The Tightening 3: Gail’s Revenge 1
The Tightening 3: Gail’s Revenge 1…
“No kissing,” Gail says.
“This isn’t about that. Let’s just do it.”
Pete lies back, looking up at her pale, white body. He can’t think. His mind and body have parted ways. This is not something he ever imagined doing. But here he is, about to fuck his sister.
As with most fads, the Vartan Procedure hit the older generation last. Women who in earlier days scoffed at elective vaginal tightening now clamored for it. Fear of missing out stifled their objections. This led to consequences almost the reverse of those experienced by younger Vartan Girls, who altered their dating habits in favor of small penises. Many an older woman, on the other hand, had been with the same man for decades. A share of those men was inevitably smaller than average, which led to certain revelations. Husbands and wives who thought themselves satisfied suddenly realized there were undreamt of or forgotten levels of satisfaction.
Wives understandably felt deprived–in some cases cheated–of decades without the experience of tightness. Not that they all blamed their small-dicked husbands, per say. They simply resented rewarding them with their newfound tightness. Resentful wives, justifiably or not, felt entitled to try out their tightness on bigger dicks. They also calculated he Procedure was designed to provide the same sensation regardless of your partner’s size. Divorce was no stranger to this generation, but these were unusual grounds. Most of the couples with resentful wives stayed together, with husbands either ignorant of or agreeing to cuckold status.
A greater share became estranged or broke up. Families of these late-life broken marriages were usually baffled. Doubly so for those who knew the reason. People were accustomed by then to the Procedure lifting the desirability of undersized penises, not weighing them down. Just prior to what may be termed the Second Vartan Revolution, Pete and his sister discovered–entirely against their will–that their father, Martin, had a small penis. Pete was mortified. Gail was amused. Like father, like son. Their mother, Beth, was content to put up with dad’s shortcomings.
She explained to Gail that sex wasn’t everything. Dad and she had a full life otherwise. Gail interpreted this as an admission that dad was unable to please her. Which was a decent excuse to bug her mother whenever they spoke, cajoling her to join the crowd and have the Procedure already. Her daughter’s pestering didn’t change Beth’s mind. Instead, mom was worn down by the general culture. Media outlets and casual conversation alike couldn’t stop chattering about the Procedure, years after the original Vartan Revolution. Cherry–the pop star who inspired the mania for small penises–was followed up by countless celebrities.
For example, an actress Beth grew up admiring spoke forthrightly on a chat show of the joy delivered to her by her tightening. The actress had to be in her 70s at least. Notably, unlike Cherry, she didn’t mention the size of her lover. Such propaganda (deliberate or not) prepared the ground; however, Beth required greater incentive. Resistance to the incessant drumbeat of Vartan publicity was strongest in a certain type of woman: aged past the middle of their lives, comfortable, with a position in society, good income, a faithful and decent husband, and a group of friends watching closely for any deviation from the party line. The partners’ wives’ circle from Pete’s law firm exemplified the type. In a concession to popular pressure, they accepted the new social status of Vartan Girls and their small-dicked husbands. Such as Pete and his wife, Heather. But the Procedure was for younger people, not them.
Their class stood apart from that of Beth and her friends. But Beth’s peers were not only in agreement with anti-Vartan forbearance. If anything, they were less permissive. They considered the Procedure irredeemably vulgar. Not to mention how Vartan Girls flaunted it; worse, how they flaunted the (small) size their partners. It was undignified. Beth couldn’t imagine telling anyone that Pete and Gail’s father was small down there. She was embarrassed enough when her children found out through a fluke. Things only changed when her friend, Ginny, posted frankly about getting the Procedure done on the popular social networking site favored by her friends.
Complete with wink-wink suggestions of what followed in her bedroom. (With her boring husband. Frank.) That was enough. It’s called a preference cascade. After years of resistance, Beth’s girlfriends swiftly succumbed, woman by woman, to the fad. No one wanted to be left out, including Beth. No official upper age limited qualification for the Procedure. Doctors judge candidates case by case. But candidates drop off precipitously of their own volition around 65. Beth was at that age. Similar to other women past their middle years, the Procedure caused a crisis in her marriage.
