The Outrage
xvix Magazine teaches you about erotic and how to do it

The top floor of a large building in the center of Cagliari. Administrative management of the branch of a large multinational company. Two opposing offices, a place of action for two young rampant, Angelo and I, two brilliant yuppies fighting, despite being close friends, for the coveted promotion at the Milan headquarters.

Angelo has more titles, and perhaps more talent but like an animal does not want to leave its den, he has an excellent reason not to leave Cagliari; not for the jumble of melancholic sensations constituted by the desire to belong and the fear of being extraneous, but not to leave his fiancée, Clara. Oh yes, a valid reason to give up… slender body, flexible as a reed, a breast in the shape of a champagne cup, pointed nipples, sinuous curves that an elegant movement enhances. Once I had been invited by Angelo, with the coldness of Clara, to one of their trips to the Grotta del Bue Marino, I remember her lying on the rocks: in my mind, the Esterina di Montale emerges with imperious certainty (‘Gracefully you lay down on the rock shining with salt and burn your limbs in the sun. You remember the lizard standing on the barren rock.’). But it was everything in her that aroused admiration. Her face seems painted by Beato Angelico, a perfect oval, harmonious, with delicate lips, and eyes that light up when she smiles with two delicious dimples on her cheeks. A girl’s enchantment, a beauty destined to remain even when the invigorating aid of young age is exhausted. Brilliant physics student is also gifted on an artistic level, her paintings are not only beautiful for the pictorial technique, within the reach of many, but that spark that animates them. It would not be difficult to predict a flattering journey in the difficult world of art if only he wanted to. Gifted, strong-willed, decisive but in whose gaze I have often caught the light of restlessness. As I like to say, it seems to me the paradigmatic representation of the “Lara syndrome”, the protagonist of Doctor Zhivago. Pasternak represents her in a delicate and effective way in the dual nature of a wife in love with the uncompromising and decisive Stelnikov and in the hidden personality of a woman full of erotic impulses satisfied by the vulgar desires of the master Viktor, reuniting in unity in love for the hero positive Zhivago.

Angelo has repeatedly confided in me that he is displaced by Clara’s sexual fantasies and appetites. He is reassured by my friendship and by the apparently indifferent gaze with which I observe Clara when she is present. She thinks I’m an indicator of my feelings… poor friend, he doesn’t know how capable he is of dissembling, of concealing the tumult that agitates my heart when it appears before my eyes. Unaware he tells me of Clara’s wishes of how she often talks about possible threesomes or couple exchanges, how she would like to be dominated and penetrated with greater determination, treated like a whore. She would like to be Angelo’s sex toy, feel his cock tearing apart her anal hole until the testicles beat against her buttocks, be penetrated violently, with decisive lunges, licked until she is exhausted, and receive the juice on her face or swallow it until she last straw, as his cock nearly chokes her.

It was evident that she was not sexually satisfied and that, I conjectured, she was looking for more involving experiences, remotely far from the “so kind and so honest it seems” or from the Rostandian experiences “a la Cyrano” the undisputed master of chocolates.

The previous weekend Angelo had left for the famous and decisive interview in Milan, worried about the fact that Clara had moved to a friend’s house, to study… She remembered a previous situation, she thought back to the initial embarrassment shown by her friend at the request to pass Clara to her. Then the friend had recovered, giving the scarcely credible excuse of a momentary absence for shopping. As if that were a ritual to be celebrated in solitude! The next time, too timely, a phone call from Clara had reassured him… already he wanted to believe in Clara’s fidelity with every fiber of his body like Paschal in the Edwardian “these ghosts”.

But I, in the solitude of my room, was consumed with jealousy, both towards Angelo and, above all, towards Clara. The experience accumulated with hackers, for industrial espionage problems, was of great help! Going back to the e-mail address, after various attempts I managed to enter Clara’s PC and download all her files. In the evening, I shut myself up and with painstaking patience, I passed the time in the company of innocent letters, notes on high energies or quantum mechanics, I scrolled through photos of birthdays and lunches among students, of trips with sweethearts as a couple, a video or photos with poses spicy! I was fed up with Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle… when I came across encrypted files… I gasped, the hidden side of Clara’s Miss Hide appeared to me with its heavy realism. She had kept the conversations she had in chat with a handsome young man, the “well-endowed” Marcello! While she thanks him for brightening up the boring working mornings with certain details… the same mornings in which she swears she was anxiously engaged in class, she proposed herself as a possible master, a dominator in a relationship of submission. The hot tone certainly left no room for the imagination, hot phone calls, and cam performances were the prelude to a growing involvement in which a decisive reversal of roles was noted. It was Clara, a sort of virago, who took over the helm until ordering him to join her on that weekend of intense “anatomical” study: she had hatched the plan, booked a residence outside Cagliari, indicated the flight to take, met the “bull” at the airport, satisfied orally in the car while he firmly held her head on his hands, and finally that abandonment to the hot meetings of that weekend. The photos and videos were lacerating and unequivocal testimonies: plastic groups of tangled bodies, tongues that explore every male and female crevice, and both anal and vaginal penetrations. Oral reports not on exam subjects but on genitals… were the order of the day! The photos of her, sweaty, disheveled hair with strands adhering to her forehead, covered in her lover’s body fluids were a pang in my stomach, they left me breathless, stunned, and without strength.

Seeing her eyes animated by a joyful vital light that I had never seen in her, made a dull resentment grow against her. Eaten with jealousy, pained absurdly, aware that my hopes were shipwrecked in Marcello’s sea of cum, they drove me crazy. The sweetness with which after the embraces they had gently abandoned themselves in the arms of Morpheus tortured me more!

