Meeting Marissa

by Lupienne

This is an excerpt from my WIP 'A Search for Sanctuary'. It's a comic-based fic about Negan's pre-Savior days, very much inpsired/following his 'Here's Negan' backstory. (I have another excerpt up here called 'Wounds to Mend'.)

In this excerpt, around a nightly campfire, Negan tells some of his male companions about how he met his mistress (whom we see in 'Here's Negan'.)

Warnings for: Negan's offensive self, unsexy smut, angst.

"Yeah. I cheated on her. Mostly one-night stands here and there. Then I met, like….I guess you'd call her a mistress."

I took a bite of the rabbit. I wondered if it was cooked all the way through – and mostly didn't care. I kept my voice light as a fucking feather, but my gut was filled with rocks. Lava rocks…heavy and burning. Making me sick.

"Yeah? How'd you meet her?" Motherfucking Keith. I swear he lived vicariously through these tales of sexual conquest. He'd probably fucking jerk it later. Most likely thinking of me. What can I say? I'm a sexy motherfucker. Maybe that's the problem.

"It started with a fight. Ended up in a bar."

I didn't set out to meet her. I didn't even set out to wet my dick in foreign waters. Oh sure, I'd screwed around on Lucille, but they were all one-timers, and for some reason, the fact that I didn't have repeat dealings with any woman other than her…

I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I just figured it wasn't that bad.

I know. I'm a fucking idiot.

I was about to head home from the school. The ole Prince-o-pal called me into her office, and her face was stern. The bitch always had a case of the sour grapes. I sometimes wondered if I could screw a smile into Principal Pratcher but honestly… I don't think I could look at myself in the mirror after.

And… Little Negan would never cooperate. And if he doesn't want to play – well, just fuckin' forget it.

"Sit down," she demanded, and I sat in the wooden chair in front of her massive wooden desk.

She hadn't pulled me in here for a little taste of Coach Negan, oh no. She'd gotten wind from giggles and talk in the hallways that I'd accidentally let an f-bomb (or two) drop in class.

Shit. Please don't fire me.

I tried to look attentive and suitably cowed as she lectured me for a good half-hour on my responsibility as a mentor and role model.

She wasn't buying my defense. No matter how fucking true it was. I mean, fucking seriously: "Ms Pratcher, these kids have got pottymouths far worse than mine, believe me. I've heard them in the halls – I mean, what I said was tame compared to-"

She leveled a Medusa gaze on me, and I wilted in the chair. Fucking ridiculous. I slumped there, trying to look small and nonthreatening. What a goddamn joke when I've got at least two-hundred and fifty pounds on her Skeletor ass.

But women like it when I'm a good, submissive little fuck. At least, Lucille does. Ms Pratcher ain't any fuckin' different. You meet a woman who wants to eat your balls for breakfast? Then you pretend you ain't got no fuckin' balls.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it'll never happen again. I'll be responsible. Look, I'm still getting used to working with the little squirts. I swear, it'll never fucking happen again."

Oh shit.

"I don't think you're quite understanding me, Coach Negan."

And cue another half hour of lecture.

I stopped in the gym to take a quick shower before heading home. It cooled me off and eased my nerves. I didn't want Lucille to ask what was bothering me.

I sighed as I parked in our driveway, grabbing my duffel and heading up the sidewalk. I had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something. I checked my finger. Wedding ring in place.

I threw the duffel by the front closet. I could hear Lucy washing dishes. I peeped into the kitchen first, and fuck. I could tell she was perturbed, just by the stiffness of her back and the way she thunked a coffee mug down on the drying towel.

Shit. Had Skeletor called and tattled?

"Let me guess." Her tone was scathing. "You forgot to call ahead, and ended up standing in line for an hour like an idiot."

The fuck?

It dawned on me just as she turned around, wiping her hands on a dishrag. Her eyes settled on my empty hands and one mother of a scowl hit that pretty face of hers.

Shit fuck!

"Where the hell is the pizza?"

It was my night to get dinner. I couldn't even come up with a defense. I was an hour late and pizza-less. "Uh…they ran out of pepperoni."

Her scowl deepened.

"I…uh…I thought we could order Chinese instead. I've got a raging hard-on for that fuckin' sweet n' sour chicken – been thinking about it all-"

"You got in trouble at work, didn't you?"

I don't know how the fuck she could see right through me. Was I so laughably predictable? I shook my head. "I didn't get into trouble. Work is good."

She grit her teeth, her hand gripping the handle of the freshly-washed coffee mug. She squeezed it hard enough for her knuckles to whiten. "God damn it, Negan."

"Lucille-"

"Did you get fired?" Her eyes burned into mine. I don't know how she could channel both volcanic fire and 9th Layer of Hell ice. "You got fired, didn't you?!"

My eyes went wide as she whipped the cup onto the ground with an angry cry. Blue pieces of ceramic slid across the tile.

"What the fuck, woman!? I didn't get fired! Are you on the fucking rag?"

"Oh, you men," she snarled. "So fucking hilarious. We're always on the rag when we have legitimate complaint about your stupid fucking asses."

I kicked a piece of ceramic aside, feeling a familiar hand gripping my ribcage and squeezing until I nearly couldn't fucking breathe.

"Oh yes, I'm on the rag because you can't hold down a fucking job-"

"-Jesus Fucking Christ. Should I step outside while you build a bonfire to burn your bra?"

There was a cold silence. Fucking A, I might as well just starting throwing the dirt over myself. I was too deep in the hole to climb out.

"It was just a joke," I stammered. "Lucille."

