The Messy Split Up By THRONE (Patreon)

The Messy Split Up

By THRONE

© 2019 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved

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MESSY SPLIT UP

by Throne (from an outline by Devin Dickie)

Ron had just finished straightening up his skin products in the bathroom. Exfoliating agents on the left, astringents in the middle, emollients on the right. He wanted them arranged in the order he used them. Why couldn't his girlfriend Sherri understand that? He was about to begin on his hair conditioners when she got back from running errands.

"Hey, Ron," she said happily. "I got a cool surprise. There was a new CD from B-Bang. Just came out today. Want to hear it?"

"Is that the hip hop guy? The one who sings about something 'long and black' that he wants to 'park in the back'?" He didn't sound enthused.

"That's him," she said, more subdued. "So shall I put it on?"

"I... Couldn't we listen to something else? Maybe some Chandra Panda?"

"Your relaxation stuff is fine. It's good for chilling out. But sometimes I need something more exciting."

"Whatever," he muttered. "I'll just go into the other room and try to distract myself."

"You don't have to get all passive-aggressive with me. It's just that sometimes I like to turn off the mellowness and turn on the fun."

"I get it," he said with irritating neutrality. "That's fine with me. I'll be in the other..."

"You know," she said, not at all friendly now. "You COULD try to be more open to some of the things I like."

"Yeah, but hip hop. I mean, that's not really even music."

Sherri drew back her shoulders. Her substantial bust was thrust out. Ron stopped dead. He really didn't want to pander to her less sophisticated tastes, but he also didn't want to get the cold shoulder at bedtime. She was slender but curvy, with flowing blond hair and a sweet face. The close-fitting top and brief shorts she had on accentuated all her assets.

He forced himself to smile and said, "Sure. I'm sorry. Put it on."

She saw through his charade and gave him a critical look. "Not if you don't really want me to."

"No. It's okay. Maybe I'll like this one more than his last three." That didn't come out sounding as diplomatic as he had intended.

Sherri's pretty mouth turned down in a nasty frown. He got a mental picture of her in shapeless pajamas instead of one of her sexy nighties. "No. Never mind."

Damn. He might not even be welcome in the bed with her. Ron opened his arms; he had read that doing that conveyed acceptance. "Put on the music and then, later on, how about if I take you out."

"But where?" she asked suspiciously. "Not that boring trendy café again, I hope."

"No." Okay, he was really primed for sex. Surrendering to get what he wanted, he said, "How about if we go to that place you keep talking about? What's it called? Club Night Wind?"

"It's Club Nightshade," she said, still running hot. But his offer slowly cooled her down. "You'd take me there? B-Bang was on their stage last week. That would be great."

"Sure. The one year anniversary of our first date is coming up soon. This could be an early present."

"All right," she agreed, sounding mollified.

Tragedy had been averted. He considered himself a guy girls wanted, and yet he hadn't had much luck in the past. It didn't help that he was short and slightly built, with a soft boyish face. He favored a metrosexual look, his brown hair nearly collar length and styled casually. There was also the small matter of his... well... small endowment. But he always told himself that size didn't matter. It was crass for some females to put so much emphasis on length. And thickness. And how big the knob was. Just to make himself feel better after that bothersome thought, he went to Sherri and hugged her, putting his head on her shoulder. No need to be too aggressive. He knew that could be a turn-off to many modern women. Instead he rested his chin on her shoulder, sure that it would let her know he trusted her and that he anticipated the same in return. Unseen by him, Sherri rolled her eyes. Ron could be a bit much in the sensitivity department sometimes.

A few hours later they were getting ready to head to the club. Ron had on a loose colorful shirt from one of his favorite labels. His jeans were just off the rack, but he hadn't been able to resist their butt-hugging fit. He had always been very aware of what he was wearing. In fact, he had possessed some habits back in his teens that had led to him learning quite a bit about girl's clothes, as well. Especially lingerie. He thought dreamily about that period but reminded himself that he had put it behind him. His only concession now was his briefs, jockey shorts that were attractively designed and came in a variety of flashy colors.

