An adult stories – Competitive To The End by amyyum,amyyum Spoiler Alert! There are cheaters in this story; if that disturbs you DO NOT CONTINUE; DO NOT READ; YOUR EMOTIONAL HEALTH MAY BE AT RISK!
**************
All participants in this story in any type of sexual situation are over 18.
**************
As I sat in the courtroom watching my attorney and the prosecutor spare I started thinking about what got me here. Since I don’t like to take responsibility for my actions I concluded that it was my mother’s fault; after all it was she that made me enter that fucking beauty pageant when I was 15.
***************
At 15 years old I, Alicia Rankin, was tall for my age and had matured more than most of my classmates. Although I was only a sophomore I was the lead majorette for the marching band, and played varsity volleyball. For some reason I got enamored with baton twirling when I was a kid and developed some real skills which I polished at two summer camps when I was 13 and 14 years old.
When I got home from school one day in April my mother Joyce was all excited. “Alicia I just learned today that there is a Junior Miss pageant for our area in May that can lead to college scholarships if you’re successful. I’ve signed you up?”
“What? Mom, I have lots going on in school and other things that I’d rather do that enter some beauty pageant.”
“It’s not a beauty pageant. It’s a scholarship pageant.”
“They just call it that so it doesn’t seem sexist,” I scoffed.
“Not so; I talked to Marjorie Waters about it and she said that it’s a wonderful event and that she thought that you’d have a good chance at winning a college scholarship — and in view of the fact that you have three younger siblings that could really help out your father and me in affording college,” Joyce responded.
Once she had invoked the name “Marjorie Waters” I knew that it was useless to argue with her about it. According to Joyce, Marjorie is the smartest, most talented, most knowledgeable person in the greater Columbus, Ohio area, if not the state, or the entire U S for that matter. I will admit that Marjorie has her shit together (and is rich as shit too), but no one could live up to my mom’s hero worship of her.
As I was formulating a reply Joyce continued. “In fact, Marjorie said that she’d sponsor you and get you an appropriate dress and an outfit for the talent portion of the pageant.”
“What’s my talent?” I chuckled.
“Why baton twirling — you are the lead majorette as a sophomore; that’s a wonderful talent.”
Since Marjorie’s involvement made this mandatory I decided to just get a nice dress and leotard out of it and not put too much time into it. If I sucked up to Marjorie maybe I’d even score some more benefits from it; I decided to give it a try.
Mom and I went to Marjorie’s “house” (mansion, actually) the next Saturday. Marjorie really likes Joyce — probably because she treats Marjorie like royalty — and for some reason has always had an interest in me. I believe it is because Marjorie has four sons (all except for one older than me) and no daughters, and she was Miss Ohio when she was in college and wants someone to carry on her legacy. This was not the first time I had heard about “pageants” from Marjorie through my mom, but it was the first time that Marjorie had pushed it.
Mom and I had a very pleasant discussion with Marjorie. It was quickly concluded that Marjorie would take me to New York City to go shopping for outfits and would pay for a “coach;” I saw a way to really suck this for everything that I could.
I don’t want to bore you with the details of pageant preparation but suffice it to say that once I got a complete pageant wardrobe from NYC more expensive than all the other clothes I had gotten my entire life, and my coach was a really hot woman who instilled more competitiveness in me than I had evidenced even in playing volleyball, I decided that I really wanted to win.
No brag, but I breezed through the Columbus area spectacle without serious competition. My baton twirling was by far the most polished talent in the pageant, I nailed the interview, I looked great in my NYC gown, and I ruled in general.
When I went on to the state competition after my Columbus area win was when my life took a turn.
It was clear from the start of the state pageant that my main competition was Brittany Compton from the Cleveland area, and Shirley Preston from the Cincinnati area. Although we all grew and matured as we got older our relative heights, coloring, and body types were set as of that time. I was tall with brunette hair and brown eyes; Brit was medium height with blond hair and blue eyes. Shirley was short with red hair and green eyes. I had an athlete’s build; Brit a dancer’s build; and Shirley a nymph’s build.