"Everything is a joke to you, Negan! You don't take anything seriously." She didn't have any more cups, so she whipped down a handful of silverware onto the tile. Forks and spoons scattered everywhere.

"Ok, ok!" I caved, desperate to ease the fury out of her. "I…I got in trouble…but-"

She talked right the fuck over me. "You're a joke, Negan. You're going to ruin us! You're going to destroy everything we built. You-"

Motherfucking fuck! You lose two jobs and you just can't live it down, can you?

The hand squeezed my chest harder. My hands clenched into fists and my heartbeat roared in my ears. "I don't know what the fuck died in your fucking rectum, but this is fucking ridiculous, Lucille! I mean, what are you doing, trying to get the Guinness World Record for blowing shit out of proportion!? I had a little slip-up, yeah. It's no big deal. We're fucking fine. It's not going to happen again, motherfucking Mary fucking Christ." Veins had surfaced all fat and swollen on my temple and neck and they were pulsing painfully.

She lowered her head and gave me that look that made my blood run cold. That look that said she was going to rip my balls off and make me eat them raw. I noticed a steak knife had fallen near her feet. I could practically feel my dick retract into my body and my nuts shrivel.

"I'll- I'll," I choked. "Go…go get something to eat. Ok, babe?" My knees felt like fucking jello. Only my fucking pride kept me from dropping down and doing whatever the fuck she wanted. Begging. Kissing her feet. Tongue-bathing her asshole. I turned instead and fled the house.

"I got in a fight with the wife. Just work shit. She always blew shit out proportion; you know how women are. So I took a drive to cool off."

I drove aimlessly, heading clear across town. When I saw my destination, I'd know it. And there it was, some scum hole bar with half its neon letters burnt out. It was called Good Times but the lights read God Tim.

Well, Tim, if you're fucking up there, I could use your blessings, you motherfucker.

I paused outside the bar. After a shamefully short inner struggle, I slipped off my wedding ring and stuck it in my pocket.

Good Times was a rundown shithole, clearly only held up by the locals who were too lazy to seek out better digs. Maybe like some fucking hoarder, they had become oblivious to how disgusting their surroundings were. There was a pool table in the corner with a long rip in the felt. What a goddamn shame. I headed for the bar, plopping down on a wobbly stool.

"What you want?" The bartender looked bored out of her gourd.

"Eh. Whatever beer is on tap…and…" I squinted at the chalkboard behind the bar. "Chicken tenders. Preferably not raw."

"Ha ha." She snapped her gum, scribbling my order for the kitchen. As she went off with it, I scuffed my feet on the floor. The stool was kind of short, or maybe my legs were just freakishly long. The floor was sticky with countless spilled drinks. I could almost see the stench hovering like a fog below my stool. Rancid booze, ball-sweat, vomit, some rodent rotted down to the bones. I inhaled and almost gagged. Yeah, this is right where I fucking belonged.

The bartender made my beer. At least that looked good, and the mug was cold. I tried to ignore the greasy fingerprint on the side of it as I took a big gulp. Let's scan this place for easy game. Don't ask me why. Every woman in my life today was out to castrate me. Maybe I'm just a sucker for abuse.

There weren't a whole lot of options here. Some chicks already hooked up with dudes. More dudes. I wasn't about to dabble in any bi-curious bullshit with these ugly fucks. A pair of carpet munchers shot me the finger when I looked them over. I wiggled my tongue between a V of my fingers just to piss them off. What a waste of tits.

The bartender snorted. I'd flirt with her, but she didn't even look old enough to drink the shit she was serving.

"Fucking pig," one of the lesbians sneered.

Please. My 12 year old kids were more creative with their insults than that.

"Oink fucking oink." Heh. I'm fucking brilliant.

"You wanna go outside?" Muffdiver Two had a huge tattoo of a snake on her neck.

"Lady, you've got more dick between your legs than I do. I know when I'm outmatched."

She turned back to her girlfriend with a sneer. I returned my attention to my beer. I'd eat my shit food and go back home, I guess. It was for the better.

"Here's your fingers, dude. Maybe even cooked." A greasy basket of chicken dropped before me.

I grunted thanks, before ripping open the little container of honey barbecue sauce, dipping a tender into it. Good Lord Tim…please protect me from salmonella. Or whatever-the-fuck-else I can get from this. I wondered what Lucille was eating. Probably pouring herself a big bowl of cereal, and an even bigger glass of wine.

People drifted into the bar for a little Good Times 'cheer'. I scanned each new arrival. The girlfriends left, arm in arm. I hoped they didn't wait around to jump me. They were the type who probably had a collection of severed dicks floating in formaldehyde.

I was halfway through my basket, when a newcomer caught my attention. Her face wasn't much. Kind of plain, unmemorable. Her hair was short and blonde, with longer bangs. Big hoop earrings. Too much eyeshadow. But damn, she had wide hips and a big fucking ass. The kind of ass that… even if I never got to stick my sausage in that sphincter.. I could slide my dick between those thick cheeks and get fucking amazing friction. I'd be coating those buns with mayonnaise in no time.

I swallowed a bite of chicken with a grimace. I was grossing myself out with the food analogies.

I took furtive glances as she sashayed through the bar. Tight jeans were plastered to that ass. Space pants because dat ass is outta this woooorld. A low cut top showing off a great canyon of cleavage. Mmm. I could fuck those tits too. Fat boobied girls make my world go round. Oh boy. She took a seat right to me. I took a longer glance. I swear I've seen her somewhere.

I turned in my seat. Let's get my slap out of the way. At least she didn't have a beer to throw at me. I slid mine a little further down the bar out of her reach.

