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Vanilla Scream

When both desired and undesired change pushes one past the point of no return…

I

Green eyes.

Contacts, he thought, but he could only see one.

It looked unnatural. Not blinking. Just staring. Staring at him. It had better not be another Cyclops. His silly thought made him chuckle.

Who are you?

Was it envy? Or maybe, guilt?

He hadn't felt anything like guilt for almost two years. Bitterness, insecurity, and resentment. Yes. Embarrassment and shame. Absolutely. But at that moment, it definitely wasn’t guilt. He only felt a focused internal rush of pleasure. Fierce. Adulterated. Messy.

Something not unexpected.

II

"FUCKin’ vanilla.”

Ned grumbled as he and the young couple he followed passed the middle-aged man selling Spare Change. The man stood next to, but suspiciously around the corner from the store’s entrance. He clutched his fundraising newspapers amid the swirling winds that tried to strip him of them and his remaining dignity. The man reminded Ned of a strung-out dealer. Desperate. Possibly ashamed. Definitely armed and dangerous. Ned felt that that man could’ve easily been him.

As he entered the store, Ned strategically kept the couple between himself and the smiley-faced greeter. He felt Walmart greeter avoidance was always in both of their best interests. No need to feign happiness or have it forced upon one’s self. Interestingly, most greeters he knew by sight, sound, or smell. Once past the gatekeeper, Ned quickened his pace to the freezers at the back.

“Why always vanilla?” he continued, albeit restraining himself from screaming his displeasure to the entire store.

“Not even French vanilla. Just plain old, crappy vanilla. Not the good stuff either. Too expensive, she says. We can’t afford it right now." Ned mimicked Jane’s side of their conversation, but wondered if his defiance was too suburban cliché. It was, after all, just ice cream.

They’d usually add it to blueberry pie or make floats with root beer or orange soda. That’s what he and Jane did on their first date. They shared a root beer float. It was safe. Ned knew his wife was right. It didn’t make sense to get the good stuff in the little containers. The kids wouldn’t know the difference. But damn it, he would.

While embroiled in self-debate, Ned dodged a couple of slow moving shopping carts. They were piloted by individuals with clearly no awareness of how their actions affected those around them. Self-centered motherfuckers! Ned’s horn wasn’t working but his middle finger scowl sure was, and he used it. Tossed those waddling ladies the dirtiest of looks, he did. He then waved off a sample maven with the same invisible finger as she accosted him with her shitty chip and dip display.

No. Fucking. Thank you.

Now piss off.

Please.

Even in the grumpiest of moods, Ned still felt manners were society’s social lubricant. You could be snooty, just be fucking polite about it, for fuck’s sake. He felt it’s what separated the bipedal hominids of his species from the knuckle-dragging, flat-earther, swamp, forest, and jungle types. Even when telling bad drivers to fuck off and die, Ned always bookended his tongue-lashing with a pleasantly sarcastic, please and thank you. Just like his favorite super hero.

Deadpool however, would have run towards the sample lady, leapt over and turned a perfectly spun, tight summersault. Before landing, he would have swatted her tush with an unsheathed katana then say, “Can’t today, honey. I’m getting ice cream!”

Ned wasn’t Deadpool. His life was a boring cliché. It was as vanilla as it gets.

In many ways, Ned felt like the spiky-haired cartoon kid trapped in a cartoon grown up’s body. He retained Calvin’s impetuous urges, but now with Dilbert’s cubicle world forced upon him, he repressed his life’s passions. Those losses gifted him with new social ambivalences. But Ned still had a pet tiger. It was a golden retriever which he naturally named, Hobbes.

Jane, Hobbes, and the kids expected his financed, late-model, off-white minivan with the sliding rear doors and the ceiling-mounted DVD player to pull into their taupe-on-taupe-on-taupe, over-mortgaged, front-attached garage home at precisely five-thirty, just like most every week night. They’d eat dinner under the perpetual worry of growing debt, unresolved marital descent, and expanding waistlines.

