In the days after Jillian sold the photos of her wife to Joel, she was a mess.
At times, she was so wracked with guilt that she literally vomited. At others she was paralysed by the fear that Brielle would somehow find out, and call her from church camp to yell at her and break up with her. She found herself bursting into tears at odd times, and dithering between tasks, unable to commit to anything because of the certainty that her world would soon come crashing down around her.
But at other times her body betrayed her. She would think of Joel looking at the naked pictures of Brielle, knowing that he would masturbate to them many times. She remembered describing how she had been nude as she took the photos, and how she and Brielle had fucked after one of the photographs, and before another. And her cunt would get wet – pathetically, needily, throbbingly wet.
She tried to ignore this arousal at first, convincing herself it wasn’t real, it wasn’t something she should act on, that it was a sickness best left ignored. But her cunt was good at being loud, and twice each day after seeing Joel she found herself desperately masturbating to thoughts of how she had betrayed her wife.
Sometimes this masturbation was accompanied by a re-watch of the staged rape porn that had begun this whole inexplicable obsession. At other times she tried to punish herself for her slutty thoughts by spanking her pussy with her hand, or one one occasion whipping it with the looped end of one of Brielle’s leather belts, but the pain and stimulation only made her cum faster, and she would orgasm loudly, and then lie sobbing in her bed, with her cunt bruised and stinging, asking herself why she couldn’t control herself, and why she was being such a bad wife and a bad lesbian.
But at least there was the money. With the help of Joel’s cash, she was able to make one of their long overdue rent payments. They were still very behind, but a little less so than before. So there was that.
On the night before Brielle came home from church camp, Joel texted her.
“Those pics really hit the spot. If you want to sell me more, I’ll do the same rate for another set.”
Jillian felt her cunt throb as she stared at the message – but she deleted it without responding, and tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it.
Brielle came home the next day, and immediately all of Jillian’s worries vanished.
She swept into the house, dragging a suitcase, beaming radiantly. She was wearing one of the virginal white sun-dresses that she always wore to church functions, and just as it always did, it set off her natural beauty and made her look like a pure, perfect princess. Jillian immediately ran to her, and Brielle dropped her suitcase to wrap her arms around her wife. Their lips met in a forceful, passionate kiss, and when Jillian’s hand strayed to her wife’s ass and squeezed it, Brielle giggled – that ditzy, seductive giggle that always drove Jillian wild – and responded by squeezing Jilian’s breast in return.
“So how was church camp?” asked Jillian when the kiss was finished. She was breathless, flushed, deeply in love with her wife all over again, and more than a little horny.
“It was so good,” gushed Brielle, her eyes rolling dreamily for dramatic exaggeration. “Seriously, it just really… cleaned me out. Like a circuit breaker, you know? Lots of love and spirituality and… I don’t know… just really connecting with myself.”
“Connecting with yourself?” teased Jillian, moving her hand to her wife’s crotch and cupping it suggestively.
Brielle blushed. “You know what I mean,” she said.
Jillian squeezed Brielle’s pussy again. “Show me,” she said, biting her lip.
And after that, there were no more words for a while- just a slutty little animal growl for Brielle, followed by a frenzy of pulling off each other’s clothes and a desperate run for the bedroom.
When they got there, though, Jillian had a thought, and she acted on it before she could think about it. She picked up her phone from the bedside table and pointed it at her nude lover.
“Jillian!” protested Brielle. “ What are you doing?”
“Just a little record for posterity,” said Jillian teasingly, setting the phone to film. “Show me your pussy.”
“What?” exclaimed Brielle, blushing prettily – but then she parted her legs a little to let Jillian – and the phone – see her cunt.
“Say you need me to fuck you,” said Jillian.
Brielle giggled again – that ditzy noise – and then put on her best needy, sexy expression, and said, “I *need* you to fuck me.”
“That’s perfect,” said Jillian. She set the phone down again on the table – but propped up, so it could still see the bed, and film everything that happened on it. Then she went to join her wife on the bed, her knee slipping between Brielle’s parted legs, her tits hanging down so that her nipples brushed those of her wife. She leaned in and kissed Brielle, long and deep – and then moved down her body, licking her neck, her nipples, her stomach, and then finding the wetness between her legs.
She licked, and nibbled at Brielle’s clit, and pushed her fingers into her wife’s fuckhole, until finally she felt Brielle cum from her attention.
Then she moved back up Brielle’s body, and knelt on either side of Brielle’s head, her pussy above Brielle’s mouth.
“My turn,” she whispered, and Brielle responded obediently, opening her mouth as Jillian lowered herself down onto her wife’s waiting tongue.
She breathed deeply as she felt Brielle begin to service her pussy – but her eyes fell on the phone, still recording… and suddenly she was much, much more aroused.
