I wish my looks could kill. Because if they could, my best friend would be lying dead on the floor right now in her little black dress and red fuck-me pumps.
Why do I want to kill my best friend? Because that slut, the girl who told me she would never think about stealing anything of mine, is kissing Michael-aka MY boyfriend.
That lying bitch. I glare at her beautiful Chanel dress, which I gave to her on her birthday. But how does she repay me for my expensive gift? By making out with my man.
The sight of her French-kissing Michael makes me want to vomit. God, look at that desperate bitch rubbing a prominent bulge in his jeans. Easy, much?
But the sight also makes me want to cry. How can Jessica, the girl who I've known for all of my life and who commiserated with me during high school, do this to me? She is-or was-my best friend. And how can Michael cheat on me? The bastard said, "I love you," to me last week. Well, if he really loved me, he wouldn't hook up with Jessica behind my back. Hell, he wouldn't hook up with any tramp.
I want to barge into his house and beat the shit out of them. It's the least they deserve for betraying me and for being stupid enough to make out behind the front window. Have the two idiots never heard of curtains?
I look at the wrapped box in my hand. Inside the box is a Rolex watch for Michael. I scowl. There is no way I'm giving the nice watch to the asshole now.
Jessica moans as Michael puts a hand underneath her dress. I gasp. Why is he fingering her when he has always denied me the same pleasure because he claimed he's "no good at it"?
Bullshit. Jessica definitely looks like she's having a good time.
I decide to walk away. Revenge is a dish best served cold. I smile. Tomorrow, I'll be serving frozen revenge to Jessica. That slut should watch her back.
I tap my foot as I wait impatiently for Jessica to arrive at my house. Why can the whore never be on time? I swear she is always at least five minutes late.
As I wait, I check on the food around me. Everything looks good-and like it will leave a stain.
Finally, Jessica shows up at 5:30-thirty minutes past the time I told her to meet me here.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," Jessica says, smoothing her long fake blond hair. "There was so much traffic."
Mentally, I snort. Traffic in the suburbs? Please.
"It's okay," I answer, resisting the urge to grin devilishly at her outfit, which consists of a tight silk blouse from Dolce and Gabbana, a short black pencil skirt from Michael Kors, and a pair of Christian Louboutin heels. Revenge is going to be sweet indeed.
"You're such a great friend. You always forgive me for being such a flake."
I want to laugh. The bitch has no idea of what's coming to her.
"So why did you invite me here today?" she asks.
"I prepared a feast for us," I answer with a smile that hides my hatred for her, gesturing toward the food on the table in the dining room. I made mashed potatoes with gravy, spaghetti, lasagna, cakes, pies, and clam chowder. Enough food to feed a small army-and to teach one slut a lesson.
"Oh, all of it looks delicious," Jessica says. "But I'm on a pretty strict diet."
She raises her eyebrows. "Then why did you go to the trouble of cooking all of this?"
I shrug. "Because…" I grab a bowl of mashed potatoes. "I want to teach you to not mess around with my boyfriend, you fucking slut!" I scream, dumping the creamy mashed potatoes all over her head.
"What the fuck? I just got back from the salon, bitch!" she shouts, trying-but totally failing-to wipe the potatoes off her hair and face. She only ends up smearing the stuff around.
"Want some gravy with that?" I dump the sticky brown sauce all over her blouse. To add insult to injury, I pull out her top and pour tomato sauce on her chest. With a smirk, I pat her breasts, making sure her D-cups are covered in the red sauce.
Jessica sighs. "I suppose I deserved that," she says, flipping her ruined hair. "I did kiss your man after all. But did you have to ruin my favorite blouse?"
"Yes," I hiss. "You know how I feel about Michael!"
"Okay, fair enough. But everything's even now, right?"
"Not even close, bitch." I rip off her skirt and stuff her panties with spaghetti.
"EW!" she whines, wriggling with discomfort. "I think a noodle just entered my pussy!"
"I bet Michael's dick did too," I reply before tearing off her blouse and throwing pieces of meaty, cheesy lasagna on her bare tits.
Jessica puts her hands on her hips. "Are you happy now? I'm naked and covered in shit!"
"Correction-now you are naked," I say, pulling down her panties and shoving a French silk pie into her sex. Then I push her into a huge white-frosting-covered cake, take off her heels, and dump the shoes in a bowl of clam chowder.
"You crazy bitch!" she screams. "Okay, I messed around with your boyfriend! That was wrong of me, but it gives you no right to humiliate me like this!" She groans, rubbing her filthy pussy. "Great. Now I have to get spaghetti, pie, and cake out of my vagina."
"You think this is humiliating?" I grin, taking my iPhone out of my pocket. "Wait until I post pictures of you on the Internet…"
"Oh, you're so going down, you cunt." Before I can start taking photos of her, she blinds me with a key lime pie, causing me to fall into the huge bowl of clam chowder. I curse as the white chowder gets all over my Chanel blouse and skirt.
"You owe me new clothes!" I shout, wiping pie out of my eyes. Then I put my hands in the chowder, searching for my phone. The slut made me drop it in the crap.
"Go fuck yourself." She smiles at me. "Like Michael fucked me."
"I'm going to kill you, whore!" But she hits my face with another key lime pie before I can strangle her. Again, I fall into the clam chowder.
Jessica sits on my stomach, her big boobs bouncing. "Since you stripped me, it's only fair that I stripped you." She then pulls my ruined blouse off, exposing my breasts. I gasp as she squeezes my tits.
"I'm so suing you for sexual harassment!" I hiss as she covers my boobs in gravy.
"I'll like to see you try." Jessica then pulls down my underwear and sticks a finger into my sex, making me scream with disgust. Ugh, Michael won't finger me, but my ex best friend will?