He’d then help his kids with their homework, listen to their crappy stories about Pokémon or some other brain numbing, wet dream product of a mega-rich, pimple-faced teen from Tokyo. Finally, he’d send his progeny to shit, shower, and floss before bed, so he could then, for the rest of the evening, ignore in front of the television, his wife of fifteen years.

On occasion, his still adorable, wispy-haired wife, a la Meg Ryan from Addicted to Love, would ask Ned about work, comment on something family or school related, or tell him about another new video game release or convention she’d planned to shuttle the kids to. To the latter, Ned would bark, “Another one? How many of those damn things are there?”

If Ned didn’t pass out in front of the tube, he’d feign his slumber so Jane would slink to bed without him. With his recent moods, she learned to let him be. She knew that he would eventually wake.

Before finding his bed, he’d sneak in some porn time on the computer, masturbating to something dominant or submissive. Whatever it was, it was better than what he currently didn’t have. He never knew what fetish would grab his fancy, until he finally stroked with determination. It would not-so-dramatically end into a two-ply tissue. Three-ply with lotion were of course, too expensive. Inflamed, chaffed noses in the Jones’ household were a sure sign that cold season was upon them.

Once the dirty was done, Ned would crawl in next to Jane and hope for sudden unconsciousness so he didn’t have to think about his life’s trappings and failings, his asexual wife whom still professed her love for him, or the dead-end, mid-level number-crunching job he now held after losing his statistician career. He’d proudly worked for the EPA for over twelve years until his escorted walk-of-shame out of the building. They called it, computer system efficiencies. Ned was living the American dream, except it was someone else’s, not his.

After the layoff, depression hit hard and fast, reclusion followed, and his family noticed that he’d become a shadow of the man he once was. As he felt he became less of a man to his wife, he also felt she too became less of a wife to him. He’s now an over-qualified bookkeeper, trapped in an over-financed life and sexless marriage.

His life was fucked.

Ned wasn't yet at a breaking point, but today he felt that he could go off on the first blue vest that offered assistance. But he knew that wouldn't happen. He enjoyed patronizing Walmart specifically for its lack of service. Its climate-controlled environment, especially during extreme weather, was an added bonus.

Ned now stood tall in the upright freezer section. He was alone, except for the entire row of frozen milk-based and pseudo milk-based products. He scanned the vast, but limited to him, selection, then exhaled. For a moment, he could relax and embrace his solo shopping experience. Some people get their nails done, while others go for a run or shoot heroin. Ned escaped to Walmart. He only had to dodge the greeter on the way in, and again on the way out, a skill he learned from family reunions.

Ned loosened his tie and leaned back against the waist-high coolers in the middle of the aisle. He considered crawling into one and lying across this week's unadvertised special. He wondered how long it would take before Walmart discovered his corpse. They’d certainly find a way to sell his unclaimed body; maybe to the cadaver farm in Texas. He then turned to see what product his chilled carcass would be found with. No-name, dairy-free, vanilla-flavored coffee creamer.

"Why always vanilla, for fuck’s sake!" Ned groaned while over-dramatically shaking both fists at what he was certain was a godless heaven.

"Maybe they're stuck in a vanilla rut?" A tiny, Japanese-accented voice interjected. "Or maybe it's just safe. For some, change can be scary."

Ned made like a statue and maintained his skyward, squinty-eyed grimace, hoping the voice would go away. He began counting the number of ceiling lights. He stopped at eleven, but there were many more. He then considered an epic and catastrophic structural roof failure. He would go quietly. When nothing fell, he began chanting, "No blue vest. No blue vest. No blue vest." He even clicked his heels with hopes, a la Dorothy, that the person had vanished. He then looked.

Shit. Piss. Fuck.

Blue vest.