Sherri had slipped into a clinging dress that was showed off her deep cleavage and was short enough to display her shapely legs from mid-thigh down. She wore shoes with two inch stiletto heels that made her taller stature more obvious, but he ignored that, his mind already on what would happen after they returned from the unavoidable visit to that distasteful club. He drove them and parked in a protected lot near their destination. During the short walk to the entrance he unhappily watched several young Black men flirting with white girls, who were plainly responsive.

At the door there was a tall bouncer with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. His head was shaved and his face was free of hair except for an aggressive patch just below his thick lower lip. He had on a sleeveless shirt and dark jeans. He eyed Sherri appreciatively. As they reached him he held a muscular arm out to block Ron's path.

"Hey, dude," he said in a mock friendly way. "You trying to smuggle some young goods in here?"

"What?" Ron didn't get his meaning.

Sherri smiled and giggled. She helpfully explained to her date, "He's saying I might be underage. It's meant as a compliment."

"I don't see it that way," Ron said seriously. He scowled but on his youthful face it looked comical.

The bouncer said to Sherri, "Or maybe it's you trying to sneak your little brother in."

She put a hand on his impressive bicep. "I like your sense of humor." Her hand didn't move away.

He told her, "I like yours, too. That little laugh was so pretty."

Ron grabbed her arm and tried to push past. The bouncer took hold of his shoulder and squeezed. It didn't appear that he was trying very hard, but it hurt so badly that Ron almost cried out in pain. The white guy managed to contain his reaction while the bouncer held on a few seconds more than necessary, as if to make a point, and then let go.

The Black security man said, "You go right in, Miss. You could go wherever you pleased. With whoever you wanted. And I guess you'll have to take this guy in with you."

Still annoyed, with his shoulder throbbing, Ron pulled her in after him. She said that she was sure the doorman was just kidding around. Ron said he didn't think so. Then they were in the dimly lit room, with hip hop music vibrating the air. There were interracial couples dancing and Ron noted with disapproval that every one of them consisted of a white girl and a tall Black guy. He worked his way toward the bar. When he turned his head to ask Sherri what she wanted, she wasn't there. He looked back and saw her chatting with some bare chested Black man in a vest and tight pants, with a collection of gold chains around his neck. As Ron watched, the guy demonstrated a dance step and Sherri tried to duplicate it. Her uncertain attempt prompted the teacher to take her lightly by the arms and do the step again, letting her feel the movement of his body.

Ron decided the best course of action was to get two drinks and hurry back to her. Once she had a full glass in her hand she wouldn't be able to do any of those hip hop moves. The bartender was tall and had a hard face. He looked straight at Ron, who placed his order -- and was ignored. The bartender moved to someone else and Ron tried to get his attention. That went on for several more minutes. Every time Ron checked on his date, she was improving her dancing. Sherri looked invitingly sexy. Two other guys had joined in to help her and all three of her volunteer instructors were letting their hands brush her back and shoulders. One was positioning her to do a more intricate step and guided her with his hand lightly touching her slender neck, that long blond hair brushing his dark arm.

At last the bartender deigned to take Ron's order. The white male customer stood out as an anomaly while he made his way back to Sherri with two tropical looking beverages. Ron's date grinned as he reached her.

She said, "Hey, wait till I show you the moves these guys taught me."

"I was watching," he said grumpily as he offered her the drink.

She took a generous swallow and handed the glass back to him. Standing there with one in each hand, he couldn't do much as she began to dance in front of him, grinding her hips and shaking her eye-catching bust. The Black guys formed a loose ring around her, cutting off Ron. He didn't want to spill anything on his expensive shirt and backed away. Sherri rotated slowly, facing each of her partners in turn. She bent forward and jerked her bottom spasmodically. He recognized it as what they called 'twerking'. He didn't appreciate her performing that way in front of her new admirers, but he also couldn't deny that she looked terrifically tempting.