The bartender interrupted whatever schlock was about to drop from my mouth. It was a good thing too. The only pick-up I could think up was: Did she work at Subway…? Because she was giving me a foot long.

"What you having?"

"Sex on the beach," the blonde said.

"I wish." The bartender clattered around her station. The blonde woman noticed I was still turned her way, and gave me a smile.

"You look familiar," I said. "I've seen you around town. Some-fucking-where." On the corner? Actually working at Subway?

"I work at the Stop n' Save. On Williams Avenue."

"Fucking yeah, that's it!" I grinned. That's right. She was some kind of supervisor at the grocery store. "I'm a regular there."

"I know you are."

I blinked. Maybe she'd sat next to me on purpose? I gave her my best pantie-melting smile. "I gotta say, you look a fuck of a lot better out of that cheesy uniform."

She laughed. "I like to think so." Her drink arrived, and she thanked the bartender.

"Aren't there bars closer to your store?"

I noticed her eyes flit over my ring finger as I slurped my beer. There was a slightly lighter band of skin there. Women either didn't notice it, or pretended not to.

"Aren't there bars closer to your house?"

She smirked when I shrugged. "I like a change of scenery," I said, finally. "The same old shit gets old, you know?"

"Mmmhmm. Change of scenery. Sure." She pulled the orange slice off the side of her glass, lifted it to her mouth, then thought better of it. She set the wilted piece of fruit on the bar. "You're married."

I didn't even have a snappy comeback.

"Or are you going with the recently divorced story?"

I shrugged again. "Married. Guess the conversation is over."

She took a long sip from her glass. I wiggled my ass back towards the bar. Strike Three today, and I'm out.

"Not if you don't want it to be. I was married too. I know that it doesn't always work out."

Well, fuck me sideways. Maybe I'll be stuffing that ass after all.

"Ok. We can keep talking."

This broad had a wicked smirk. "The reason I'm so far from home? I like to keep my play far away from my work."

Oh, hell yes. I like a playful girl.

"Understandable."

The bartender asked if I wanted a refill. I declined. Too much booze makes for a floppy noodle. Plus…there was still a lot of time between me getting in this girl's pants and getting my face slapped. I might be driving home sooner than I planned.

I slid the empty mug across the bar, while the blonde watched.

"You've got big hands. Does that mean what I think it does?"

Maybe I shouldn't have been worried about my Subway pick-up line. I waggled my eyebrows. "Yeah. I have to wear big gloves."

She laughed. "So, what's your name, Mr Big Gloves?"

"Negan."

"You can give me your real name. It's not like I'm going tell on you."

"That is my real name." I bit into one of the tenders. The fucking thing looked pink under the greasy breading. Fucking fantastic. I'm gonna end up alternating my head and ass between the toilet bowl later.

"Ok, Knee-gun. Mine's Marissa."

"You don't have to do like….some hyphenated pause. It's just Negan. Rolls right off the tongue." Just like your clit will roll off mine.

Her eyes glinted deviously under the five pounds of eyeshadow. I wondered if this broad was reading my thoughts.

"Negan."

"Yeah, that's it." Say my fucking name. I scuffed my foot across the floor, meeting sticky resistance the entire way. Fucking gross.

"And why are you here?" she asked.

"I came here for the great fucking food." I held out one of the chicken tenders. "Want one? These things are amazing. They'll clean your whole digestive system out in one night."

"That's not great if you have to work the next day. I'll pass."

"Yeah…" I stared down at the last two harbingers-of-diarrhea in the basket. "I'm really gonna regret these."

"You're a big boy. You'll live."

"Heh, that's the second time you've referred to me as big." I couldn't help the stupid smile tugging my lips. The smile that polarized the fuck out of women – sometimes the same women in the course of the same day. They either found it irresistible or it triggered their urge to berate the fuck out of me. I never knew what one I was gonna get.

"Third time's the charm…" She tilted her glass.

Yes! Irresistible.

I lost track of time as we chatted about random shit. She told me about some old bitch customer who had smashed a jar of prune juice on the floor when she'd found out the price had been raised by twenty cents. I laughed about getting yelled at because I swore at work, but I kept the details of my job vague. She told me about her pet guinea pigs, and I told her how I wanted to get a dog someday.

After a while, I started getting fidgety. She was throwing me lots of I wanna fuck you signs, but maybe she was just lonely and wanted conversation. Which was fine…which had helped me forget my bad day for a while, but now…? My beer and basket were long empty, and I could see the dark sky outside.

She leaned back on her stool, her eyes wandering over my biceps. "You go to Gold's?"

I'd stopped in the overpriced gym by the Stop n' Save a total of one times. "I go to my garage." I had my resistance bench, and Lucille had gotten me a punching bag for my last birthday. It was a great addition to my man cave.

Now, don't tire yourself out too much… She'd purred, before letting me shoot my icing all up in that birthday cake.

I swallowed a sigh. I want to forget this.

Ever since I lost my last job… Lucille had been so angry with me. I thought landing this teaching job would absolve me, but Lucille was still keeping me at arm's length. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see that cake again. My dick gave a mournful twitch. I missed it. I missed her.

So…why the fuck am I here?

Because I felt like the shit on the bottom of thousand dollar shoes. Because I was… hurt. Even so, I never intended for her to find out about my slutty coping mechanisms. It made me sick to think of her finding out. But I was so fucking lonely. I couldn't stop.

"I've been working out there," Marissa continued. "Not seeing tons of results yet, but I'm sticking with it. And I gotta have more sex. Lots of sex. It burns calories, you know." Now she was blatantly looking at my chest…and that was the fucking lure.. she wanted me… and so… how the fuck can I resist?