While we had to “play nice” in public, it was clear from the first few minutes that we interacted that we didn’t like each other. All three of us were set upon winning the competition and we weren’t going to let some other prima donna ace us out. Catty things were said, nasty things were done, attempts at sabotage of clothing or makeup were made, and in general we acted like feral cats toward each other. We developed unoriginal, but accurate, nicknames for each other. They called me BB (big bitch), Shirley and I called Brit PB (pedestrian bitch) and Brit and I called Shirley LB (little bitch).
The most rewarding experience of my life up until that time was when I won Junior Miss Ohio with LB as first runner-up and PB as second runner-up. The sobs coming from PB and LB in the dressing room after I was crowned were music to my ears.
Both Marjorie and mom were thrilled by my victory and the scholarship I won was not insubstantial. It was a good time.
During the national pageant there were many more qualified contestants than at the state level and there were no frontrunners that I had a visceral antagonistic reaction to. As a result I didn’t have the same level of competitiveness that PB and LB brought out in me; plus some of the talents exhibited I had to grudgingly admit were beyond my experience or expectations so I didn’t win the national competition. However, I was in the final five which garnered me another decent scholarship and Marjorie and mom were satisfied with that.
Somehow the Ohio Junior Miss pageant resulted in my star being crossed with PB’s and LB’s for the rest of my life all the way up to the time of this story. Not only when we were all 16, and then 17, did we compete in the Miss Teen pageant for Ohio but my High School band competed against LB’s High School band (Shirley played drums) in state competitions for my junior and senior years. My High School volleyball team — where I usually played outside hitter — played against PD’s High School team — where she played setter — in the state tournament during both my junior and senior years.
The results of our competitions were a mixed bag. PB won Miss Teen Ohio when all of us were 16 with me and LB the runner-ups, and LB won Miss Teen Ohio when all of us were 17 with PB and me as the runner-ups. Fortunately, neither finished higher in the Miss Teen USA pageant than I finished in the Junior Miss USA pageant.
My High School finished ahead of LB’s band in the Ohio band competition my senior year, and one spot behind them my junior year. My High School volleyball team beat PB’s team in the state tournament my junior year and lost to them in my senior year. However, my best time was during my senior year against PB’s team (even though we lost) because on two separate occasions I spiked the ball in her face. My teammates were not happy with me at match point, however, when I was trying to do that a third time and hit wide, giving them the victory.
During all of the above competitions we were as nasty to each other in private as we could be while fake smiling at each other when in a public setting.
****************
I was hoping that once High School was over, and since I had no interest in competing in the Miss America Pageant when I turned 18, that I wouldn’t have to interface with PB or LB again. I wanted to beat them so badly that it seemed to sap me of more energy than I should have devoted to the situations, but I just couldn’t help myself. Imagine my disgust when I went to Ohio State (by then I had enough scholarships from the pageants and working for Marjorie during the summers that I could pay my way without stressing my parents) that PB and LB were in the same freshman class, all of us 18 at the time.
What was also disgusting was the reaction guys had to the little princesses too. While I refused to admit that they were hot, the reaction of guys belied my appraisal.
At 18 I considered myself hot stuff, although because of my height I didn’t appeal to everyone. I was a little over six feet (184 cm) tall with round C-cup boobs and a firm bubble butt. Brit — I mean PB — was then about five feet seven inches (170 cm) tall with legs that even I had to admit were great, obviously from her diligently pursuing dance. Shirley — I mean LB — was still a wisp at five feet one inch (155cm) tall but unless she was wearing falsies her mammaries had doubled in size. I thought that she looked freaky with those big tits on a lithe frame but that wasn’t the reaction than guys had. Both of them seemed able to charm any guy that they wanted to; I could only charm guys over six feet tall.
Because of how antagonistic we were toward each other it was a foregone conclusion that we were never going to pledge the same sorority. We made our best efforts to sabotage the possibility that any of us would pledge the sorority that each of us really wanted to pledge. Unfortunately that did not sit well with the members of what was considered to be the “best” (i. e. hottest girls) sorority so our cattiness got us all disqualified from getting bids to that sorority. However, we each got into a good sorority; at least I was happy with the one I pledged and I never heard any grumblings about them about theirs.