For a moment Ron was distracted by a Black girl. She had on lingerie. An opaque bra and matching panties. You couldn't see through them but the tops of her boobs and bottoms of her ass cheeks were exposed. Over that minimal covering she wore a short nightie of light transparent material that flowed around her. The top had ribbon ties down the front, but she had left them undone. Ron thought about how light that outfit would feel to whoever wore it. And how it would tantalize their skin. His attention was snapped back to the rest of the room as the song ended and Sherri leaned on him, laughing wildly.

"That was so much fun, Ron. Do you want to dance with me?" She took her drink and drained the glass before thrusting it back at him. He was too shocked to react as she helped herself to his untouched drink, too. "Hey, I saw a girl I know across the room. Why don't you get yourself a fresh drink? Another one of those FRUITY ones." She laughed at some private joke he was missing. "And I'll see you... pretty soon."

He turned back to the bar, shaking his head in disapproval. Well, at least if she was with some female she knew, she wouldn't be interacting with those Black guys, who acted like it was their right to move in on his date. He had the same problem as before with the bartender, despite the placating tip he had left the first time. By the time Ron had another tropical concoction, which the server had felt it necessary to add a pink paper umbrella to, Sherri was nowhere to be seen. Ron found a relatively uncrowded corner where he could sip his drink.

A few minutes later a tall striking Black woman came up to him. She stood uncomfortably close, her big melon breasts invading his space, nearly touching his chest. She had angular features and wore her hair natural and short. The vest she wore lace up the front and barely contained her massive bust. She had nothing on under it. Below the waist all she wore was a pleated plaid mini-skirt and high boots of shiny red leather.

"Hey, lover," she purred. "Want to buy me a drink? I'd really appreciate it. And try to find some way to pay you back."

She was truly stunning, but he had always been uneasy around Black girls. They just seemed too... aggressive. She pouted her pillow lips and rolled her shoulders, making her boobs rub enticingly against each other. His throat was suddenly dry. He stepped back and bumped into the rear wall. She licked her lips lasciviously and put her hands on her hips.

"Maybe I could just have a taste of your drink," she offered with thinly veiled suggestiveness.

Nervous and unsure of what he wanted to do, Ron just held out the glass. She took his wrist, made him raise the drink to her waiting mouth, and took a long catlike lap of the bright liquid. He was still gaping at her when she turned her head as if expecting a reaction from behind. Half a dozen other Black girls, who had been discretely watching her, broke into peals of laughter. They crowded forward, pinning Ron against the wall. All of them starting talking to him.

"Hey, boy, you real brave coming here."

"Guess you must have something like what the brothers got down below, to be so confident."

One of them grabbed his crotch and held on. She feigned puzzlement and said, "But I don't feel hardly anything. What's the matter, white boy? Leave your cock at home?"

He stammered out some disconnected syllables, which they ignored. The best he finally managed was, "I have... a... a... girlfriend."

"Has she got your cock? Maybe in her purse? Because there sure ain't nothing where it supposed to be."

"You got shortchanged at the cock bank."

"Your little problem is getting bigger, but not much."

He broke free from the hands that had been fooling around with his manhood and pushed between the girls to stumble into the crowd, bumping several people. A sneering Black face, male and angry, came close to his. He backed up and the guy abruptly started howling with laughter.

"Don't worry," he told Ron. "I won't hurt you, boy. You got enough problems already."

Trying to calm himself, Ron took a drink. Then he remembered that girl had put her tongue in there and he spit the fluid back into the glass, dribbling some down the front of his pricey shirt. He cursed and squared his shoulders, attempting to look in control, but there was even more laughter. A short Black girl with a small bust but amazingly big hips and, he saw as she turned sideways to say something to a friend, a huge bottom, came closer. She reached for his crotch.

"Mind if I have that baby size party wiener?"

He questioned her with his eyes and then glanced down. One of the other girls had opened his fly and his penis was sticking out. It was erect.

"Is that thing hard?" some guy asked incredulously.

"I think so. But it looks like about four inches."

