What other bills do you have?” asked Joel, finally.

Jillian got out her phone, and went to open her email.  “I’ll show you,” she said.

But instead of opening her email, her thumb slipped, and instead she opened her camera gallery.

And there, as the first picture, was a nude photo of Brielle, lying in bed, with a dreamy, slutty smile on her face – the product of Jillian’s nimble work on Brielle’s pussy using tongue, fingers and Hitachi.

“Shit,” she swore, and closed the photo quickly.

Joel was grinning.  “Was that Brielle?” he said.

“No,” said Jillian immediately.

Joel feigned surprise.  “What, you’ve been fucking other gorgeous blondes?” he asked.

She blushed.  “No.  I mean, that was Brielle, but you shouldn’t have seen it.”

“Do you keep a lot of nudes of your wife on your phone?” asked Joel.

“I don’t know,” said Jillian, uncomfortable with the conversation.  “Like, maybe twenty.  What, you don’t have pictures of your girlfriends?”

Joel shrugged.  “I don’t have a girlfriend at present.”

There was another pause, and then Joel spoke.

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars for them.”

There was one more long silence.

They both knew what Joel meant, but Jillian was pretending she didn’t.  She was pretending he hadn’t said it.  She was pretending he wasn’t serious.

Most of all, she was pretending her pussy hadn’t just throbbed again with sudden wetness.

“I’m serious,” said Joel.  “You need the money.  You know Brielle would help you if she knew – and, well, she *can* help.  In a way.”

That was bullshit.  Brielle would never consent to selling her nudes to a man.  Jillian knew that, and Joel certainly knew that – or ought to.

But… would Brielle help, if she could?  Right now she was away at church camp – or “cult camp”, as Jillian had called it in a moment of heat.  It may have been staggered over a weekend, and the Friday and Monday around it, but the weekend was when Brielle normally worked shifts at the local supermarket.  Not only was Brielle not making money that would have really helped them out, but she’d actually paid out a significant amount of cash for the privilege of attending her stupid God-sleepover.

Was that fair?

And why was Jillian’s pussy wet?

“Five hundred for twenty photos?” she asked.  “Really?”

She meant to imply it was a ridiculous offer, but Joel misinterpreted.

“Fine then,” he said.  “Just for three.  But make it the best three.  And tell me how you came to take the photos.”

She dithered.

“Brielle will never even know,” said Joel.  “I swear.  It’s not like I can’t picture her naked whenever I like anyway.  I have an imagination.  And I can pay pretty good artists.  I could commission them to paint me a realistic nude of her doing whatever I wanted.  How is it any different to have the actual photo?”

Jillian’s face was flushed.  She didn’t have a good answer for Joel, righ then and there.  She knew there must be one, but she couldn’t think what it was.

Joe reached out and put an arm on Jillian’s shoulder.  “Come on,” he said.   “Between friends.  You came here looking for help, didn’t you?  So I’m offering help.”

“Fine,” said Jillian, committing before she could back out.  “Three photos,” she said, and opened her phone, swiped through her gallery, selected three images, and forwarded them to Joel via a secure chat app.

Joel opened them, and looked at them, and his smile broadened.

Jillian felt sick again.  What had she just done?  Why had she done it?  What kind of lesbian would betray her girlfriend to a man?

She knew Joel would masturbate to these images.  He would masturbate while looking at nude photos of Brielle, that Brielle didn’t know he had.  The next time he saw Brielle, he would be thinking of her nude, and Brielle wouldn’t even know.

Jillian was breathing heavily.  She squeezed her thighs together tightly.  She could feel her erect nipples rubbing against the inside of her bra.

“Tell me about them,” said Joel.

He showed her the first photo.  It was Brielle in the kitchen, in the light of an early Saturday morning, cooking breakfast, wearing nothing but a pair of pink panties.  She was turned partly away, but her bare breasts were visible in silhouette, and her ass was pert and shapely within the panties.

“She doesn’t bother dressing properly in the mornings until she’s had breakfast, most days,” said Jillian.  “She often cooks half-dressed.  I thought she looked pretty and I took a photo.”

“Uh-huh,” said Joel.  He flicked to the next photo.  “What about this one?”

Brielle was sitting in a bathtub.  The bathroom was lit by candlelight, and rose petals floated in the water.  She was beaming with affection.  Her bare tits were fully visible, and the water was clear enough that her shaved pussy could be seen – albeit distorted – beneath the surface.

“That was on our anniversary,” said Jillian.  “I poured a bath for us to share.”

“So you got in the bath after this?” said Joel.

“Yes,” blushed Jillian.

“So you were nude when you took this photo?” he asked.

“Yes,” admitted Jillian, blushing even harder.

He flicked to the third photo – the one he had first seen on her phone.  Brielle, nude, legs spread, pussy wet, her face in an enraptured expression of post-coital bliss.

“That was after…” Jillian blushed, and stopped.  “I mean, we had just…”

“Had you just fucked?” asked Joel bluntly.

Jillian nodded.

“What did you do to her?” Joel asked.

“Licked her,” said Jillian shyly.  “And fingered her.  And used a massager.”

“You licked her pussy?” asked Joel.

Jillian went even brighter red, and avoided eye contact, which was answer enough.

“So you were naked too?”

Jillian nodded.

“And her pussy juices were on your face?”

Jillian’s eyes went wide.  “Joel!” she exclaimed.  “Stop!  Why are you doing this?”

Joel made an expression of wounded innocence.  “I’m paying you five hundred dollars, Jillian.”  He flicked his phone to another app, and stabbed the screen.  “There!  I’ve transferred it!  That’s a whole rent payment taken care of.  I just want to know what I’m getting for my money.”

Jillian took a deep breath.  What he was saying was true.  He *was* helping.  And it was a lot of money, for only three photos.  

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” said Joel.  

Jillian sighed.  “I should go,” she said.

“Are you sure?” asked Joel.

“Yes,” he said.  And she added, “It’s okay, really.  You’ve helped.  Sorry for being a bitch about it.  Thank you.”

“That’s all right,” he said.  He stabbed at his phone again.  “I’ve called you a car,” he said.  “The fare is on me.  Get home safe.”

“Thank you,” said Jillian again, and got up, and headed for the door.

“But just so you know,” said Joel, holding up his phone, with the post-sex photo of Brielle on it, “this is the photo I’m going to masturbate to tonight.  And I’m going to picture that it’s me fucking Brielle, and it’s me cumming inside her that’s given her that expression, and the reason she looks like that is because she knows I just impregnated her.”

Jillian looked at him with shock – and felt her pussy pulse with such urgent need that she almost forgot to breathe.  She couldn’t process her sudden mix of humiliation, guilt, disgust, and lust at the words he had said.

“Just so you know,” he said again, and smiled.


When Jillian got home, she almost dropped her keys in her haste to get through the door, and then while pulling her clothes off, she really did rip her blouse, ruining what had been a fairly expensive garment.  

She didn’t care.  She was nude by the time she got to her computer, and within seconds of turning it on, she was looking for the rape video again, her fingers already between her legs, forcefully abusing her clitoris and finger-raping her fuckhole.

She found it, and she started breathing deeply and heavily as she watched the lesbians get fake-raped once again.

Only this time she wasn’t seeing the faces of the female actors.  She was seeing herself and Brielle.  Herself, half naked, handcuffed, watching her wife being raped – and Brielle as the one being raped.

It was the most intense orgasm of her life.


If you’re enjoying this story, you’ll love my full-length novel The Lesbian Debt, available at my creator site as an e-book for $9.99 USD! (Click here to view in store.)


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