I didn’t pursue volleyball at OSU because I simply wasn’t good enough to compete in the Big Ten, and I gave up band since I wanted to concentrate on my studies more than baton twirling, although I still did some baton shows in non-competitive settings.
You would think that at a large university like Ohio State that we wouldn’t cross paths often. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. I seemed to come across them all of the time and even if the situation wasn’t inherently competitive we’d make it so. I know that they also had a number of intense competitions with each other, although I don’t know the details of them, but I know the conflicts I had with them.
Just to give you some idea of some of the competitions (a very incomplete list since a full rundown, if downloaded, would consume all of your computer’s memory):
–LB and I both ran for class secretary our sophomore year. I guess that we didn’t do ourselves any favors by denigrating the other because the third person running won in a very close race.
–PB and I had a class together which the professor made sure was graded on a curve. About half the grade was for a team project, with four students in each team. That shameless hussy PB flashed her sickening sweet smile while curling her long blond hair and fluttering her eyes at the smartest guy in the class and ended up on his team. On my team was a knuckle-dragging football player whose only mission in life seemed to be to get in my pants (he was VERY unsuccessful). As a result PB got an A, I got a B-. She was not gracious about it.
–I got back at PB in another class we had together the next year. Ben, the graduate teaching assistant that I had in that class, was not quite up to my normal standards in looks, but not gross either; and he was about six feet four inches (193 cm) tall; so, I seduced him. One night at his apartment after I had fucked him comatose I got on his computer and changed PB’s numerical grades on quizzes and tests so that they were slightly lower. That, combined with the fact that Ben had to give me an A meant that this time I got the A and PB got the B-.
-LB and I were both on the pom-pom squad for basketball games our junior year. Poor dear, during one session when we were practicing a new routine somehow (cough, cough) the poor dear slipped and sprained her ankle and was out of commission the rest of the season. Of course I didn’t snicker at her (again, cough, cough).
-The most dramatic competition we had involved all three of us during our senior year.
On an early Spring Saturday on campus an all-day charity event was sponsored by a number of fraternities. The event had been more-or-less innocuous the last several years but the social chairmen from three different fraternities who organized the event this year were more “out-there” than their predecessors had been. For the first time the last event, in a long day, was a “Talent Contest.” Entry to the venue where the contest was held was limited to 500 people, there was a cover charge of $10 all of which would go to charity, and there were beer sales inside where the profits would go to the charity. The winner (determined by crowd reaction) of the contest would get a $250 cash prize and a big outrageous trophy and their picture in The Lantern (the OSU student newspaper).
About an hour before the Talent Contest was to start, as I was walking around to other venues for the event, Jim Greene — one of the organizers of the event and a friend of mine — tracked me down. “Alicia, I really need you to compete in the talent contest; we had only a marginal number of participants to begin with and now two have dropped out. You can do your baton twirling act.”
I was reluctant but then Jim said something that got me interested.
“You know that Brit Compton is competing, don’t you; are you afraid to go up against her?”
Jim knew about my antagonistic relationship with PB. I stared at him and growled “Who else?”
He handed me a sheet of paper with six other names on it besides Brit’s — I mean PB’s. One of the names was “Shirley Preston.” Jim apparently didn’t know about my antagonistic relationship with her. “I’ll do it if I go on last,” I snickered; “and you don’t tell anyone else about it until just before I go on.”
“Deal,” he grinned, and we shook hands.
I quickly went to my apartment to change clothes to a much different outfit (which I put a trench coat over) and got my baton — although I wasn’t sure that I would actually be using it.
The crowd in the talent show venue — probably all 500 people allowed — was mostly male and mostly semi-drunk since this was the last event of a long day and beer had been sold throughout — including brisk sales at the Talent Contest venue itself.. Jim Greene acted as the MC.
The first five participants got mostly only polite applause — and some catcalls from the more inebriated members of the crowd. Two did standup comedy, one played a fairly wicked guitar, one did slam poetry, and one did a gymnastics act with hoops.
Then PB appeared on the stage in a leotard — and even I had to admit that she did look hot. She did an exotic and sensual modern dance, more sensual than when she competed in the Miss Teen pageants. She got big cheers.