She must be new, he thought. Didn’t get the memo. Don’t talk to strangers. Customers might think they’re customers. He scanned the area. No observing supervisor in sight. Ned didn’t want to be pleasant today. His horoscope authorized him to be pissy. But this diminutive, young lady was more than just pleasant on the eyes. She was his hentai dream come true.

Her name tag said, Murasaki, and she held her smile while waiting for Ned’s delayed response. At first, he thought that she’d fallen asleep. Her eyes were closed. He could grab his ice cream and run. Maybe first he’d tip her over, like a sleeping cow, and then run. However, Ned realized that when Murasaki smiled, her eyes closed, adopting the same happy shape of her tight-lipped mouth, and the yellow, smiley-faced motherfucker on the back of her vest.

Ned then imagined how great her purple lips would look wrapped around his dick.

She defined petite, barely five feet tall, but had large, round breasts bursting out the top of her partially unbuttoned white blouse. Her corporate-issued vest looked like it harbored two hot air balloons. She had big, unnaturally purple eyes, obviously contacts, and pink bows in the long purple-haired pigtails that stuck out from the sides of her head. The cherry on his anime fantasy sundae was her skin. Almost alabaster white like a geisha’s, or mime’s, fetishist’s choice. Ned could only imagine her knee-high stockings and lace panties because corporate policy forbade anything but pants.

"Stuck in vanilla rut?” he finally responded. “I've never heard that one before."

"Sure. Sometimes people get caught in life’s ruts and they either don't know that they’re in one, or don't know how to get out. Others just play it safe, you know, vanilla. Plain Jane.”

Holy Crap.

Ned knew plain Jane, alright. He also knew ruts.

“How about you?” Murasaki asked, and then slowly moistened her lips while reading Ned’s employee ID hanging around his neck. “Are you in a rut, Ned?”

Ned’s attention had definitely been grabbed by this colorful, anime doll. However, Murasaki didn’t let him answer the question. She knew the answer. She was now in his head.

“Tell your family there was a problem with the freezer. Tonight, bring home something different."

This, he thought, might not go over well. It might be best to find another store.

"Consider this a gateway to some much needed change," Murasaki continued.

"Gateway? Change?” Ned laughed.

Who talks about ice cream this way?

Murasaki peered into Ned’s transfixed eyes. She then retrieved a pail of Neapolitan, handed him it, then leaned against the cooler next to him. Her tiny, porcelain doll hand then cupped the bulge in his navy dress slacks, utilizing the ice cream as cover.

“Ned, try something different,” Murasaki advised as she rolled out his engorgement like one rolls out pastry dough. "Then come back and tell me what happened. If it goes well, we’ll try something edgier."

"Edgier? Like what, gelato?" Ned nervously joked, now concerned that someone would witness this young lady massaging his dick in public. Murasaki rolled him out harder and just smiled. Again, her purple eyes disappeared behind the false, interlocking caterpillar lashes of her orbital smiles. Ned’s balls now tingled. He couldn’t believe that he might cum in the middle of Walmart.

It had been years since another woman touched him this way. Ned was insecure about his average equipment and its penchant for turning left when erect. He joked that he could fuck around corners. Jane always said that his penis was fine, but he never believed her. She even affectionately nick-named it, Lefty. Given the current situation, Ned felt comforted by Murasaki learning by feel, and not by sight.

“Ned, do you want me to suck your cock?” an explicit Murasaki teased. “I could do it right here, if you’d like.”

Ned gasped, almost choking on his tongue. Murasaki’s smiling eyes giggled. She knew that answer too. With the pail strategically held in place, and still no customers in sight, Murasaki stroked Lefty with her finger nails, causing Ned to tremble.

“I want to taste you, Ned,” was the last straw. Nature and gravity then took their course, and Ned’s body shook, rapidly discharging semen along the crease where his left leg and pelvis met. As the gooey liquid collected and soaked through his boxers and pants, Ned was glad that he wore his navy slacks today.