"Yeah, it's a great fucking work out." You wanna do some push-ups on my dick?

"A fucking workout." She laughed. "I'm gonna guess you don't eat all the twinkies."

"Twinkies…?"

"You get a box every time you stop in."

I blinked. "Yeah. For the wife." Dammit.

"That processed food will give you cancer."

"Everything gives you cancer. At least you'll die happy, stuffed full of cream."

"Yeah? I wouldn't mind dying happy." She leaned forward, her eyes darkening under her heavy lids. "You know that's what the French call it? The orgasm? They call it the Little Death."

My dick twitched again, but not out of sadness. He was becoming downright happy. But I didn't want to bolster his hopes too much. Some women loved to tease the ever-loving shit out of you, and I guess I couldn't blame them. It was pretty fucking easy.

I smirked. "Is that so? Well, not to scare you off….but that means I've killed a shit ton of women in my lifetime. I'm practically a mass murderer at this point."

She ran her finger along the rim of the glass. She must have studied the handbook of cliched flirting. "America's Most Wanted, huh?"

"Fuck yeah. Lots of women want to handcuff me and bring me the fuck in."

"Mmm." She set the glass down with a decisive clink and reached for her handbag. "Well, then. Maybe I ought to drag you out of here. Make a citizen's arrest." Her fingers trailed along my arm. "Are you going to resist me, Mr Knee-guns?"

"Depends on if you like them feisty…" Oh fuck yes. My dick stirred like a happy little snake.

"Come along, Mister," she said sternly. "I'm taking you down….town."

And just like that, we left Good Times in the dust.

Outside, Marissa asked if I knew where Motel 495 was located.

"Yeah. It's on the main drag."

It was one of those places I referred to as Inn-and-Outs. The type of place, where, if you were a whore like me….you could pay by the hour.

One day they'll make one where you can pay by the minute and I'll save some money.

Ok…to be honest, I didn't frequent these places that often. I talk shit about how much pussy I get… even to myself. It's like a tale that gets taller with every telling.

"That's where I'm going."

"You aren't planning to actually handcuff me and leave me for dead, are you?"

"Why don't you find out, big boy?"

Like I said…I'm a sucker for abuse. I only had about fifty bucks in my wallet, and my plastic was at home. Bitch was out of luck if she wanted to rob me. Unless she was in cahoots with the dick-collecting lesbians? Fuck…

But I'm a dumb fuck led by an even dumber dick.

"I met a woman at the bar. Didn't take much for me to get her out of there and to a cheap motel. I'm a fucking charmer like that."

"Maybe she just had a fetish for polo shirts."

"Shut the fuck up, Keith."

Turns out, she really did want to fuck me. As in… fuck my dick.

"You can pay."

I guess that's a fair trade. I forked over half my money and we got a shitty room for the rest of the night.

She set her purse down on the shitty dresser, rifling around until she pulled out a condom.

Damn. This girl takes her play seriously.

"I know it's probably slutty of me. But I like to be prepared for some fun, and you can't count on guys for this kind of thing."

"Look, if you're a slut, I'm a slut. And why not? Fucking is fun. So…I wouldn't have any room to talk, right? And hey, I'm not totally unprepared. I've got a condom in my glove compartment."

I think that thing has been in there since before I married Lucille. It would probably crumble as soon as I opened the package.

"Aw. You're such a nice guy." She turned, flipping the little silver square in her fingers. "You still have your clothes on?"

"Damn, what's the rush?"

"It's getting late, and I have to work tomorrow. And it's pretty clear what we're here for, right?"

"Uh…right…!" I pulled my shirt off, finally getting some female approval as Marissa purred in appreciation.

"Mmmm, yes! I was hoping you'd be a big butch of a man under there." Slowly, she drew her hands up her blouse, unbuttoning and letting it slip to the floor. A lacy pink bra hugged those big fucking tits. I started unbuckling my belt, and she came forward, getting my pants undone. She licked at my neck, but didn't try to make out with me, which was a fucking relief. I reserve that shit only for Lucille. As fucked as it sounds – doing it with any other woman makes me feel… dirty.

She eased my pants down my hips, while I got both paws on those titties. They were soft and overflowed even my big hands.

I sank down to my knees, using one hand to unhook her bra. I might not be good at a whole lot of shit, but I'm fucking great at taking a chick's clothes off. Marissa let out a shaking gasp as I ran my hand up those big floppy boobs, sucking one into my mouth. Her hands roamed down my chest.

Her titties were evoking their hypnotic boobie magic. I was as happy as a baby with their pacifier, my mind going pleasantly hazy as blood began to pump downwards.

After I tasted those titties pretty thoroughly, I started making my way down. Sliding my tongue over her tummy, while I reached around and kneaded those big doughy cheeks like I was making bread. I grunted when she yanked on my hair.

"Ow, woman."

"Let's take it to the bed," she said. She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed.

Yes, ma'am.

She sprawled out on the hideous hotel blanket, and my greedy fingers grabbed at her panties. She let me slide them down, kicking them off across the room, but when I went to bury my face in that muff – she pushed me back.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not in the mood for that."

"Oh, ok. Why not?"

"I'm just not, and I don't suck dick on the first date, either."

That was disappointing, but I was more interested in getting between those luscious ass cheeks anyway. "That's fair. What about anal?"

Marissa's eyes narrowed, and I put my hands up. "Just a joke! Believe me, I know I'm lucky when a chick even lets me touch her. I'll take whatever you're willing to give."

"You're such a bullshitter." She rolled her eyes. "…but you've got a nice body, so I'll forgive you."

