Last Days of Walter Smith : Part 3 – Sweet Revenge

Author: Frank “Blue Moon” Berry

Walter dropped pocket change into the derelict’s hat as he unlocked the office door. Tom and Steve looked like they’d been drinking all day yesterday, which was, in fact, what had happened. They pumped him for details on his escapades with Georgette, but got no satisfaction, as Walter would admit only to a little champagne and a lovely afternoon with Georgette and her roommate.

“You’re taking off again today?” Tom asked. “But we’ve got a proposal tomorrow!”

“You and Steve did all the legwork on this one. You two take it.”

“But it’s your account,” reminded Steve.

“Then take the commission, too. Honestly, guys, my head’s not in the game today.” Walter collected a couple of binder clips from his desk and absently rubbed the stubble on his chin. He didn’t look his best today, but it wasn’t because of illness. He hadn’t shaved or showered this morning, nor even bothered to brush his teeth. He looked scarcely better than the man downstairs that lived on the street, but Walter felt like a million bucks. He’d finally called Lena back last night, and she had been overjoyed to hear him say he’d re-considered his options on an old topic.

Lena had been the one Walter was sure he would marry, putting himself deep into hock to keep her happy in the early days of his business. While Tom and Steve had been understanding about the occasional cash shortage that caused them to wait a day or two before cashing paychecks, Lena was prone to pouting whenever Walter was forced to say, “I just don’t have the money.” Indeed, the engagement ring he had given her took him years to pay off on his credit card. He’d paid the last payment on it a full year after Lena had left him, taking the ring with her.

But as Walter’s business matured, bringing with it obscene amounts of wealth he shared with his partners, Lena reappeared in his life, calling frequently to say she’d had a change of heart, that she’d “grown” since she’d left him, that she now saw he was the only man for her. Walter had always let the answering machine deliver his reply, knowing that she only wanted to return to his life because a lot of money had entered it. Her departing speech had been a series of statements beginning with “You’ll never be more than a…” or “I need more than a…” He had cried, unable to stop himself, standing on his porch, as she walked to the street and got into a hot sports car with a man in the driver’s seat. He had loved her for a long time and it was obvious she had never cared for him a whit.

Walter smirked as he got behind the wheel of his luxury auto. Who’s in the driver’s seat, now, Lena? He thought. He drove to her apartment, humming absently to himself, “Who’s Sorry Now?”. After parking, he buzzed her intercom and was admitted immediately, as if she’d been standing beside the buzzer. Perhaps she had, as he was a good half-hour late, a habit she had detested in their former life. But there wasn’t a trace of annoyance as she greeted him at the door.

“Oh, Walter, I knew this day would come,” she whispered, embracing him with warmth he had rarely known from her. He had noticed immediately that she had found the old engagement ring and put it back on her finger, as if the ensuing ten years between their break-up and today had been but a bump in the road. “You look wonderful!” she gushed, stepping back from him to look at a man who looked and smelled anything but good. “Where would you like to go?” she asked, picking up her small handbag. She was dressed to go out, her make-up flawless, with freshly done hair.

“Go out? Who said anything about going out?” snapped Walter, contradicting her in a manner he would never have attempted a decade ago. “I said we were going to get together.”

A flash of worried doubt crossed her face, confirming to Walter she had not learned a thing in the kitchen since he had last seen her. She recovered quickly, setting down her purse. “Okay. Can I make you a little something? A sandwich, maybe?” She turned and walked into the kitchenette. Opening the refrigerator, she peered inside as if it contained chinese Algebra. “I think I’ve got some salami. You like salami?”

“No,” Walter answered. He wasn’t even hungry, as he had wolfed down an Italian sausage hoagie with onions and peppers he bought from a street vendor less than an hour ago. However, that side street snack was nothing compared to the hoagie Lena was about to taste. “I don’t like salami. But I know you do.” Lena turned around and saw Walter stroking his hard cock. The implication was clear and the ball (or balls, as the case may be) was in her court.

“Oh, my, Walter,” she said, her tone clearly forced. “Look what you’ve got there.”

“So, you like salami? Hmm? Then say it, bitch. Say ‘I like salami.’ Say, ‘I want to suck your hard salami’.”

“I…I want to…”

“No, not like that. Say it like there was a hundred-dollar bill wrapped around it. ‘I want to suck your hard salami’.”

Lena gulped and licked her dry lips. The refrigerator door stood open as she regarded the man she thought she knew so well. “I…want to suck…your…hard salami.”
Walter smiled sweetly. “There, now was that so hard? Now come here.” Lena shuffled to where he stood, uncertainly. “We can pick up right where we left off. For the years that we were together, I wanted to give you whatever you wanted. Now, if you want to suck my hard salami, my salami is available for sucking.” Walter forced her to her knees. She looked up, with a pleading look in her eyes. “I only want you to be happy,” he said, as he grabbed a handful of her hair and she gave a startled gasp as he shoved his meat in her mouth.

He farted lustily as he thrust with abandon through her lips. “Is that good salami?” he asked, pulling her off so he could look into her face. She pasted on a smile and said eagerly, “Oh, yes, it’s the best salami I’ve ever tasted.” She nodded vigorously, hoping this had only been a test. “Good,” he answered, plunging his cock back into her mouth, face-fucking her as he had dreamed of doing so many times before.

“Suck my balls,” he commanded, and instantly he felt her mouth leave his dick and begin tentatively licking at his scrotum. “Not lick, suck!” he demanded, as she dove into the task, his meat leaving a scum on her forehead as she went back and forth between his unwashed nuts.

“Can I ask you for something else?” she begged, pulling her face back from his groin.

“I only want to make you happy,” he answered sarcastically.

“Please don’t come in my mouth,” she groveled.

“Okay,” he agreed, forcing her mouth open with his hand, as he popped his dick back into her mouth. With two handfuls of hair, he thrust himself joyfully, laughing out loud at the gagging sounds she made. The many times he had begged her to try oral sex came back to him, asking her to just lick the tip, promising to wear a condom. She had always refused, telling him it wasn’t right, or that she just didn’t think she would like it. Now he looked down at the slut begging him not to leave a load in her mouth and got ready to shoot his. He grabbed her ears and felt his prick hit the back of her throat, firing round after round of white hot scum into her skull, chuckling out loud as she choked on his sperm. When he let her go, she gasped for breath as a few drops of come hit the floor.

“You said you wouldn’t…” she whined.

“I said I wouldn’t come in your mouth,” he reasoned. “That’s not the same as your throat.” She shook her head, gazing at the tile on all fours. Walter got down beside her. “Is that my come on the floor?” he asked. She nodded ‘yes’.
“Then lick it up, cunt. Every fucking drop.” He grabbed a handful of hair and forced her face into the puddle, not so much forcing her to eat it, but sopping the stain with her cheeks. When the linoleum was clean, he told her to get on her feet. She was not the same woman that had greeted him at the door, but her primary aim, getting Walter back into her control, was still in force. Walter could see a raw spot on her lower lip where she had rubbed her face against his zipper. He removed his jeans and folded them, setting them aside. “How was your lunch? Wasn’t that better than a plate of pasta?” he demanded.

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