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Ned?" she asked, tilting her head like a seriously cute puppy.

His first thought was a three-ply tissue but he answered, “No, I don’t think so.”

Murasaki then handed Ned a small container of expensive, non-vanilla good stuff.

”Ned needs a little something on the side, yes?” she winked.

Murasaki bid Ned farewell in the classically-trained Walmart departure style, which was turn, tuck, and roll, avoid eye contact, and disappear into a forest of clothes before anyone could ask for assistance. Murasaki was passive-aggressive, customer-avoidance poetry in motion. She was clearly a master and had perfected her craft, just like Ned had at reunions and with the greeters.

The chill from the ice cream brought Ned back to reality, and he wondered aloud, "What the hell just happened?" His inner voice and penis answered in unison, "She just did.”

On the drive home, Ned recalled the last time he came in his pants. He and his first real girlfriend were making out in her car. He recalled being beyond embarrassed but was saved by his non-wet-spot-showing black jeans. Although she may have suspected, his girl never let on that her virgin boyfriend had prematurely ejaculated in his pants. Fortunately, he was young and was able to perform later that night in their high school parking lot. While sharing a root beer float later, he knew that some day, he would marry Jane.

III

After the day, Ned more frequently visited Walmart with hopes of picking up where he and Murasaki had left off. However, it now had been thirteen days since she had publicly violated his trouser snake. They had not seen her since. They feared that they’d never see her again. She was young. Walmart staffers were transient. He understood.

Ned prepared to abandon his purple hentai fantasy. She soon would be just a fond memory. He felt his life returning to the way it was, but they did have another thing. They had ice cream.

Today, Ned was purchasing maple walnut. Three days ago, it was mocha almond fudge. After the Neapolitan, it was rocky road and mint chocolate chip. Against his wife's wishes, Ned could no longer deny himself or his children.

The memory of that day’s flirtation had also produced a rare sexual tussle between Ned and his missus. As expected, after so much passage of time between intercourse sessions, it was arrhythmic and awkward. It felt less like love making and more like an anger management class. Ned wondered how many other couples fell into their vanilla rut, as Murasaki had so eloquently put it.

When he arrived, the same man was selling the same newspaper. Ned again reminded himself, had he not found work quickly, he could have had that man’s Spare Change paper route.

Ned entered the store as he always did, successfully dodging the blue-vested greeter. He then wondered where again to best begin his search for Murasaki.

As he approached a daunting gauntlet of sample wenches, Ned saw her purple hair. She was, he thought, provocatively meandering through women’s undies. Unsure of what to say or how to say it, he decided to conspicuously follow her, hoping that he would find the words, or that she would see him and speak first.

As he stalked her through the pinball bumper maze of lady's clothing, Ned lost sight of Murasaki behind a tall display. While searching, Ned entered the change room area. Then from behind, he was pushed into an empty change room and the door slammed shut behind them.

With the mezmerizing dance of the Filipino balisong, the likes of which he had only seen in martial arts, gang, and hentai movies, Violet flipped opened, and then set, a gleaming butterfly knife to Ned’s throat. Her weapon’s skills were obvious.

"Why are you following me?" she growled through her angry purple eyes and clenched teeth. Murasaki then pressed the point of the blade into Ned’s Adam's apple.

"I... I'm sorry I startled you, Murasaki. I wanted to talk."

"Then talk."

She wasn't making this easy. In fact, the stalk and counterattack had excited Ned. Having pinned him in the corner, Murasaki’s large breasts now pressed against his belly and he had a lovely view inside. He saw the frilly edges of her purple bra and wondered if they matched her panties. This was intense. It was insane. Ned had never before been this close to a woman with such ferocity. Nor had he ever been held at knife point.

"The other day… we’d had a moment.” Ned oversimplified, trying to allude to the fact that she had something to do with today’s situation. He then added, “You also asked me to tell you how my family reacted to the ice cream.”