The initial rush of satisfyingly tight sex surprised her. She and Martin went from once or twice a month to every day. He was worn out and showed it by being short and cranky with her. She resorted to purchasing her first vibrator. It was long, thick, and (she honestly chose the color at random) black. In another first, Beth squirted, having learned how to use her dildo properly by watching an online instructional video. After discovering her not-so little helper, Martin had trouble getting it up. Beth wasn’t vocal about it, but she couldn’t hide her frustration. She pushed him to see a doctor, and when the blue pills failed to help, he went to see a psychiatrist.
Their lives dragged on like that for months. Beth wasn’t the cheating kind, and as such thought, she had no recourse but to seek a divorce. Men don’t value even the best-looking senior citizens, but if you had to date a 60+-year-old, you couldn’t hope for better than Beth. A faint echo of her daughter’s beauty reverberated in Beth’s body. Same bouncy, golden curls. (Mom’s artificially colored, of course.) Same fair skin. They were both voluptuous, Beth’s tits of considerably larger. She had some 35 or more years and two children on her daughter, you know.
Of course, Gail’s body stayed precisely where she left it when her clothes came off. Beth’s, to put it simply, didn’t. Which is all to say she had some options in the dating market, more considering the Procedure. If she were to leave Martin, that is. Confiding in her friends proved impossible. Beth knew they either wouldn’t want to hear it, or they’d spread her plight around. The telephone game to follow would have her in a three way with Queen of England, or something.
Beth couldn’t abide losing control of the way her group perceived her. Worse, what if they sympathized and told her about all the cocks they’ve run through since their Procedures? Beth feared living an episode of Sex and the City most. So she confided in her daughter. Gail listened politely. Out of her mother’s presence, she went hysterical. This was the farthest consequence from her mind when she recommended the Procedure to her mom. Gail felt guilty, which made her vindictive. So she went to dad, told him everything, and in turn, he blew up at Beth.
The two of them had it out, with mutual recriminations. He called her a slut for throwing their marriage away for the sake of getting off. She lamented an adult life spent with a baby limp-dick. Martin left the house that night, never to return. The family was broken, just like that. Those who knew agreed to keep it from Pete, who got roped into a big push at work. Harvey Stone again, perpetual ‘problem client.’ They’d break the news after his busy period.
Also, the way with fads, as the older generation went Vartan, young girls went the other way. Women under 25 increasingly abjured the Procedure and began proudly advertising themselves as Natural Girls (as opposed to Vartan Girls), with vaginas as tight or loose as nature intended. Those who regretted having the Procedure joined the naturalist movement by growing out their pubic hair and publicly endorsing larger penises. Once again, Gail was ahead of the curve. Before it was fashionable to be a Vartan Girl who preferred big cocks, she did. She absolutely did not believe in hairy pussies, however.
Pete didn’t know about that, but he knew Gail was old-fashioned on the subject of small penises. She told him as much. He never would’ve known years earlier, but their relationship changed radically the night of the bathroom incident when he showed her just how small his penis was. Not on a lark; rather, to prove he was worthy of being set up with her girlfriend and his future wife. Heather wanted to be a good Vartan Girl, you see, and was on the lookout for a small man.
For her part, Gail simply didn’t buy into the new social status of undersized men. She didn’t change her dating habits a bit after her tightening and ended up with a series of hung guys. One such guy, Drake, was a former singer and rhythm guitarist in a rock band with a moderate regional following. He dated Gail off and on for years, to Pete’s chagrin. The brother and the occasional lover never got along, which in the old days hadn’t bothered Gail. But since brother and sister grew closer, she resented the boys’ acrimony. Which is why she was pleased to see Pete’s disposition toward Drake change when Gail and he announced they were settling down. Pete hoped Drake had quit stringing Gail along.