Not to be outdone that fucking tart LB appeared in a hula costume with leis around her neck that did not fully cover her prodigious bare mammaries. The crowd hooted and hollered like madmen as LB did a very credible hula not being particularly careful if her nipples occasionally peeked out as she performed. She got a raucous applause at the end.
LB looked triumphant, and PB looked pissed, as LB sauntered off the stage. Then Jim said “Our last performer is Alicia Rankin. She’s told me that she won’t perform unless I collect at least another $1,500 for charity.” The crowd groaned, but then he continued “However, it’s with a guarantee; if anyone doesn’t like the performance she will personally refund their money.”
Jim was surprised when I approached him with that deal just before PB went on stage. Jim’s announcement caused a buzz. I went up on the stage and took off my trench coat — my outfit raised a few eyebrows.
Jim had his helpers go through the crowd and in about ten minutes they returned with collected cash. Jim counted it out and announced “We’re still $145 short.” I whispered something to him. He smiled and continued “If someone makes that up they get to stand in front of the first row right at the stage and Alicia promises that they won’t be disappointed.”
Just then a really big handsome well-dressed dude — someone I had never seen before — walked up and handed Jim $145 in cash. The crowd cheered.
PB and LB stared daggers at me, while I smirked at them, as the stage was set for my performance. Since I had my baton I’m sure that they thought that I’d be doing my Junior Miss routine — they were wrong.
While waiting for the collection of the $1500 I had gotten with the guy who was the DJ to make sure that he had “Birthday Cake” by Rihanna, and “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails in his repertoire. He did.
I had only done strip tease before for boyfriends or at raunchy hen parties, although I had studied it as part of a much broader curriculum in one of the elective art classes that I had taken and some of the moves were similar to my most provocative baton twirling moves. I so wanted to waste those antagonistic bitches Brit and Shirley that I channeled all of my concentration so that mentally I was in an erotic trance. Then after the intro as the words “Come and put cha name on it” from “Birthday Cake” started to play I started dancing. As a ruse I danced the first minute twirling the baton, but then I discarded it and started removing clothing.
Even though the outfit I had changed into was the one I had best suited for stripping it obviously was not a real stripper’s costume; however, that seemed to make it “more real” for the semi-drunk to drunk guys in the venue as they started chanting and cheering. I really was in a physic realm I had never entered before, moving with more fluidity and sexuality than I had any other time in my life. When as the last lines of “Closer,” namely “I drink the honey, Inside your hive, You are the reason I stay alive,” were sung I kicked my last article of clothing — my panties — into the crowd.
Maybe the last move wasn’t the smartest because a fight broke out in the first few rows of guys trying to snag my panties. The reaction of the crowd was deafening and continued for five minutes. During the cheering I stood naked next to the MC except when I picked up my bra and handed it to the guy who came up with the last $145. I did have my clothes — except for my bra and panties — in my arms — while standing next to Jim but whoever was running the lights made sure that I had a spotlight on me not only during my entire performance but while I was standing naked next to Jim.
Finally Jim calmed everyone down, announced me as the clear winner based upon crowd reaction, awarded me the trophy, and I put my remaining clothes back on. I got another round of applause when I donated my $250 winnings to the charity.
By then PB and LB were long gone — having left disgusted by the time that I had removed my bra.
As I left the stage, absent-mindedly forgetting my trophy and baton, I felt hornier than I ever had before in my life. Guys were lined up to give me high fives as I walked through the crowd. After a couple dozen high fives the big handsome dude who had provided the last $145 stepped in front of me with a big smile and with my bra around his neck. My panties immediately got wetter.
“Can I take you to a late dinner?” he asked.
“We should go somewhere,” I smiled and took his arm, “as long as you remove my bra from your neck once we get into public.”
I don’t consider myself a skank — but what I ultimately said to him once we got outside might contradict that.
“I haven’t seen you before; do you go to OSU?” I asked.
“No, I’m visiting my parents for the weekend — they live in Columbus — and I got bored and came to this event; I’m glad that I did — it really opened my eyes,” he chuckled.
“What’s your name?”