I smiled, but damn. I actually wasn't bullshitting. I've been shot down way more times than I've scored, and I really do believe guys ought to be more grateful when a girl lets us take their fucking clothes off. When they could have their picks of dumb dicks and they pick yours? Be fucking thankful.

I sucked on her titties some more to distract myself. If I start thinking any more on this shit, the guilt is going to make its sneaky way into my brain, and then my brain will demand its blood back…and down will go Little Negan.

So yeah…boobies! Boobies in my fucking mouth and a big ole tent in my pants.

"Mmm." She sighed, fondling her hand over my entrapped boner. "Take this thing out. I want to see if you're worth my while."

"I'm worth every fucking inch." I grinned, but her narrowed eyes made my hands shake. I fumbled to get my shoes off, my pants and boxers down. They went on the floor with the rest of our clothes.

I turned my naked ass on the bed so she could check out the goods. She'd be smiling for damn sure. I just wished I was all the way hard so she could get the full, glorious effect.

Her lip twisted. My stomach dropped and I felt my cheeks burn. I might talk big shit but it's always nerve-wracking showing my dick to new eyes. Like they say, there's always someone bigger and stronger than you, no matter how fucking impressive you might be. (and I'm impressive. Believe me.)

Marissa wasn't some shy flower as she latched her hand right on the base of my cock, giving it a little flop back and forth.

"Like what you see?" This was my default testing-the-waters question, and I braced myself for the worst:, derision, rejection and the very worst…. laughter.

She was quiet for just a millisecond longer than I liked, and I fought not to squirm.

"You clean under this thing?" She tugged on my foreskin. My eyebrows flinched in discomfort.

Oh, that's what her problem was.

"Yeah, I'm not some kind of fucking Neanderthal. Jesus. The only cheese I've got is in my belly from lunch."

"Sick." She almost looked like she was gonna sniff me. "Ok…it's just.. Ugh. It's Ok. I can deal."

"It's just foreskin." An angry vein stirred under my skin. "It's supposed to be there. How about I chop your fucking vag lips off?"

Goddamn, it's not like I had a dangling skin scarf. Most chicks said my dick was real handsome-like. I could be a goddamn dildo model.

She chuckled, and that about put Little Negan down for the count.

"Don't get insulted…" She smirked, gripping my base a little harder. "You turn into such a big softy when you're insulted."

Oh, ha ha. "I don't quite want to be a softy right now. Even a big one."

"Me neither." She placed another hand on me and began to stroke upwards. I lowered my head and let my eyes droop halfway closed, just focusing on the sensation.

"Mmmm…" She breathed. "That's right. You're getting nice and big now. Oooh, yes. You're a thick boy, aren't you?"

My dick practically blushed at those compliments.

"Uh-huh…" My breathing was getting harder. I leaned forward, getting one of those big tits in my mouth again. "Fuck….that feels good."

Her motions were focused around my head now, just short quick jerks that made my eyes roll back, and I clenched my teeth. It was that kind of pleasure that was almost too sharp, too sudden. I let out a goofy kind of groan that made her laugh.

She drew her hand away with a snap, and my cock quivered like a plucked guitar string. Oh yeah, that mother was looking real impressive now. Standing tall and proud, every throbbing vein promising her pleasure, and there was even a perfect little pearl of precum glistening. Jesus Fuck, I was ready to shoot an entire necklace of them, one bead at a time.

She appraised my perfect specimen of manhood with a smirk. "Not bad. I guess I can work with this."

I wilted, ever so slightly. "Goddamn, woman. You are one tough cookie to please."

She ripped open the condom, that smirk widening into pure womanly wickedness. "Oh…you haven't pleased me yet. Don't give yourself that credit so soon."

I'm not sure why this fucking abuse was making my cock harder, but it fucking was. More precum bubbled up, pulsing all warm and gooey down my shaft.

"Such a messy boy…" She pushed the condom over my head, starting to unroll it. I grunted. She wasn't exactly gentle.

"You can't fool me, babe. I know your beaver is hungry for this log."

"That's like, one of the worst lines I've ever heard."

"That shit about it hurting when you fell from heaven is way fucking worse."

"Or that one about working at Subway." She tugged hard on the condom.

"Oh fuck yeah…like what kind of dumb fuck would use that one? Not me."

She seemed to be getting frustrated with the condom. I winced as she pulled it back off my dick. "I can't get this on right…" She shoved it into my hand. "You do it. I've never wrapped a dong wearing a turtleneck before."

"Baby, once you go uncut, you never go back." I put the love glove on without a problem, wrinkling my nose at the feeling. Beats making babies though. Gross. I had to give my dick a smack to keep him from wilting again. Ugh. This thing was slimey too. Guess that's for the better. I slapped Little Negan right upside the head. Keep it up, you dick.

"We'll see about that." Marissa seemed amused by my actions, her lips curved in a sneer.

Oh man, I was gonna wipe that smirk off her mouth and turn it into a screaming fucking 'O' for best orgasm ever. "You won't see shit. You'll be so fucking cross-eyed you won't be able to see straight for a week-"

"Quit that talking and get to the action, Mr Big Gloves." She got down on the bed with that big luscious ass wiggling at me.

Oh fuck me, yes! This fucking dog loves the ole Fido-style fucking. Lucille takes a lot of coaxing to let me fuck her like this. She's self-conscious about her ass-view for what-the-fuck-ever reason. I think it's a fantastic view personally, and Marissa ain't one bit shy about hers. She parted those thick thighs that have just a little jiggle to them. I didn't give one single shit. My dick and my mouth were both nearly drooling.