But the surprises weren’t over, so I discovered that it wasn’t the bull he wasn’t the first. Back in the last year of the Liceo Classico, she had secluded herself in the school bathrooms with a fellow student… certainly not to review the Latin and Greek declensions but to get fucked. The story of the traces of cum that had dripped from the thong onto one’s seat upon returning to class… sounded like a bloody offense!

The first impulse was to tell Angelo everything, but apart from the fact that I would have deeply hurt him, the observation remained that the reason for not moving to Milan would disappear, leaving me with the possibility of the desired promotion. So I put in place a wicked plan if she couldn’t be mine I wanted to humiliate her! Cursed dull rancor! As soon as I passed Clara as she was leaving Angelo’s office, I handed her an envelope with the photos and letters I had printed… After what seemed like an interminable time, she entered the office pale. Her contemptuous arrogance had vanished like mist in the rays of the sun. I reassure her, her facade of respectability would have held up, and no one would have undermined her “happy” relationship with Angelo. In exchange for all the originals, she would spend a “special night with me”; I would have released her, as a guarantee, a letter from me in which I declared how the events had unfolded and therefore admitted to having committed numerous crimes… In the meantime, I contacted a paid team of 4 bulls on erotic sites. I booked the same apartment in the same residence and set up a meeting with Clara half an hour before the arrival of the bulls. I tried in vain to kiss her, disdainful she replied as in one of the first songs by Fiorella Mannoia, that I would only have her body but no feelings… her refusal hit me worse than a slap, in the throes of anger and conscious desperation, I maliciously tore her clothes off, kissed, or rather bit her breasts, squeezing and squeezing them like an animal, I almost raped her by inserting my fingers in her holes, without any delicacy and finally I penetrated her without any regard both in the vagina and in the little hole, where I came. She had been mine… but at what price! The anger let go, giving way to apathy, almost a sort of sentimental ataraxia. I was drained of all energy: her words hit me like a whip “are you done?”. She didn’t wait for the obvious answer, got up, went into the bathroom, and indifferently, cleaned herself up with disgust. Annihilated, in the throes of existential weariness, I collapsed on the chair and said “let’s put everything on hold…” and she haughtily said, “I won’t fully pay my debt, I don’t want your alms” adding with a touch of malice “I want finally enjoy with real men!” And so it was… looking at her while her mouth titillated the frenulas, greedily and complacently licked the glans of those sumptuous clubs, gratified the testicles, ascertaining their consistency, and gulped down the shafts, eager and pleasure-loving, enjoying the different flavors as if she were a sommelier. Whisper, and vary the rhythms. Almost pecking from one cock to the other, while the fingers, obscene rummaged through her body, penetrating the nooks and crannies, fraying the labia majora, dilating the anal perineum, caressing her breasts in succession. An irreverent horde of barbarians was violating her in every hole, but she responded with growing moans, with hoarse spasms of pleasure that rolled ever more frequent and louder from her throat.

Her body shook with shivers and waves of orgasms. The labia majora were beaded with its dew, which lay like a shroud on the bulls’ exploring fingers. Then on the bed, I observed the plastic groups, the tangles of those bodies soaked in sweat, obscenely intertwined naked, they looked like ants on a piece of lard, a vulgar and lustful caricature of Psyche and Eros. The professional cocks of the bulls filled her in the three holes, pussy, ass, and mouth of her body, taking turns harmonizing the different rhythms, while the fourth had to be content with her skilled manual caresses. Clara’s eyes shone, while she insatiably continued to enjoy and to enjoy, only then did I understand the imploring requests for new meetings of the lovers on duty who had been downloaded by this human version of a praying mantis. I also understood Angelo… maybe he didn’t want to connect the clues, go deeper, and investigate the risk of losing her and giving up the magical moments that Clara gave him… ‘For the memory of your sweet love brings such riches with it, that I would not trade them for a kingdom’ (sonnet 29 by Shakespeare). Despair turned to anger again when I saw Clara sweat, gasp, scream without restraint, beg, encourage, incite, spur on her lovers… Seeing her chest on which I fantasized I could fall asleep shaken by embraces, her face transfigured by grimaces of obscene pleasure. It was a gleeful sex war machine that killed my image as an angel. And then, with a nod of my head, I invited the most gifted to keep the pact, to complete the outrage for which I had paid him an additional 300 euros. He grabbed Clara’s body without finding resistance, resting her head and shoulders on the floor, keeping her leaning on the bed with her torso, he made open her legs in a square, entering between them. Like a ram, he inserted his powerful cock into the anal perineum with a thrust of his kidneys. Although already lubricated and made elastic by the repeated embraces, the mass of that club elicited a cry, the only one, of pain from Clara, while it seemed that the anal sphincter was, fraying, on the verge of breaking. The repeated blows, inflicted with increasing strength and determination, reverberate in the unnatural silence of the room. Everyone is watching that animal scene, until the imminent orgasm. But that was not all, I remembered the outrage inflicted by Miller and his friends on one of their mistresses, in Tropic of Cancer: fill his rectum with urine… So he did with Clara.

The onomatopoeic flop of the release of the cock was followed by the “lava” explosion of mixed body fluids, urine, and sperm, descending in rivulets to soil that body… lovely.

The bulls left, while Clara, without a word, got up and washed in the shower for a long time as if to cleanse not only the traces but also the memory of that humiliating scene. She composed herself, grabbed the evidence bag with the CDs and my statement, and without looking at me she walked away haughty. With her, all my hopes are lost!

After a few days, Milan welcomed my emptiness filling it with the frenzy of work, without its sparkling lights piercing the darkness of my soul… it was not like in Downtown where ‘The lights are much brighter there. You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares’ in vain expectation, and hope that dear Richard III, the winter of our discontent would end!

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