“Derek Salter; and I hope that Alicia Rankin isn’t just your stage name,” he chuckled again.
“I don’t have a stage name,” I laughed. “That was my first and last public performance; however, if you were to get a room at the Blackwell Inn,” a really nice hotel essentially right on campus “I might be up for a private performance.”
Derek’s eyes got as big as baseballs. After a short pause he asked “How do we get there?”
It probably wasn’t more than twenty minutes later before we were in a hotel room and despite the lack of music I was stripping again. This time it took less time because I was anxious and had no bra or panties on. Once I was naked Derek took me into his arms and gave me the most passionate kiss I had ever received.
Shortly thereafter we were in the shower together and he was mauling my tits and crotch while I was trying to determine if his cock and balls were the biggest in my experience. One thing was for sure — I had never seen live an uncut cock before, nor one with the perfect aspect ratio that his had.
If the shower stall had been bigger we would have fucked in it — but since we didn’t want to take the chance of falling — or being uncomfortable — we waited until we got to the king size bed in the room.
Derek’s tongue electrified my pussy and clit more intensely than if I had stuck my finger in an electric socket. After two nerve-energizing orgasms he started to bring his tool to my vaginal vestibule. Despite how wet I was I wasn’t sure about my ability to accommodate it so using my considerable strength I rolled him onto his back and mounted him. I slowly lowered myself onto his upright stiffy while he pinched my nipples. I was pleased when I bottomed out and then started riding him.
I have to say that it was up until that time the best fuck of my life. It was probably a combination of being so turned on by my stripper performance, his cut body, and his lovely and unusual-in-my-experience cock, but I was a wild woman. As I was about to orgasm again he pulled my chest into his, violently bucked upwardly a few times, grunted, and then deposited a monster load of cum into my anxious pussy.
I lost consciousness for a while, but when I regained it I had a feeling of excitement and contentment more intense than any before in my life.
I think that we fucked three more times before I woke the next morning; I can’t really be sure because I had so many orgasms that things seemed to run together. Even though we talked little we seemed to connect on some primal level.
When I finally became fully awake the next morning bright sunlight was streaming through the windows of the hotel room. Derek was gone. I dragged my ass out of bed, with delicious pain emanating from my red and overworked pussy and nipples. After doing my business and taking a shower — unsuccessfully removing all cum from my vagina — I walked back into the bedroom.
There was a note from Derek on the dresser. “Thanks for the best sexual experience of my life. I had to meet my parents before flying back to the West Coast. If I lived here I’d never let you out of my bed. Hugs & Kisses, Derek.”
As I dressed in yesterday’s stripper outfit I noticed that he didn’t return my bra. “Bastard,” I chuckled as I fit a tampon into my cooch to prevent any remaining man cream from leaking onto my thighs. Fortunately I exited the room before 11:00 a. m. checkout time and dragged myself to my apartment — only about a mile walk. I called Jim Greene on the way to my apartment and asked him if he had my baton and trophy.
“I have them,” he laughed. “Wow Alicia, that was the most exciting thing to happen on campus in my three years here — even more exciting that beating Michigan in football. I hope that the photo that appears in The Lantern is of you clothed — but given how excited the photographer was I can’t guarantee it.”
“Shit,” I groaned. “When can I get my baton and trophy back?”
“I can deliver them to your apartment — I don’t suppose that that would get me a private encore?” he chuckled.
“Thanks; I’ll accept delivery, but the only encore will be in your dreams,” I laughed before I terminated the call.
************
While I got lots of smiles when walking on campus the rest of my senior year after the Talent Contest, a nice photo in The Lantern before my bra and panties had been removed, and nasty texts from PB and LB (I don’t know how they got my cellphone number since I never gave it to them), the rest of my senior year at OSU was relatively uneventful.
After graduation my first job was with a marketing firm in Chicago. The job wasn’t that great but something really good came out of it. One night after work I got a call on my cell from a number that I didn’t recognize but I did recognize the name that appeared on caller ID: “Derek Salter,” the person responsible for my best sexual experience of my life up to that point. I was surprised.
I answered the phone with a meek “Hello,” just in case I was being pranked.