"Four skinny inches."

"And it even narrows down at the head. Damn thing is useless."

Ron spilled the rest of his drink down his front, even getting some on his well fitting pants. He stuffed himself back into his fly and closed it. Blushing vividly, he hurried back to the bar, ordered a drink, eventually got it, and finished it in one long swallow, which ended with a few moments of uncontrollable coughing. It was all too much. He decided to find Sherri and take her home at once. This was no place for them to be.

He weaved his way through the crowd unmolested. Sherri was not where she had gone. He made another circuit of the room with the same frustrating results. Ron was perspiring heavily and decided to step out front for a breath of fresh air. He would do some deep calming breaths to settle himself. When he got to the door that annoying bouncer wasn't there, which was the first good thing to happen all evening. Ron stepped outside.

There was the bouncer. With Sherri. He had his hand on her halfway-out breast. Ron wanted to tell the man that he was committing sexual assault. Until he noticed that Sherri's hand was occupied too. On the front of the bouncer's pants. Where there was an enviable bulge that ran partway down his leg. She was rubbing it lovingly. And they were kissing, lips mashed together. Ron went into a frenzy. He rushed at them. The Black man saw him coming at the last minute and shoved out his arm. Ron ran into the palm of his wide hand and it was like hitting a brick wall. The doorman unhurriedly released Sherri and stepped toward Ron.

"Yo, boy. You are in the wrong game. You ain't got the skills for this."

Ron threw a wild punch. The big man caught it easily and squeezed Ron's fist, twisting it at the same time. Pain exploded in Ron's wrist. The man got his arm bent around behind his back. Ron's shoulder blazed with agony. He couldn't move without hurting himself. He couldn't break free.

Effortlessly holding him that way, the bouncer said to Sherri, "This is the wimp who gave me trouble when you got here. Right?"

She nodded up at him. As if she didn't want to admit it, she explained, "He's sort of my boyfriend."

The Black man snickered. "Well, I don't want to mess up your romantic evening. I bet he wants to have a deep conversation with you. Me, I'd have better stuff to do together. Though part of it would still go deep."

Unexpectedly he yanked Ron's arm, spinning him at the same time. A combination of pain and lost balance sent Ron stumbling away. He landed clumsily, tearing the elbow of his beloved shirt and hurting his ankle. Sherri went to her date, but in no hurry. As she helped Ron to his feet she was looking at the man who had been pawing her.

Sherri said, "It was nice to meet you, Lamont. Maybe we can talk again sometime."

"Sure, angel. I love to talk."

Ron leaned against her as he limped away. Not until they got to the parking lot did Ron speak. "I could have taken that jerk if he hadn't blindsided me."

"I'm sure you could have, honey."

"And what were you doing with him?"

"Me? Just fooling around a little. You were gone and I got bored. He was interesting. Used to play football."

"Big deal. He could have hurt me. I mean more than he did."

"I'm sure he could have. You were lucky. I guess he went easy on you for me."

Ron was so insulted and humiliated that he couldn't find more words. They got to the car and Sherri said she would drive. Despite his wounded pride, he let her. Back in the apartment he was still furious. But there was still his image to repair, so he calmed himself down. It was obvious that he was no longer fit for sex, not as sore as he was. So he got undressed and fell asleep in those colorful shorts. They were bright peach.

In the morning their time at the club seemed forgotten. Or maybe neither of them was ready to talk about it. Ron was still stewing over all of what had happened. He resented Sherri making out with that lothario, and doing it so publicly. What if someone Ron knew had seen her? Still, he told himself, she had drunk too much. That was the explanation. Even so, his temper kept simmering for the next few days. Even listening to Chandra Panda didn't help.

At last he brought it up. Ron said, "You know, that really hurt me when I found you making out with that bouncer at the club."

"I shouldn't have done it. But you did feed me two big drinks. And when he told me that he was a former pro football player, I got kind of star struck."

"Well, you should have been thinking more about me."