She pictured Joel watching this footage – watching it and masturbating, with Brielle having no idea. She pictured sitting beside him, showing him the film, betraying her lesbian wife for the sexual pleasure of a man. She pictured Joel in this very room, watching them both fuck, trying to decide which one of them he would rape when they were done.
Her hips bucked so hard she almost broke Brielle’s nose. The orgasm was the most powerful one she had had yet, and she completely lost control of her body. She shuddered, and moaned, pressing her cunt so tightly against Brielle’s mouth that Brielle couldn’t breathe, and Brielle started to buck too, trying to throw her off. That only made Jillian cum harder.
In the end, her legs went limp, and Brielle threw Jillian off her.
“What the fuck, Jill?” she exclaimed, her face wet with Jillian’s cum. Her voice was part outrage – but also part pure amazement, as she had never seen anything like that from her wife before.
“I’m sorry,” said Jillian. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
And although it sounded to Brielle like she was apologising for almost suffocating Brielle during her orgasm, in Jillian’s head she was apologising for selling her wife’s sexual privacy to a man – and apologising for wanting so much to do it again.
It was two days later that Jillian found out what Brielle had done on her church camp.
Jillian was in the local supermarket, buying a few key supplies for the household, while Brielle was cleaning the kitchen at home. In the dairy section, she bumped into Charles Wilford, one of Brielle’s Christian friends from church.
Jillian tried to pretend she hadn’t seen him. Charles had a habit of staring at her tits – and Brielle’s – when he talked to them, and she had no doubt he spent time imagining what she and Brielle did in bed at nights, probably with his hand on his dick.
But there was no escaping, because Charles had seen her.
“Jillian!” he called out. “So good to see you!”
“Hi, Charles,” she said, attempting a forced smile. “I’m just grabbing a few things – I’m in a bit of a hurry. Nice to see you…”
He held up his hands defensively. “I won’t keep you,” he promised. “It’s just nice to see you. And so nice to hear about the new direction you and Brielle are taking. It’s so wonderful you’ve finally let Christ into your hearts, and you have the support of the whole church community.”
Jillian paused. There was a flutter in her stomach.
“What do you mean, Charles?” she asked, nervously.
Charles looked surprised. “Going straight, I mean,” he said. “Pastor George encouraged Brielle to get up in front of everyone and admit her lesbian sins, and she confessed how Satan had led her into a life of lesbian lust and whorishness, and then we spent all that afternoon praying for you and Brielle to leave your lesbianism behind and find a good Christian love for the phallus of a man.”
Jillian’s vision went red. There was a pounding in her ears. She didn’t bother replying to Charles. She didn’t even bother paying for the groceries she had collected. She just dropped them on the ground and went straight to her car.
“HOW COULD YOU?” she screamed at Brielle as she stormed into the house. “HOW COULD YOU? You prayed that we’d become straight? What the FUCK, Brielle?”
Brielle was scared of her. She was backing away into a corner of the kitchen. And Jillian felt a moment of guilt at scaring her wife, but it was nothing compared to the rage she felt.
“It wasn’t real!” protested Brielle. “I didn’t mean it! But they were going to hound me about you – about being a lesbian – all camp if I didn’t do anything, so I just… got it out of the way.”
“You prayed to God that you’d learn to love cock?” spat Jillian. “Is that what you really want?”
“No!” said Brielle. “Gross! No! Of course not! I’m always going to be a lesbian. It was just a little white lie, to help the camp go smoothly.”
“All your church friends think I’m secretly eager to be taught how to fuck a man now,” said Jillian. “It’s humiliating!”
“You don’t even like those people,” said Brielle. “You hardly ever speak to them. What does it matter?”
Jillian raised a hand to wipe tears from her eyes. “You don’t get it, Brielle,” she said. “I had to fight so hard to get people to accept I was a lesbian, and that I was never going to want to fuck a man. And now you do this?” She realised she must look like a mess. Her makeup was running. She needed to blow her nose.
She didn’t want this fight. She wanted Brielle to just understand that she had fucked up, and apologise, so they could cuddle, and kiss, and fuck. She wanted it to be over.
She looked at her wife with mute, appealing eyes.
But Brielle said exactly the wrong thing.
“But… you know, we can’t help but be lesbians, Jillian, but… wouldn’t it be easier if we weren’t?” She sounded wistful. “If we could just want to fuck men, like every other girl?”
“Fuck you,” spat Jillian. “Fuck you, you little fake-lesbian Christian bitch. You can call me when you’re ready to apologise.”
And she stormed out of the house.
She didn’t realise where she was going until she was already in Joel’s driveway.
“Jillian!” exclaimed Joel as he opened the door. “What a surprise!”
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked. “Brielle and I had a fight.” She knew she must look pathetic. And she knew that, at some level, Joel would appreciate seeing her that way.
Joel was guarded. “A fight?” he asked. “Was it to do with… our little deal?”
Jillian shook her head. “No, no,” she reassured him. “She doesn’t know about that.” She bit her lip. “In fact, if you want to buy some more pictures, I’m in a mood to sell you some.”