“Is this Alicia Rankin?” came the baritone voice that a recognized even though it was more than six months since our encounter.
“Yes…”
“I hope you remember me; this is Derek Salter; we met after the Talent Contest at OSU.”
I chuckled. “Do you think that I’d forget that?”
“I hoped not, but didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
“You can be presumptuous,” I laughed.
We talked for a few minutes about what we had done since out first meeting then, with a little bit of trepidation in his voice Derek said “I’ve been trying to locate you for a while with little success. However, I finally got to talk with a very nice woman who gave me your cellphone number — I hope you don’t mind.”
“Who was this mysterious woman?” I giggled.
“Joyce Rankin — I believe that you know her as ‘Mom,'” he laughed.
“Mom never could keep a secret.”
“The reason that I’m calling is that I’m moving to my company’s Chicago office next month and I hoped that we could get together.”
I was glad it wasn’t a video call because I got both a big smile on my face, and my body shivered. My pussy also got wet but he wouldn’t have been able to see this on a video call. I took a few seconds to compose my response.
“I would love to get together, Derek; but I need to be sure that you understand my situation. There is no doubt whatsoever that we’re sexually compatible; however, now that I’m out of college I’m looking for a real relationship, not a simply sexual relationship. You very may well be excellent relationship material but if we ‘get together’ for me it will be a test of if we’re compatible out of the sack before we get back into the sack. Our previous experience was a completely unique one for me fueled by circumstances difficult to articulate, but not the normal me. Am I clear — and not presumptuous?”
Derek was silent for a few seconds then responded “I too would like to see if a real relationship with you is in the cards. I agree with your approach entirely. Now, how soon after I move to Chicago the 22nd of the next month can we meet?”
To make a long story short I was able to hold out for four dates with Derek before I couldn’t stand it any longer and we fucked each other’s brains out. Once we got back together sexually we never interrupted it again. I moved in with him six weeks after he got to Chicago and se were married six months after we moved in together. Marjorie Waters gave us a honeymoon to Bermuda as a wedding present and our married life got off to a phenomenal start.
The only minor glitch with my marriage was due to me telling Derek about my “relationships” with the Pedestrian Bitch and the Little Bitch. I revealed this to him only to explain my actions at the Talent Contest. Derek told me that my relationships weren’t healthy, but since it was unlikely that I would interface with them again after a few discussions the matter was dropped.
***********
Every few months someone wins the Powerball Lottery despite the fact that the odds are 1 in 292.2 million. I point this out just to justify in my mind that long odds sometimes come through for bad as well as good. I tried not to let what happened next cause me to believe that some evil force was out to get me.
A few months after Derek and I married I changed jobs. I didn’t really like my marketing job much, and I had basic qualifications for a job in pharmaceutical sales, which was much more lucrative and played more to my strengths (people skills). I started a training course with one of the three largest pharmaceutical companies in the world (I’ll call it “Big Pharma”) and after two months working with a mentor was on my own.
At the first all-salesmen conference after I started at Big Pharma I learned first-hand about how long odds can come in — in a bad way. Who the fuck were two of the other sales reps for Big Pharma but LB and PB!
PB worked out of the Milwaukee office, LB out of the South Bend, Indiana, office. Both of those offices are roughly only 90 miles from Big Pharma’s headquarters in Chicago which I work out of. When I was introduced to them at the meeting I put on a fake smile and didn’t crush their hands when we shook, but I distanced myself from them as quickly as possible. Since they were now both married and had taken their husband’s names — just as did I — I hadn’t connected the names on sales reports with them.
PB was now Brittany Swan, and LB was now Shirley Starr. They hadn’t recognized my name either since I was then Alicia Salter. (The fact that all three of our last names now started with “S” made everything even freakier since we were listed close to each other in the national sales reports.)
When I got home after the conference Derek listened patiently to my tirade about now being in competition with the Pedestrian and Little Bitches again. He counselled me to cool it. I told him that I would, but I knew that I wouldn’t.
At the start of my recognition of our competition our sales volumes were roughly comparable. I threw myself into my work even more so to attempt to outdo them. When the next report came out three months later while my volumes had significantly increased to my dismay so had theirs in roughly equivalent amounts. I knew then that they were taking our competition as seriously as I was.