Murasaki eased off the pressure but kept the blade against his throat. She scanned his face as if she was collecting information. Ned now feared that Murasaki did not remember him. Her eyes offered him no clue, but then her hand did when it grabbed him again.

“You missed me?”

"I did,” Ned embarrassingly said. “I thought I'd never see you again."

“I had to work an out-of-town convention and write mid-terms.”

Ned hadn’t thought of Murasaki as a university student.

“Did they like the ice cream?”

Ned mumbled through the flavors, but Murasaki suddenly froze. Ned then heard the voices too. They were on the other side of their door. It was an employee with a customer looking for an empty change room. Murasaki pressed the sharp edge against his throat and brought her index finger to her lips. The knocking then began.

"Taken," is what someone said after the first knock.

"Thank you," the Walmart representative gleefully replied.

Then another knock. They had moved closer.

"Taken.”

"Thank you," was again the employee’s response.

Then the third knock, but this time, no answer. The staffer knocked again. Still no response so she unlocked the door to the room next to theirs. Ned and Murasaki quietly listened as the other two exchanged whispered pleasantries. The staffer then extended an offer to bring her other items if the ones chosen were not satisfactory.

Murasaki shushed Ned one more time before grinning. He was confused. Her smile was devious. Even though she had a weapon, Ned never felt his life was in danger. What was she going to do? Stab him in the throat? Let him bleed out in the middle of Walmart? Highly improbably, statistically speaking, he thought. This felt less like a violent mugging and more like a power play.

Surely, she wasn't threatened by him, was she? Did he really see a knife? It happened so fast. If it was a knife, he thought, it would be a great way to go. He would die as a fucking legend. His family would win the life insurance dead pool.

As they listened to the zipping and unzipping of things next door, Murasaki began doing the same to Ned. As Ned’s pants lowered, he felt the jingle of his loose coins. His spare change. He then thought that the dude outside could probably use a hand job too.

"Oh shit!" the next door lady gasped, clearly disappointed by something she had tried on. Maybe it was too tight or maybe it was the wrong cut or color. Maybe she was a spring and brought in some winter. Stupid fucking color palates. Regardless, Ned expected her to ask the dressing room attendant for assistance, but he chuckled. He knew that that lady had invested in some false hope. No one was coming back.

They both then heard a muffled grunt. Not just once, but several in succession. Ned almost burst out laughing. Being married, he’d seen this performance before. He was certain the lady was trying to squeeze her larger than perceived butt into something a few sizes too small.

Murasaki put the knife away and dropped to her knees, taking Lefty into her mouth. His impression of this vision had been correct. Ned's eyes rolled back into his head as he braced himself against the walls. This was no married blowjob, but the real thing. She sucked with extreme prejudice. He felt blood pulled into his penis from all parts of his body. Even his nose drooped.

A bit more and his swimmers would be off to the races. He prayed for this. But then, he saw it. The big, green eye. It peered through a hole in the wall shared with the grunting lady. Damn. The grunting lady had been watching Ned the entire time!

Ned began to tremble and his butt hole clenched. Sensing premature trouble, Murasaki bit into the taut skin of his erection. The pain caused Ned to jump and his erection to semi-collapse, unceremoniously ending any progress toward his release. He immediately looked down and saw Murasaki smirking.

“Not yet,” she said. The green eye then disappeared. It had been replaced by a cloth-colored plug that matched the fabric wall’s circular design.

Murasaki quickly repositioned herself behind Ned, then guided him through a new hole, lower on the wall. On the receiving side was the warmth of the green-eyed lady’s awaiting mouth, and Lefty responded immediately.

Her hand then grabbed his penis and yanked him with such force, that Ned felt like his entire body would be pulled through that glory hole. Her tongue was next and it was hot. She just licked the head like a cat cleaned its paw. Then her grunting began again.