Pete was wrong. Two months after their unofficial ‘commitment ceremony’—Gail didn’t believe in marriage—Pete set Drake up with a job at a real estate brokerage. Connections came with being a partner in a successful big city law firm, a position Pete considered he owed to hard work and his wife (and his fashionably small penis, which his wife ensured was public knowledge). It was only right for him to return Gail’s favor by helping Drake. Real estate wasn’t for Drake, however. He didn’t make a go of it. To Gail, he excused himself by claiming all the top positions went to ‘smallies’ (larger men’s term for men with undersized cocks in the post-Vartan world).
The story was he couldn’t compete due to social injustice. With 7.5 inches, the part about him not being a smallie was true. But they both knew his lack of advancement was on him, not penile discrimination. (How everyone at the brokerage knew Drake’s cock status went unexplained.) Drake drifted, and Gail supported him. Wasn’t long before he lost that job, then another, tried reforming his band, started another, and nothing panned out. Sex was their saving grace. Drake knew what he was doing, and Gail had always been multi-orgasmic. He left her in sweaty puddles.
Often, she came immediately upon entry. He didn’t go down on her because he never much liked it and didn’t believe it necessary. Gail wished he’d be more attentive, but he was right, it wasn’t necessary. She got off easily and regularly. As long as he delivered where it counted, Gail assumed she’d never leave him. Then her parents’ marriage exploded. If a 40-year bond could dissolve so abruptly, why not her arrangement with Drake?
Gail didn’t formulate clearly the idea of dumping Drake, but her mind entertained it on some level before, out of the blue, her former club buddy Jordyn texted her. Jordyn had something to tell, girl to girl, and suggested getting together for drinks. Gail agreed. She hadn’t been in the club scene since Drake committed himself to her, but she didn’t think much of Jordyn reaching out. Could be she merely wanted to bitch about work/a guy/her landlord. A grenade hit Gail the following Tuesday, lobbed by pretty Jordyn, a fit, volleyball playing club girl. She informed Gail that Drake was a snake.
He fucked his way through that real estate office and was picking up randoms in the clubs weekly. She was hesitant to spill to Gail because the two hadn’t gone out in months, and were never all that close. But she believed she’d want to know in Gail’s position. Gail agreed and thanked her. She couldn’t be bothered with reasons for Jordyn’s hesitation, and frankly didn’t care. All Gail could hold in her mind was the notion of revenge. She wanted to take the next guy she saw home and fuck him on Drake’s bed.
But that was hasty. The family couldn’t abide extra scandal. Gail wasn’t close to Heather anymore and never had been part of the high society she and her husband inhabited since their marriage. But the family as a whole was a satellite revolving around Pete, who in turn was part of firm society, itself dominated socially by the conservative and watchful partners’ wives’ club. Gail’s method of revenge might reflect poorly on Pete, and she couldn’t bear that. Firm society wasn’t free of adventure, however.
Gail knew it had its wildcats, dogs, cougars, kittens, and all manner of sexual animals. She shared Pete’s quondam suspicion that Heather cheated on him with one of the firm’s partners, Harry Pendling. Though Pete swore that he had been unforgivably wrong in his wild imaginings. Other affairs Gail knew for a fact happened. They were common knowledge. She was decided: no bitter old crones would dictate her sex life. Those hypocrites could throw stones at themselves, for all Gail cared.
The girls hit the town the following Saturday. Jordyn is a Vartan Girl, too, but at 26 she’s down with the naturalists. She let her pussy hair grow wild and is on the hunt for a big dick. Before the Vartan Revolution, Jordyn had been a size queen, and that never changed. In college, she was a star attacker on the volleyball team and partied with all the school’s athletes. She always picked out the longest, thickest guys.
It was her talent, and it never failed. One bar and two clubs into the night, Jordyn spots a one-night stand she enjoyed months back whom she figures would be perfect for Gail’s revenge plot. He’s an older guy, not handsome but rich, with the biggest cock she’d seen. And she had seen a lot.