One unusual feature of our employment by Big Pharma was that although we had roughly outlined sales territories we were not restricted to those territories. Therefore I got the brainstorm of poaching on their territories that were close to Chicago. While it required more effort on my part I came upon that solution more quickly than PB and LB did so when the next quarterly report came out I had 16% more sales than PB and 14% more than LB, well outside the realm of statistical probability.
That started the war in even more earnest.
When our competition heated up even more through various other means — I won’t bore you with all of the details — I started thinking “out of the box” on how I could ultimately best them. This included doing research on their husbands, namely Colin Swan and Ken Starr.
While superficially I still considered PB and LB as unattractive bitches who simply fooled men into thinking that they were hot, deep down I had to admit to myself that they were hot in actuality. This was confirmed by the fact that their husbands were as good looking as Derek — and I considered Derek a hunk-and-a-half. My competitive obsession was such that I hired PIs to find out more about Colin and Ken.
Then my competitive obsession went nuclear when both PB and LB surpassed me in sales one quarter and I heard from my friends at work that they were gossiping about me.
As a result of my obsessive stalking I found out that Colin was going to a conference in St. Louis. I could justify a pseudo business trip there at the same time, so I left Derek at home with pre-prepared meals for three nights and checked into the same hotel as Colin. Fortunately Colin was taller than I am, even if only by an inch.
It required every single female wile that I had, plus some that I developed on the spot, and getting Colin lit at an Irish pub, but the third night of his conference I maneuvered my way into his bed at the hotel.
I put every ounce of energy that I had into my seduction of Colin. I was more charged sexually that night than at any time except for when Derek and I first fucked after the Talent Contest, our first fucks after we met in Chicago, and our honeymoon.
I practiced every single erotic maneuver and technique that I had ever used or even imagined on Colin, and after the first few minutes in his hotel room bed he was putty in my hands.
When I objectively examined my encounter with Colin sometime afterward I realized that not only was there was no emotional component but that physically it didn’t compare with making love to or fucking Derek. But it still gave me an almost unprecedented level of satisfaction because I achieved the ultimate competitive advantage over PB; I had fucked her husband.
While Colin was starting to have some guilt when we parted the “morning after” I assuaged it — I didn’t hate him, just his wife, and of course I never wanted him to report it to Brit — by telling him that it was just a one night stand, our spouses would never know, and we just had an animal attraction to each other and would never meet up again.
Also, I gave him a fake name.
Although I felt a little guilt myself, it was small compared to my level of satisfaction and gloat at having achieved the ultimate competitive advantage over Brit.
After my success with Colin I set my sites on LB’s husband Ken. Rather than going into all the details of my seduction of Ken suffice it to say that I used some information about LB to my advantage, and planted some information about her that wasn’t true that he apparently believed. In any event things culminated when LB was in Indianapolis one night when I got to actually spend the night with Ken in her marital bed.
The situation with Ken was, after the fact, almost identical to the situation with Colin, although I got the added satisfaction of fucking him in LB’s own bed!
************
After my seductions of both of PB’s and LB’s husbands I was really smug. However, after the passage of some time I started thinking about what I had really done; I had cheated. Except for my dealings with LB and PB in the past I had never cheated in or on anything; not on a test, not on a term paper, not in sports, not in personal relationships. I started to have feelings of guilt that I probably should have had before.
Things came to a head after an aborted vacation that Derek and I took to California. We had a great time, including hours of loving sex and companionship. It was as great as our honeymoon. It was aborted, however, when there were two planned days left when Derek’s company had an emergency come up and he had to immediately go to Denver. With him gone I had no reason to stay so I got a partial refund on my plane ticket and took an earlier flight back to Chicago.
On my flight back to Chicago — in coach — I sat next to a really cute and chatty elderly couple. They were returning to Chicago from their fiftieth wedding anniversary trip. I asked them for the secret to their success, and in general had fun talking with them. About two hours into the flight the husband fell asleep in the window seat while the wife in the middle seat confided in me.