Murasaki instructed Ned to spread his butt cheeks and for the first time, Ned felt a hot tongue probe his uncovered manhole. A grin of disbelief covered his face, but that expression changed when she forced in something thick that immediately burned his insides. Ned struggled, but the tingling energy ultra-hardened his dick. He then smelled the ginger.

As Murasaki rimmed his burning ring, she clutched his balls. The ladies were now spit-roasting Ned, man-style. He was at their mercy. He looked skyward and unconsciously started counting bulbs. However this time, he didn’t wish for an epic and catastrophic structural roof collapse.

The grunting grew louder and more frequent, but was muffled by her licking of Lefty. Ned thought she was probably finger-fucking herself into frenzy. What it must be like, Ned wondered, to fuck someone like her.

"Feed her your seed," was the crudest thing any woman had ever said to Ned. Murasaki then squeezed his balls, bit hard into his ass, and wiggled that large chunk of ginger as fast as his neighbor fingered her twat. Both orgasms were pending and imminent. A few more rough licks and the thought of a stranger swallowing his cum triggered Ned’s, and her taste of his salty mix triggered hers. It was like this was meant to be. Grunter then sighed, “Ahhh Sheeeit.”

"I'll leave next,” Murasaki said after they heard the lady leave first. “Count one hundred Mississippi’s before you leave?" She also instructed Ned to return at two on Saturday. Murasaki left without saying goodbye. Ned didn't thank her either. What was he supposed to say? Great customer service?

On one hundred, Ned exited the change room, thankful for no witnesses. He headed directly to the exit while looking for women with large, green eyes, but took the eyes-down, widest path possible approach around the greeter. However, the cheery female was keen, and offered a thank you for shopping at Walmart. She then yelled, “Please come again!”

Now in a great mood, Ned remembered the Spare Change guy and gave him a ten, and said to keep the change for himself. It wasn’t until he got home that he realized that he’d forgotten to buy maple walnut ice cream.

IV

On Saturday, at precisely two, Ned entered the store in the same manner as he always had, but noted that another had taken the Spare Change guy’s place. He too clutched his papers to prevent the swirling wind from mugging him.

Ned went straight to the change rooms, as instructed. He then waited, but Murasaki didn’t show. After twenty minutes, Ned took unprecedented action. He sheepishly approached customer service and asked an over-zealous manager-in-training for assistance. Ned learned that no one named Murasaki had ever worked at that location.

Confused, angry, and disappointed, Ned bolted. Ned bolted right into a blonde-haired, blue-vested female, causing her to spill her beverage all over both of them. He was mortified. Ned then saw a big, green eye, but also one that was blue. Her name tag said Midori and she looked like Murasaki’s anime twin.

"Ned,” Midori smiled. “Murasaki apologizes but she couldn’t make it.” Midori told Ned to return in two hours. He couldn't believe his eyes or ears. Midori held his gaze with her dual-colored eyes and shared the breath from a mouth that had touched his body.

"I promise that you won’t be disappointed."

V

Ned arrived to an empty house with a strong desire to remove the lemon ginger tea from his body. A hot shower would also clear his head. In the steamy comfort, he pondered how he had not thought twice about engaging Murasaki and her accomplice. He had cheated on his wife. Until then, he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. She abandoned him. Ned felt betrayed. But he now realized that he too had betrayed his wife, and possibly his family.

When Ned reached for a towel, he knocked over the stack of magazines. One opened magazine caught his attention. More specifically, a dog-eared article entitled, Husband’s Job Loss: Emasculation or Opportunity? Ned scanned the article. He then took its requisite woman’s magazine survey, which Jane had completed. He was stunned.

"No fucking way," Ned gasped, shaking his head in dumbfounded disbelief. He stood naked in front of the large mirror that traveled the length of their large vanity. Then more proof. Hidden under Jane’s soap dish was a contact lens case labeled, Color: Midori (green). It was empty.