“Hey, girl,” Jordyn says, bumping Gail’s shoulder at the bar. Gail is waiting on a handsome yuppie to fetch her a pink cocktail of indistinct variety. “Got one for ya.”
“Who?” Gail responds, ignoring the yuppie, who, glass in hand, is unsure what to do with himself.
“That one. Look, by the pillar.”
A middle-aged man of not unpleasant but undistinguished features leans against a Doric column across the room, observing a 20-something dancing for him. She’s showing off; he’s unflappable. No way to know whether he’s into her. His suit is exquisite, obviously, cost a fortune. Gail assumes he’s loaded. She plays uninterested.
“What about him?”
“He’s got the biggest thing I’ve ever seen!” says Jordyn, louder than she should.
“Seriously, girl. Get on that. I’ll introduce.”
Jordyn makes good by heading toward the gentleman.
“Wait, wait,” says Gail, grabbing at what there is of Jordyn’s dress. Jordyn is wearing a flouncy micro skirt and a tank top, her little breasts jostling as she all but skips across the dance floor. Gail is in a halter top and skintight skirt, her cleavage deep and round, full ass on display. The pair reaches the gentleman, still leaning. He glances over and recognizes Jordyn.
“Jordyn, honey. Haven’t seen you in…what? Forever?” says the gentleman.
“Been a while, Harv. I’d like you to meet my girl, Gail.”
Harvey Stone consumes Gail’s curves with his eyes. She’s self-conscious and shy. Chatting up men in clubs wasn’t this way for Gail before Drake. Being sidelined must have dulled her abilities. This Harv person has her nervous. The dancing girl watches the exchange like a child who lost a round of musical chairs. Actually, exactly like the yuppie left hanging by Gail moments ago. When Harv pulls Jordyn in and strokes her high and tight ass, the hanging girl cuts loose. The threesome is now alone amongst the crowd.
“Nice to meet you, Gail. How long have you gals known each other?” asks Harv.
“Years,” interjects Jordyn before Gail can respond.
Gail has a frog in her throat. “She dumped me for while when she met this guy, though.”
“Guy? Where is this guy?”
“He isn’t here. He cheated on her.”
“Oh, it’s the truth,” Jordyn justifies herself.
“Sorry to hear that, Gail,” says Harv sympathetically.
“That’s okay, thanks. Jordyn didn’t need to mention it.”
“She’s looking for revenge,” adds Jordyn.
“Jordyn, really. That’s enough,” says Gail, red in the face.
“I don’t mind, Gail. In fact, I find it interesting. Why don’t you and I talk? Jordyn can busy herself with Jordyn things,” says Harv tactfully.
“Sure can. See you, Gail. Be safe.”
“Don’t go too far,” says Harv as Jordyn skips away. “We may need you later.”
Harv’s forwardness annoys Gail. But Drake annoyed her at first, too. Alpha males tend to come off as annoying at first. A figure watches the older gentleman chat up the girl with the halter top cleavage from the bar. He’s seen her before, but cannot remember where. Harv and he go to this club once a month at least. A fine selection, and plenty willing. They score as often as they come.
Important to keep Harv’s average up, Harry Pendling thinks, even if we’re basically running buddies by now. Don’t want him associating any frustration, sexual or otherwise, with me. Tonight’s target appears unusually skittish to Harry. But Harv’s already scored with the familiar chick’s girlfriend. Harry recognizes Jordyn from a previous hunt (though he couldn’t tell you her name). Sure enough, the tall, skinny girl rejoins Harv and the curvy girl, and they exit the club together.
Harv nods to Harry on his way out, all the communication they require. The busty, young, curly blonde passes close by Harry, and it strikes him. That’s Pete’s sister! Harv is gonna fuck the sister-in-law of one of Harry’s sweetest conquests: Heather. Which reminds him: he must chase her down. Who spends only one day with Harry? He prefers never to do the chasing, but for her own good, he must fuck Heather again. The Park Center Hotel downtown, two blocks from the club, is Harv’s preferred love nest for nights on the town with Harry.