The bed squeaked as I get up behind her, latching one hand onto her soft plushy hip. The other hand dipped between her legs. Let's see just how eager she is. Oh, man! She should be marked with a goddamn Flood Zone warning sign. I rubbed my dick up and down those wet, waiting lips.

"Come on, already."

What a pushy broad. I snorted, getting everything all nice and aligned, and started to push in real slow and tender. She suddenly rocked back, taking my entire cock in one stroke.

"Shit!" My hips bucked forward at the feeling.
"Oh…oh!" She gasped, her hands clawing into the blanket. "W-w-wait a minute." She bowed her head, taking a few big breaths.

I patted her ass. "Um…you ok?"

She laughed breathlessly. "You… you just feel bigger than I expected."

"That's what you get for being greedy. Your eyes are bigger than your pussy or some shit."

"Oh my God. For future reference, don't tell a woman her pussy is 'big'."

"Er…well…I didn't mean it like that. Your pussy feels fucking-"

"Shut it…" She rocked back and forth slowly. I stared downwards, watching my cock disappear and reappear, a shine of wetness on the accursed rubber. I wished I could feel it, but I could feel the warmth and grip and that was pretty fucking nice.

I wanted more. "Tell me that love tunnel ain't so wrecked that I can't keep going."

"If you don't keep going, they're going to find a dead guy in this room tomorrow morning."

I just couldn't get away from the female threats today, could I? Better not make her mad. Through the paper-thin walls, I heard a woman moaning in that fake-orgasm way. Heh. Not that I ever evoke that sound. I keep shit real!

Marissa chuckled. "We've got our own soundtrack to inspire us."

I pushed into her fully, biting my lip at the feel of that heat clutching me. The bed was fucking squeaky as hell, loud enough to almost muffle the sex sounds from the adjourning room. I groaned loudly just to add to the chorus of debauchery. "Yeah! Fuck that dick!"

She let out a snort. "Please don't tell me you're serious."

"Totally." I smacked dat ass just to watch it jiggle. "Rock this cock!"

"Don't make me walk outta here," she said with a laugh. That laugh trailed into a moan as I sunk it into her slow and deep.

After a moment, she let her top half sprawl onto the bed. "Mmmmm….that feels nice. Damn, you're so thick."

This made up for every fucking disgrace today. I was as happy as her bearded clam.

"It's rare to find a man who's dick is as thick as his skull."

"What a fucking comedian you are." I smacked that big fat ass again. Speaking of thick. "I think it's time for more fucking and less talking."

She ground back against me. "Maybe you aren't so dumb."

Heh. I'll make you dumb, lady. You won't be able to speak when I'm done with you. I gripped her thick thighs, my fingers sinking in. Oh fuck yeah. The bed squeaked in time to my thrusts. My balls joined in with heavy smacks against her skin.

She rocked back against me and we found a nice fucking rhythm. Her pleasure was expelled in low grunts and a few mummers of 'oh yeah' and 'that's good'. It was quite unlike the loud musical cries of my Lucy. I couldn't close my eyes and pretend I was fucking her.

"Fuck yeah. Take that cock!" I reached one hand forward, pawing at her swaying breasts. "You like that?"

"For such a big guy, you sure are gentle. I'm not going to break, Mr Big Gloves."

"Is that so? You want me to ruin that fucking pussy?"

"I want you to try."

"I'm a persistent bastard. I'll see what I can do." Cue more bumping and grinding. This damn condom was a blessing. I probably would have blown my load by now. Just the sheer novelty of fucking a stranger was enough -

You're going to ruin us.

"Sssshshhh," I hissed through my clenched teeth. Jesus Fuck. I squeezed my eyes closed hard enough to see little flashes of lightning across my darkened eyeballs.

You're a joke, Negan.

"You going limp on me back there?" Marissa reached back and nudged my thigh. My thrusts had fallen out of sync, turned clumsy, and yeah… I was getting a case of floppy noodle.

"Motherfucking fuck no!" My hands dragged down over her heavy swinging breasts, cupping my palms under them. The feel of her hard nipples against my skin was enough to get my dick raging again. "That ain't even a fucking fuckity possibility!"

I dug my fingers into those voluptuous thighs, yanking her back into me. I was a fucking battering ram against her wet, quivering walls.

You're going to destroy everything.

She let out a whimpering moan, her head sagging, and I pulled her damn hair back to growl against her neck. "That better, babe? Is that cunt catatonic yet?"

She laughed through her panting breaths. "Almost."

Sweat broke out on my forehead as I increased the ferocity of my thrusts. The bed sounded seconds away from collapsing, the springs squeaking in a tortured choir. I didn't give a fuck if it collapsed. Cheap ass piece of shit! Marissa had abandoned the low, subtle moaning in favor of loud cries. Oh yeah. We can make our own porn soundtrack. Sure beats that half-assed one from the other room.

"S-s-shit…" I gritted my teeth. Familiar heat and pressure were building to an unbearable pitch. I knew I should slow down or I was going to burst, but each stroke was hazing my brain so nicely. Lucille's voice receded into the dark. I was disappearing. I wasn't Negan anymore, I wasn't anything but a dick fucking a pussy and about to fucking explode into ecstatic glory. That's all I was – all I wanted to be.

A choked groan escaped the woman I was fucking. She ground back against me, pushing me in deep. Her ass was in the air, submitting itself to my pounding. She reached one hand back to play with herself, and I felt her walls tightening around me in little spasms.

"Oh…oh! Oh my God!" She cried out.

You got my name wrong… but I'll fucking take it.

I slowed my pace as she gasped for air, her free hand clawed into the bedspread. She was either gonna be a greedy bitch and go for two, or she was going to tell me to pull out.