“Baby, I didn’t know how to address us.”

Ned looked up and saw in the mirror’s reflection someone standing behind him that sounded like his wife. She was dressed like Kat Noir, their youngest daughter’s favorite character. She was inappropriately, one of Ned’s too.

All black. Full latex body suit. Gloves. Cat ears in her short, wispy blonde hair. The black mask focused one on the large, green eyes behind it. The bathroom tiled floor then echoed the click of her boot heels as Kat moved in behind him. She pressed their contrasting skins together, preventing him from turning around. They then continued conversing through the mirror.

“Jane? What the fuck?”

“Ned, you became so distant and angry. I know losing your job hurt. I get it. But Ned, I never gave up on us, you did. I don’t care what kind of job you have or how much money you make. Neither makes you less of a man. I only care about us and our family. As long as we stick together, everything will be alright. We are partners.”

Kat wrapped her arms around her husband’s back and placed her head against his shoulder. Yes. His wife was still sexy as fuck. Apparently, she was smart as fuck too. Ned hadn’t felt that much love for his wife in years.

"I'm so confused," Ned stuttered. “The kids?”

“Staying at my Mom’s tonight.”

“Your car?”

“I parked a couple streets over.”

“Murasaki and Midori?”

“Ah, yes. I met our sexy friends at a video game release over a year ago. They worked part-time as anime models. We chatted. They shared. I became intrigued. We met again at a convention. I soon found out about, or rather, they introduced me to, the naughtier adult side of Cosplay, which is really just code for kinky costume sex. Hentai is literally, animated perversion, and I found that I loved it. Babe, one thing led to another. You abandoned me. I was lonely. They were, exciting.”

“You mean… ”

Jane took a deep, nervous breath, but Kat confidently exhaled, “Yes. They took me under their wing.”

Ned wondered what his wife had gotten in to. His eyes then widened with memory. “Holy fuck, Jane. Murasaki held a knife to my throat.”

“The vests. The knife. All harmless, borrowed props,” Kat revealed. “Both girls are drama students. Fine Arts, actually.”

Ned began to relax. It started to make sense. His wife had embarked on something amazing, for both of them. He quickly realized how foolish and egocentric he had been.

“How’d you know I’d like anime?” Ned asked with a hint of embarrassment.

"You should erase your browser history more frequently, my dear," Kat ribbed.

Ned then saw a devious smile reflected before Kat squatted behind him, spread his cheeks, and began licking his asshole. Ned’s head fell back and he recalled looking at the ceiling in Walmart.

“Shit! Walmart!” Ned shrieked. “She put a chunk of ginger root in my ass.”

“I know, Baby.”

Kat replaced her tongue with two greasy latex fingers, and then rose. She thrust a third lubricated finger inside, causing the couple to giggle, and then elicited a loud, grunted exhale from Ned.

“Neither girl works at Walmart. They had an improv assignment to fit in some place. Fake it until they make it, and hopefully never get caught. They only had to report back to their class on their experience. After they told me about it, I got the idea. I asked, and they agreed. We then crafted, Project Ned. And their classmate, the manager-in-training you met today, helped with the change room renovations and ran any interference, when required.”

“Jesus, Jane. That’s all pretty risky.”

Kat withdrew her fingers. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Ned then felt something thick part his cheeks and press against his opening. Kat’s eyes held the warm, brown ones that the younger Jane had fallen in love with over a root beer float. She pushed her husband forward and whispered, "If Deadpool can do this, so too can my Ned."

Ned groaned as Kat force-fed his tight ass the black phallus camouflaged hanging between her latex-clad legs. She worked it slowly, then fast, then all the way in. Ned’s face flushed with strain and its color matched his sphincter’s burn. With sweat dripping down his face, and the veins on both temples bulging out, Ned closed his eyes and accepted his fate. Just as his super hero had.