All the action sits within a narrow compass, and it’s as fancy as hotels get in the neighborhood. Jordyn seemed to enjoy it during their previous tryst. Gail–or Goldilocks, as Harv took to calling her–would, too. A nervous tension hangs in the air as a private car picks the group up. It persists through the lobby, up the elevator, and into his room. Jordyn and Gail haven’t been together this way, Harv senses.
Is that the tension? No, not really. It’s coming from Goldilocks, and not because she’s afraid of Jordyn. Harv knows enough to press on before Goldilocks, who currently resembles a fawn about to bolt, changes her mind. Bolting isn’t on Gail’s mind, though she is nervous. She’s at the end of the longest relationship of her life, and she both does and doesn’t want Jordyn present. Gail’s never been with a woman, nor done it with a woman in the room. But she also doesn’t want to be alone with Harv, with whom she doesn’t feel entirely safe. Her friend silently comforted Gail all the way to the room, with glances, facial expressions, hand strokes, and so forth.
As if to ask, “Are you okay?” and say, “It’ll be fine, I promise.”
Jordyn found Gail sexy from the moment they met and had plenty of experience with girls. Jordyn isn’t nervous whatsoever. She’s been waiting for an opportunity like this and pounces first. As Harv pours champagne (Harry’s trick; actually, the oldest trick in the book of seduction), Jordyn places her arms on Gail’s shoulders. Jordyn stares into her eyes, and Gail looks away as Jordyn leans down to put her lips on her friend. The kiss is not returned. Gail squirms away. This isn’t what she wants. Jordyn sinks momentarily. Harv walks over and hands each girl a glass.
He stares Jordyn down. “Take off your clothes. Get on the bed.,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” Jordyn responds playfully.
She complies, her tawny, thin body coming into view in short order. Jordyn is the perfect athletic type, with long, lean muscles, small chest, and tight ass. Her pussy, in the Natural Girl style, is overgrown with brown hair.
Harv turns to Gail and whispers, “Saving the best for last.”
This causes her to giggle, which in her head sounds sickeningly girlish. “Show me that big cock, daddy,” says Jordyn.
Harv loves hearing that sort of talk. Especially after the Vartan Revolution, which for a good while caused men like Harvey Stone to lose some of their rightful superiority. Harv takes off his trousers with his back to Gail. He approaches the bed, and a nude Jordyn pulls down his boxers. Gail is faced with old man butt. Harv is so positioned that she can’t see what he’s packing, as slurping noises commence. She doesn’t move to get a better view, instead, sits in the chair behind her, fully clothed with arms at her sides.
“I want it inside me,” says Jordyn.
She lays by the headboard. Harv puts on a rubber, hops on top of her, and Gail finally gets an eyeful of Harv’s manhood. Oh, my God! It was ridiculous. Had to be 10 inches, bulbous, uncut, resembling something from a monster movie. Gail is surprised, size queen or no, that Jordyn’s into an old lecher with that monster-cock. But Jordyn seems eager, and it fits inside her. The next 30 minutes are a blur of sweat, screaming, and flabby old man skin bouncing. No bouncing on Jordyn, who is fit as can be. Gail can’t guess how many times Jordyn cums. Impossible to tell. Harv doesn’t cum at all.
Eventually, he slaps her ass and gestures toward Gail, saying, “Your turn, honey.”
Watching Jordyn’s session, the idea of the same happening to Gail was merely an abstract concept. She didn’t think in terms of experiencing for herself what she saw being committed upon Jordyn. At most, it was theoretical Gail getting theoretically fucked by an imaginary monster cock. How could she go through with it for real? She doesn’t have to wonder for long. Sweaty Jordyn, still nude, skips over, takes Gail by the shoulder, and begins undressing her. Harv enjoys from the bed, monster cock still erect.