“One thing that I should tell you, Alicia, that I didn’t want to bring up with Joe awake — so that it doesn’t revive unpleasant memories — is that we hit a real rough patch and it was only my honesty that pulled us through,” the wife — Betty — confided.
“What was the cause?” I inquired.
“Early in our marriage I cheated on Joe — several times. I felt really guilty and went to a therapist. She advised me to come clean with him. I confessed, told him that it would never happen again, and after a few weeks I could tell that he had forgiven me. After that we had our three kids and have had a wonderful life since, and I never cheated again,” Betty continued.
We had a further discussion, but soon I was emotionally drained — and it seemed that Betty was too — so we both fitfully napped for the rest of the flight. I gave them big hugs when we landed, and then had some thinking to do.
I was nervous and out-of-sorts for the next few days after my return to Chicago; out-of-sorts enough so that I didn’t even curse and spew invectives when the next quarterly report showed that PB had beaten my sales figures by 5% and LB by 3%. I was more concerned about what to do about Derek.
When Derek got back from Denver I tried to fuck him unconscious the first three nights back. Apparently Derek sensed desperation in my actions that was even more significant than my love and horniness. “What gives?” he asked me, holding my hands while sitting on our living room couch his fourth night back.
Thinking back to Betty’s advice and greatly desiring to unburden my guilt I told Derek about my encounters with Colin and Ken.
Derek was really angry; infinitely angrier than I had ever seen him before. It was not just my cheating that disturbed him but what he considered my ridiculous competitiveness with Brit and Shirley that he had cautioned me numerous times would eventually come to bite me in the ass.
At that point in time I realized that Betty’s advice wasn’t worth shit. Telling him was the worst thing that I could have done for our marriage. I then went into full damage control mode and did everything I could to assure him that my past competiveness with Brit and Shirley was a thing of the past, even going so far as to quit my job and to start working for another pharmaceutical company.
After a few months — during which I was as loving and deferential as possible without being obsequious — I thought things were on the mend and we just might make it.
I went to Minneapolis on a business trip for the new company I was working for giving Derek big kisses and an other-worldly reverse cowgirl ride — before I left, and with three of his favorite dinners in the freezer. My trip ended a day early and I called Derek with the good news just before I boarded my flight back, but only got his voicemail.
When I arrived at our house in the Des Plaines suburb of Chicago there was a car with Indiana plates on our street, which I thought was odd. When I entered the house I heard noises coming from upstairs. I semi-consciously picked up a blade from our kitchen knife block, dropped my suitcase on the floor, and walked upstairs.
There, riding Derek cowgirl with her freakishly oversized mammaries bouncing up and down, was that Little Bitch Shirley!
***************
Sitting in the courtroom cogitating on my last few months out on bail I was both saddened and furious that Derek had divorced me. I mean I only stabbed him once to stop him from ejaculating into the Little Bitch’s cunt; it’s not like that I cut off his dick or anything.
Plus I didn’t see what the big deal was with the Little Bitch either. As far as I was concerned the two slashes I inflicted on her made her look better — they gave her character. From her crying testimony you would think that it was a big deal; and it was sickening how Ken stood by her while Derek had deserted me.
As my attorney was making her closing argument — supported by the expert witness that she had called — that my ultra-competitiveness had made me temporarily insane and should result in my acquittal I couldn’t really read the jury. After the judge gave them their charge and they retired to the jury room my attorney was somewhat optimistic despite the novelty of my defense.
14
Comments
blackrandl1958less than a minute ago
Yay!! A new Amy story!! Thank you. All the stars. Randi.
katib4 minutes ago
Despite the glaring error in the first sentence of this tale, I find it well-written, sufficiently caprivating, and worthy of a #5 rating.
rruymannabout 3 hours ago
NOT BELIEVEABLE OR INTERESTING.
Fat_Homebodyabout 4 hours ago
Silly competion. She cuts her own nose iff to spite her face. I guess she really showed SB and LB.🙄
Rayjag1980about 4 hours ago
This should have been tagged “mental disorder ” as to be that competitive is unrealistic. People do mature and outlooks of life change, this was a little over the top. But that may have been the author’s intention.
Show More
Add New Comment