"Vanilla, by the way, is our safe word," Kat advised as she consummated the power adjustment in their relationship. "We don't expect you'll be screaming that anytime soon, do we? We know how much you dislike vanilla."

All three girls now giggled as Kat continued to bugger her husband. When Ned saw the reflection of the flanking naked models, with both sets of large, bouncy breasts and the smooth, olive folds of their deliciously dripping pussies, Ned could only grimace through his echoing grunts. He noticed Midori’s eyes were both now blue. He should have known.

For a few moments, they all watched Kat skillfully sodomize her husband. She made her teachers proud. When Kat stopped, Murasaki helped turn Ned ninety degrees so all could be profiled in the large mirror.

When Murasaki knelt before him, Ned intently watched as she gathered Lefty with her purple lips, and cradled him on her curved, extended tongue. Ned then felt the dildo jolt him deep and heard his wife grunt like a rutting animal, just like he had heard in the store. He now knew how and why.

Had he been watching, Ned would’ve witnessed Midori pull out a large plug, with the attached black cat tail, from Kat’s ass. Midori then accessed a secret suit passage way and worked her tiny, unclenched fist into his wife’s pussy. Only half of Midori’s forearm was now visible. Kat again squeezed her arms around Ned’s back for support.

For the next several minutes, while both Ned and Murasaki watched in the mirror, Kat took a closed-fist fucking from the porcelain doll behind her.

When Kat finally screamed, “Oh my FUCKING Lord!” her grip weakened. Ned grabbed her hands and held them against his chest while she trembled like he’d never seen before. Ned also saw and felt for the first time, the gush of Kat’s warm fluid splash against both of his legs.

“Holy Hell!” a delirious Ned groaned as Lefty finally spit up all over Murasaki’s purple lips and patiently awaiting tongue. “I can’t believe we are doing this.”

VI

Once all the women finished with him, an exhausted Ned watched his wife do things, and have things done to her, he’d never imagined. After the hentai girls finally left, Kat removed her mask, and Ned and Jane now cuddled in bed while reveling in the stillness of their satisfaction.

Both Kat and Jane were relieved. Any anxiety they held before, was gone. Kat no longer had a secret and Jane got her life partner back. Ned had both personas to thank for his freedom.

Ned no longer felt the same pressures. He better understood, and welcomed his new role. Jane advised that until she returned to work, or Ned found a better paying job that he liked, it was best that they controlled their spending. However, this was an investment in their marriage.

“How’s your butt?” Jane asked.

“It’ll be fine,” Ned laughed. “How’s yours?”

“It’ll be fine too,” Jane giggled.

“I can’t believe what we did in Walmart,” Ned said, shaking his head.

“I know, Baby,” Jane smiled.

“Will we see the fister sisters again?”

“You can count on it,” cooed a snuggling Jane. “You’ll meet others too. Some things have changed while you were away.”

Then across his legs, Ned felt a breeze from what he thought were the proverbial winds of change He then realized a toxic Hobbes had secretly joined them on the foot of their bed, and his guts had gone septic.

“Oh shit, that’s disgusting!” Jane exclaimed. “Get your damn dog out of here. Meet me back here when he’s done. I’ve got another surprise for you.”

Jane returned out-of-costume, but now wore the pink wig Ned learned that Momoiro wore when she played with others. Kat was exclusively for him. Momoiro straddled Ned, then handed him two large gift-wrapped boxes. As Ned tore off the paper, Momoiro gently rocked her hips, confirming that Lefty was down for the count.

As her very pleased partner marveled at his Deadpool costume, which included a mask, white contact lenses, back pack, and various prop weapons including dual katanas, Momoiro then shared some more good news.

After hearing it, Ned’s jaw dropped and he blankly stared at his wide-grinning, sexually-deviant wife. She held two spoons and a small container of some non-vanilla good stuff. The name tag on the blue vest draping her naked body read, Jane. Greeter-In-Training.

THE END

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