First, the skirt comes off–bit by bit, as it truly is skin-tight–revealing Gail’s red thong. Harv has Jordyn turn her around so he can see the dental floss in the crack of Gail’s jiggly butt. Panties come off next. Underneath is a baby-smooth pink pussy. Jordyn pulls off Gail’s halter top, and her braless boobs fall out. Maybe ‘fall’ isn’t the proper word because they stay suspended in air. Full c-cups with prominent puffy, pink nipples. Goldilocks is all Harv could have hoped for back at the club. Jordyn leads her over, like a Madame to a John. He takes over and places her on the other side of the bed, away from Jordyn’s wet spot.
They make out, and he explores her suppleness with his expert hands. Gail sincerely did not expect the sensations Harv provides. He has her tingling all up and down. Good kisser, too. That must have been more important in his time. None of Gail’s boyfriends have demonstrated much interest in the art. The masculine bulk of Harv’s body looms above her. He keeps in touch with her lips, her eyes closed tight, as he reaches down to check her wetness.
A condom subtly placed on while her attention is distracted. Harv enters Gail smoothly, or as smoothly as possible with his equipment. Gail shudders, and her eyes shoot open as Harv continues kissing. It hurts, but a good kind of hurt. She cums just like that and keeps cumming intermittently while Harv works her. In and out, his grossly swollen member stretches her, but not too far. The Procedure won’t allow that. Gail maintains the integrity of her pussy, as promised.
Harv says, “God, you’re tight,” twice.
Gail loses track of her orgasms, but she’s always been that way. Like Drake, Harv doesn’t go down on her. He finds the act too feminine. Also like Drake, he doesn’t need to. Gail later will remember positions, moves, and sensations out of order, in a jumble. Harv’s dangling balls hitting her in doggy-style, his paunch bumping against her in missionary, his cock splitting her all along. Normally, these things might count against him. All Gail’s partners had been handsome, in shape, and proportionately sized. But it doesn’t matter with Harv. It is enough that he provided the perfect revenge-cock. Excusing himself to the shower, Harv leaves the girls alone. Jordyn joins a prostrate Gail and plays with her curls.
They’re both still naked. Jordyn touched herself all through Harv and Gail’s session, which she explains to Gail. It was that hot. Gail deduces this is Jordyn’s prelude to intimacy. She doesn’t want to hear it. Not interested. Suddenly, Gail is anxious to leave. She doesn’t want to spend another minute in that debauched room with Monster Cock and the Bi-curious Size Queen. But she’ll have to shower. Can’t go into the night like that. So Gail suffers through Jordyn’s caresses and coos, as well as Harv smirking in his bathrobe, surrounded by steam.
She is on her feet, wordlessly brushing past Harv as soon as he exits the bathroom, and exchanges no pleasantries on her way out. Jordyn tries to join her but is rebuffed. Gail says they’ll hook up later. She wants to be alone. One of those nights when you can’t get home quickly enough. A cab ride later, Gail is in bed. Her instinct is to call Pete, tell him all about it. But that’s impossible. They’re open with each other, but not that open. Pete doesn’t want to know such things about his sister. Bad enough what he learned about mom and dad this year. And he still doesn’t know about the divorce.
Moreover, Gail doesn’t want him to think less of her. Even if one-night stands used to be a regular part of her life. Pete knows she’s a sexual person, and definitely not a good Vartan girl like Heather. (Or his delusion of Heather ) But he doesn’t know what his sister capable of. It would be selfish, anyway, to burden him with her perversity.
The family was in the habit of keeping harsh truths from Pete. He never needs to find out, because how would he without her being foolish enough to tell him? Ah, but Harry Pendling was at that club. Harry surmised what Harv was up to when he left with Pete’s sister and her skinny girlfriend. He is destined to let Heather know, and God knows who Heather might tell.
To be continued…