"You good? Can I keep going?"

"Don't you stop!"

That's all I needed to hear. I became the nothing again. I didn't muffle a single profanity or groan. Tilting my head back, staring up with blurry eyes. The popcorn ceiling had blooms of brown water damage. My senses were wide fucking open. I could smell dirty carpet and the dankness of cigarettes that had managed to creep into this non-smoking room. I looked down at her hungry snatch devouring my cock with each stroke. Some of her wetness oozed out onto my balls. It was like a forbidden taste of her that the condom blocked. I moaned at the sensation.

Fuck. All of this… all of this was so fucking trashy, so sleazy, so goddamn gutter…

I didn't know who these two people were, this man and woman fucking in a trash hole dump like this. I didn't think I liked them, but I couldn't get enough of watching them. I was my own fucking trainwreck I couldn't look away from.

She groaned deep. "Oh fuck…right there… fuck me right there… oh, it's so good…"

I kept myself right there, hammering her in short, hard thrusts. I couldn't tell a difference between any part of her pussy, especially wrapped in my rubber glove, but whatever I was hitting made her writhe and grab the sheets, short whining cries bursting from her.

At least I could do something right. The French ain't gonna call this no 'Little Death', that's for sure. This is a big messy motherfucking murder right here. Her scream was all the confirmation I need. I was slaying this shit!

My balls tightened, my muscles went stiff as a motherfucking corpse in rigor. I pulled her tight to me, grinding my cock in deep. I wanted to push that fucker right through her, bury myself as deep as I could. Everything went tight, so fucking tense, a rubberband stretched to breaking, my breath going stale in my lungs. I saw fucking stars.

"Motherfucking fuck…f-f-fuck! Oh FUCK! F-ffffff…." I trailed off into a long growl, finishing up with a few grunts. Like a chorus of horny angels. Feels like fucking angels were brushing their wings over my fucking dick, let me tell you.

My fingers tightened to bruising-point, and I filled that stupid rubber with a big fat load. My vision swam black for a minute, shudders ricocheting off every fucking nerve.

Fuck. That was so fucking good.

When my glorious fifteen seconds was over, I loosened my fingers and tried to catch my breath. Marissa had her hand over her mouth. The bitch was laughing at me but I didn't give a rat's pellet-shitting ass.

I reached down, keeping the condom in place as I carefully pulled out. I grimaced, leaning over the bed to drop it into the trash can. Marissa rolled over onto her side and I flopped onto my back next to her.

Her breathless laughter morphed into heavy breaths. I let my lungs and heart calm down, before nudging her side.

"What was so funny?"

"I have never had a guy be so loud before."

"Yeah…? Well, you know how in some cultures, after you finish a meal, it's a motherfuckin' compliment if you let out a huge fucking burp? It's like that."

She laughed. "I guess I should have been louder than."

"Babe, you almost ruptured my eardrums with that squeal." I lazily stroked my hand over my belly, scratching absently. "Bet the whole motel heard."

"I'm sure they're familiar with that kind of sound." She sat up. "God, I hope there aren't bed bugs."

"As long as they stay out of my pubes." Fuck. That made me scratch at my crotch fur. My balls felt itchy now.

She shook her head and looked over at the clock. "Well, it's been a really fun time, Mr Big Gloves…but I think I'm going to head home."

"All right. Yeah… it was good. Um… thanks for uh… letting me fuck you?"

Another laugh. "You're welcome." She slid from the bed. I stayed where I was, watching her scoop her clothes off the floor. I had a moment of wicked pride. Her goddamn legs were shaking as she crossed the room and sat in the stained armchair. I bet she'd still be feeling me tomorrow.

She extended her leg, pulling on one of her boots. "What was your name again?"

"Negan."

"Right, how could I forget that one. Very unique."

"Just like me." Fucking women. I give them the thrill of their life, and they insult me.

"You're different, that's for sure."

I snorted. "Some people smoke after sex. Some zonk out. You apparently, like to shit talk your generous orgasm donor."

She zipped up her other boot. "Who said I was shit talking? I like different."

I blinked. Oh. Ok.

"And you're pretty cute." She stood up, smoothing out her clothes, and trying to finger-comb her tousled hair. I tried to decided whether 'cute' was an insult or not. Probably not. Chicks liked cute.

"Maybe I'll even suck your dong-in-a-blanket the next time. If you want a next time."

Mmmm. Do I?

I knew I shouldn't, but I wasn't going to burn bridges I might want to cross again. So I smiled lazily, my hand running across my mouth. "Then you can ride Negan's Stairway to Heaven. All the thrills of a mustache ride, none of the hair."

"That sounds amazing." She picked up the pen by the outdated telephone and scribbled her number on a pad of paper. "Ok, Mr Knee-guns. Thanks again for the great night." She winked. "I'm out of here. Give me a call when you get lonely again, k?"

I nodded. She smiled, grabbed her purse, and left me alone.

I sighed, closing my eyes. I laid on the bed for a good ten minutes, but the sweat was drying cold on my skin, and my dick felt gross from whatever lube had been inside that fucking rubber. I sighed again, sitting up and glaring at the clock.

It was already nine, and by the time I drove home it would be almost ten. I doubted Lucille would ask where I'd been, but my polo offered its own sensory explanation. It smelled like greasy food from the bar. The shits I was bound to have later was just icing on the alibi cake.

I took a quick shower to eliminate any other scents that might be lingering….perfume, the stink of sex sweat, dirty motel, wet rubber.

I toweled off in front of the full length mirror, checking my body for marks. That was another reason I liked doggie style. It was harder for a chick to claw and bite.