"You perverted dyke!" I scream as she pushes an apple pie into my pussy. Getting the sticky apple filling and crust out of my sex will be a pain in the ass-literally.
"No need to be a homophobic bitch." She twists my nipples, making me yelp with pain.
"What does Michael see in you besides an easy lay?" I snarl.
"Let's see…" She squeezes my tits again. "Unlike you, I don't have tiny boobs."
"I have C-cups, tramp! And even if my boobs are smaller, at least they aren't fake!"
"My breasts are real!"
I laugh. "Oh, so you naturally went from teeny A-cups to D-cups in one weekend? Oh, please."
"I hate you," she growls, pouring tomato sauce all over my stomach.
"The feeling is mutual." Then I sit up and push her off me. She lands in a big bowl of sticky brown gravy, her legs in the air and her pussy totally exposed. With relish, I fling a blueberry pie into her sex. Then I put her stomach on my knee and spank the hell out of her.
"OW! OW! OW!" she whines.
"You've been a naughty, slutty girl," I say, pushing her face into the gravy.
"Why are you punishing only me? Michael betrayed you too!"
"Well, he's a guy. Of course he's going to fuck a piece of white trash who throws herself at him. But he still isn't going to get off scot-free. After all, he fucked a whore like you when he had me, the best thing that ever happened to him." Then I slap her ass again, making her squeal. "Yeah, squeal, you slutty, dirty pig!" I dump mashed potatoes on her back. "You, on the other hand, are-well, were-my best friend. A friend who promised to never try to steal anything or anyone from me. A friend who should have known better than to fuck my man."
"I'm sorry, Hannah! You're right. I shouldn't have messed around with Michael. Please forgive me. I promise to make it up to you!"
"Maybe I would have forgiven you if you had taken your well-deserved punishment quietly. But since you had to be an audacious bitch and strip me and throw crap at me, I'm going to make you sorry you ever even thought about stealing my boyfriend."
She grits her teeth. "Fine. Have it your way. Bring it on!" She then shoves me off her. I groan as I land on top of a chocolate cake. My poor hair and body. I'm going to need to take a long-ass shower tonight.
I try to sit up, but Jessica pushes my face into the cake.
"Who says you can get up?" she hisses, sitting on my back. I moan as she fingers me again. I hate to say it, but I'm not disgusted by her fingers in my pussy. In fact, I'm enjoying it, which is strange considering I'm no lesbian.
She laughs. "Wow, you're wet. You must love being humiliated, huh?"
Unfortunately, I'm too busy moaning to insult her.
She then takes her fingers out of my sex and proceeds to spank me. For some fucked-up reason, I'm getting wetter. Who knew I was one of those chicks who get off on pain?
She flips me on my back, pinning my shoulders into the cake before I can get up and slap the bitch until she's senseless. I squirm under her hold, but it's no use; the whore won't let go of me. To make things even worse, she rests her legs on mine, trapping me completely.
"Get off me!" I yell.
"Or what? You'll kill me? I would like to see you try." She then does something truly despicable-she thrusts her dirty pussy into mine. What's even more twisted-I enjoy it. A moan of bliss escapes my mouth as she continues to force herself inside me. I shouldn't enjoy this messed-up nonconsensual shit, but fuck, I'm having the most intense orgasm of my life.
"Wow, you're dripping. You must be enjoying this, you filthy slut," Jessica says, smirking.
Her words drive me out of my ecstasy. "Okay, that's it," I say. "It's time to take out the trash."
Before she can finish, I throw the boyfriend-stealer out of the house-literally. She lands in a big puddle of mud. I laugh as she emerges from the puddle, every inch of her covered in icky brown sludge, including her ample breasts, which are shaking with indignation.
"I'm going to get you-!" she screams.
I shut her up by flinging a pie into her face. The force of the throw makes her fall back into the mud. I smile, closing the door.
I run up the stairs, eager to take a shower, ignoring the messy footprints I leave on the steps. I'll have the maid clean them and the dining room tomorrow.
Before I jump into the bathtub, I look at myself in the mirror, suppressing a groan. Christ, I'm such a mess. A stranger couldn't identify my hair color because of all the clam chowder and cake covering my brunette locks. And my tits-damn, they're filthy. They're covered in clam chowder, cake, pie-you name the food, it's probably on my breasts. I suppose it's my own fault for preparing so much food. But hey, how was I supposed to know Jessica would retaliate? And don't get me started on my pussy. I don't even want to think about all the crap I have to get out of my sex.
But despite all of that, I can't help admiring my body. I don't mean to brag-oh, who am I kidding? I totally mean to brag-but I am pretty damn sexy. All-natural perky boobs, a fit ass that just won't quit, a nice flat stomach, and long slender legs. If I wasn't going to college and getting a degree in psychology, I could definitely have a successful career as a model.
Yet Michael failed to appreciate my hotness when almost any other guy would kill to have me. Yes, Jessica is sexy, but guess what? Her looks were bought. Those D-cups? Faker than a cheap Louis Vuitton bag. Her fat-free ass-purchased with her daddy's credit card. And hello, nose sculpted by California's finest plastic surgeon.
After I study my toned ass for a few more seconds, I step into the tub and let the hot water fall on me. Eagerly, I rub body wash all over my breasts and sex.
As I scrub myself clean, I start thinking about Jessica and how I was forced to have sex with her. And how I liked it. At the mere thought of our pussies colliding, my sex drips-and not with water.
Suddenly, I need release. I place two fingers into my pussy, moaning.
Unfortunately, my hand is no substitute for my ex best friend's sex. Still, it's better than nothing.
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