Joel smiled at that. “Come on in,” he said.
She followed him into the lounge, and as she walked, Joel took a closer look at her.
“Jesus, Jillian, you look terrible,” he said.
Jillian flinched a little. She knew she looked like trash, in her comfy track-pants and loose shirt, with her face tear-streaked and snotty and her hair in disarray. But it was still a little embarrassing to hear it said out loud.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…”
Joel waved his hand dismissively. “Why don’t you go upstairs and have a warm shower?” he said. “In fact, I’ve got some clothes for you to change into. It’s a little something I bought you as a present. You can check it out, and if you feel comfortable, you can just wear that, and if you don’t, you can wear what you’re wearing now.”
Jillian was curious, and a warm shower sounded good, so she allowed herself to be led up to Joel’s exquisitely classy guest bathroom. (And if this was the guest bathroom, with its huge spa tub, double-person shower space and two-metre long vanity, she couldn’t imagine what the master bedroom might be like.) He passed her a towel, and retreated, closing the door behind him, leaving her to strip, and then luxuriate under the hot, cleansing water of the shower.
When she finished, and cautiously opened the door with a towel wrapped around her, she found Joel’s promised gift placed on a small table, in a series of boxes. She took it back into the bathroom and examined it.
It took her breath away. He had spared no expense – these clothes weren’t cheap. They were easily worth five times what he had paid her for the photos – possibly a lot more. There was a black lacy panties-and-bra set from a brand that sold nothing under a thousand dollars. She saw with a blush that the crotch of the panties was sheer. These were sex-panties, to show to a lover.
And the dress! It was the kind of thing she might wear to a celebrity awards show. Pitch black, shoulderless, strapless, guaranteed to show pretty much her entire bosom from just above her nipples upwards, and yet effortlessly classy. The hem came down to her ankles, but it was slitted up the side almost all the way to her breasts. She realised with a blush that it actually wasn’t designed to be worn with panties – the way it exposed her hip was meant to reveal the complete absence of a panty-line.
Capping it off were a pair of expensive black high heels, a pair of earrings – were those real diamonds? – and a make-up kit.
This was too much. She started to pack it back into the boxes. She would just wear her track pants…
But why? Was there really anything wrong with dressing up for Joel? This was a beautiful gift. Sexy, yes, but not slutty – at least, not any more than the Hollywood A-listers who wore similar dresses to the Oscars or the Met Gala were slutty. And didn’t he deserve a little effort from Jillian? He was giving her a place to sleep at perilously short notice, and he’d always been a friend, and he had helped out with the rent…
So she took the boxes, and slipped into the dress and the shoes, and put the earrings through her piercings, and spent some time fixing her face with the makeup to match the beauty of the dress.
When she came downstairs in the outfit, she immediately thought she’d made a mistake. Joel’s eyes went wide, and she couldn’t help but see the immediate movement in his pants as his cock hardened at the sight of her.
But also it felt good. It had been some time since she had made Brielle look at her that way. It was nice that someone found her sexy, even if it wasn’t a gender that she wanted to fuck. And besides, she was in control of this. She could leave, or get changed, any time she wanted. This would only go on as long as she wanted it to.
So she followed through on her other, mischievous idea. She walked over to Joel, took his hand, and pressed something into it. It was the black lacy panties, which she wasn’t wearing. “These are gorgeous,” she said, “but they don’t go with the dress.”
Joel’s eyes dipped to her exposed hip, and he realised the implications of what she was saying. He took a deep breath, and she bit her lip with pleasure. It was nice to cause a reaction.
“Wow,” said Joel. “Just wow.” He passed her a cocktail glass, filled with a clear cocktail. From the smell, it was a vodka mix. “Here you go,” he said. “Enjoy.”
Joel sat on the couch, and as Jillian approached it, Joel threw a pillow from the couch onto the floor at his feet, and motioned to the pillow. Jillian instinctively knelt down on the pillow without even thinking about what she was doing, and then blushed as she realised she was now kneeling at Joel’s feet.
She dithered. Should she rise, after all, and sit on the couch?
But actually it was perfectly comfortable here, and felt intimate in a cosy way, so she inwardly shrugged, and remained where she was.
“So,” said Joel, “what do you have to show me?”
“The same deal as before?” asked Jillian. “Three pictures for five hundred dollars?”
“As long as they’re good ones,” said Joel, “and as long as you explain their context.”
Jillian felt her pussy throb. What was wrong with her? Why was she getting aroused by the thought of betraying her wife to a man? Why was she kneeling here at a man’s fee in a sexy dress, like some sort of pet?
And why did she like it so much?
It didn’t matter. Brielle deserved this, for what she had done at her church camp, and what she had said that day. It served her right. And they needed the money.
And Jillian’s cunt was so, so wet.
“Deal,” she said, and took out her phone to betray her wife.
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