It wouldn't matter anyway. Lucille hadn't touched me for weeks.

I slowed the towel's motions, staring at myself. My pathetic flaccid penis, the red in my cheeks. Nausea bubbled up in my gut.

There was no forgetting who I was. What I was.

Get the fuck home, you piece of shit.

I pulled in the driveway at a quarter to ten. The front door was locked, the porch light off. The house was dark.

The bedroom door was closed. I saw light from under the door and heard the mummer of the tv. I pressed my ear to it, trying to detect her soft snores under the blabber of some home décor show.

I already knew not to open it. She'd put my pillow and blanket on the couch. I hung my head.

Kicked out of bed, just like the dog I am.

Months passed. I worked my ass off at the school. I tried to please Lucille. But I kept Marissa's number… and soon I knew it by heart. We met at the hotel, at her house… once we fucked in the sleazy bathroom of a dumpy nightclub. We stopped using condoms in favor of the pill, and that made the sex even harder for me to resist.

But still…I could have dropped her easier than a bad habit. I didn't love her, and I didn't think she loved me, although you never know…chicks can get strange once you've dumped a load in them a few times. Like absorbing all that jizz sets off some chemical reaction in their already chemically chaotic brains.

So, no, there wasn't any love. Just a familiar sort of comfort. She was an old worn t-shirt. A long hot shower. A stupid fucking TV show that you sure the fuck wouldn't watch, ever! But secretly you turn that shit on and let it burn the cares from your mind. That's how I felt about her – and how she felt about me.

There wasn't any love.

There couldn't be any attachment. I wasn't going to destroy what Lucille and I had built.

Lucille. I wanted her to be happy! I kept my job, earned a raise. And after a while…I could tell Lucille was forgiving me. She would touch my back, kiss my neck. And sometimes, shyly, like we were new lovers – she would beckon me with her eyes…

And I would think, every time… I don't need this side shit, I don't need this – this is all I want in the world.

But I couldn't – didn't – drop my safety net. I couldn't throw out that worn fucking t-shirt.

Two years passed, blinking by as fast as my 10 second orgasm. I was smug as fuck on a glorious Friday night. It'd been a good day.

Marissa had texted my side phone – Negan's Booty Call Line – telling me she couldn't wait to get my cock in her mouth. Little Negan had approved, but Big Negan had ignored it. I hadn't been running to her bed as often. Too busy. Too content. I was whipping my basketball team into shape. My job was safe and secure.

Lucille had been so tired lately, but…we were doing good. She attributed it to long hours training a new receptionist at her dental office. And we were remolding the kitchen, spending time after work together, scraping off wallpaper and laying tile and applying a fucking awesome copper back splash.

We ordered Chinese (it ain't no lie that sweet n' sour chicken gets my dick hard) and crashed on the couch. I wanted to make a move on her, but I knew she was worn out from the long day. I contended myself by being close to her. Lucille smirked, setting her bare feet into my lap as she stretched out. "My feet need moisturizing, husband. Think you can help me out?"

Oh fuck yes.

You know a woman loves you when she lets you fuck her feet, and she doesn't even laugh at you.

Saturday.

Lucille commented, casually, that she might go off her birth control, after her malaise passed. I didn't make a big deal of it, outwardly, but inward…I was a fucking mess. She was considering starting a family with me! Finally.

I'd hurt Lucille so much. I wasn't worthy of this chance! But she was giving it to me, out of love… out of forgiveness…and hope.

I couldn't fuck it up. I had to drop all this childish, selfish shit. Marissa had to go. I was going to be the husband and father Lucille deserved.

Sunday.

The day she collapsed.

The day we got the news.

The day I knew my world was ending.

I waited one, two, three, four weeks. I didn't get with Marissa but I didn't break it off either. Lucille started chemo. It fucking killed me to see her feeling weak and ill. And one night, when she retired to bed early, I fled the house, seeking the comfort of Marissa's cold charms. I needed that nothingness.

There I was, balls deep inside this woman I didn't love - while deep inside my wife, a tumor festered. My wife! The woman I had dropped to my knee for, who I had pledged to honor until death do us part.

My chance had passed… but it didn't matter. I couldn't do this anymore.

Marissa was gone, and Lucille was fading.

It had all started with a fight, and ended in a hospital room.

I coughed, my last bite of rabbit going down painfully. How do you paraphrase something so evil?

"I uh… well, my wife got sick. Real sick. I dropped the mistress because… It just wasn't right. Not that it was right before but…" I chugged half the flat soda. Let's blame my watering eyes on this acidic shit burning down my throat.

"I had planned to drop her long before. But like they say, familiarity turns into comfort. No matter how wrong it is."

The guys were quiet. I felt my chest tightening, the shackles of guilt compressing my lungs.

"I would have stopped. Even if… even if my wife hadn't gotten sick. She wanted to start a family." I swallowed hard. "I was going to fucking grow up, stop letting my dick dictate everything."

"You believe you would have?" Olaf's thick accent and perceptually stern voice made it hard to tell if he disapproved of me. I'm sure he did. Who wouldn't?

"I would have, for motherfucking certain."

I was quiet then, and the conversation turned to other shit. I tuned out the boisterous voices and occasional laughs, my gaze settling down on my hands.

I couldn't forget who I was. I couldn't forget who these hands belonged to.

They were Negan's hands.

A joke who had destroyed everything he had built.

If you enjoyed or found this fic even the least bit entertaining...please leave a comment. I don't get much feedback and it's quite discouraging. Your comment would mean a lot to me, however brief. I also don't mind (constructive) criticism. :)