"I know. It was just I got kind of swept away. I mean, he was so big and strong. And confident. Forceful. It was like he was going to pick me up, carry me off, and do whatever he wanted with me. Can you imagine what that felt like?"

For a long moment he could only stare. His throat felt tight. Finally, he said, all at once wanting to get the conversation over with, "I can see how that could happen. So let's just kiss and make up."

He went to her and leaned in to deliver a kiss. She moved her head just enough that his lips met her soft cheek. He figured she simply hadn't worked through their problem all the way. After those things she had just said, he could better understand why she had acted so impulsively. The images she had put into his head were imprinted on his mind.

Sherri had to visit an old girlfriend who was feeling down. Ron said she was being a good person. He quoted a line from some inspirational author he'd seen on a talk show. She got herself ready and said goodbye. There was another quick kiss, this time with his lips ending up on her shimmering hair.

Once she was gone he went on-line, intending simply to distract himself. But what she had said about her reaction to Lamont kept overriding every other thought. He did a search on the former football player and switched right over from text entries to images. There he was, black face shining with sweat, helmet held under his arm. And there, dressed up for some celebrity event. Then with his arm around a blond girl. And now in the locker room, seated naked on a bench with a towel barely covering anything. Ron pictured his girlfriend and how she would look if she was ogling that image. He put himself deeply in her place, tried to access her mindset. Ron wasn't appreciating the photo that way himself. He was simply trying to understand her motivation. He narrowed the search to 'Lamont Jones, dating' and then 'Lamont Jones, locker room', both of which yielded interesting results.

Ron told himself that he must be thinking of Sherri because his cock was twitching. Probably that was because they had been having sex less often. And he deserved some pleasure. Which he could give himself. While thinking about his girlfriend. Just her. Not her with Lamont. Not being fondled by the former athlete. Not with her hand on his amazing cock bulge. As if in a trance Ron got a cum towel. He knew he would shoot hard after his involuntary celibacy. He stood by the bed and laid the towel out over the covers. Then he got naked. He went to Sherri's drawer and took two pairs of her panties. It felt so good to hold them against his neglected cock. He rubbed himself with them, bringing his organ easily up to full length. It wasn't big but it sure was firm.

He stood there with one pair of panties wrapped around his tool, stroking in slow motion. When he tried to visualize Sherri alone, Lamont kept intruding. The memory of him handling her, and the fantasies she had just admitted were ignited in her mind, was all so involving. Ron slowed down. This was too good to rush. He took the second pair of panties and used them to massage his nipples, which elevated his arousal to near peak levels. The touch of satiny material against his skin brought back memories of his teen years. He had used his sister's undies that way. They had only been cotton but it had been almost this good.

There was a pause in his rhythm. And he had done something else with those panties. He had put a pair on. Just to feel them. He had never had much body hair. Now he had most of it waxed. What was left was just a close-trimmed patch above his small penis. He sighed at the memory of strutting around in the borrowed underwear. Wiggling his ass in front of the big mirror. And Sherri in Lamont's strong arms. No, he didn't want to see that. But it was burned into his mind. Ron stopped resisting and allowed his memories of that night to overwhelm him. He could feel his balls tightening up. His nipples responded even when he wasn't touching them. He purred and moaned and knew he was approaching the point of no return.     

All at once he exploded. The panties were around the shaft, not the head, so he was confident they were out of the path of the spurting spunk. It plopped onto the towel in big gobs. Smaller drops followed. He sighed and stood there rocking slightly. That had been magnificent. Now he was no longer thinking about Lamont holding Sherri. Emptying his balls had solved that problem. He was so relaxed. Ron folded the towel over once, took it to the hamper, and deposited it. He replaced Sherri's panties in the drawer. A fleeting vision of Lamont ripping them off her flitted behind his eyes as he did it. He quickly went to the sink and cleaned any stray semen off his hand and dick with a warm wet washcloth.

Just as he was getting into his shorts and T-shirt, to sleep in, Sherri reappeared. She was about a half hour early because, she explained, her friend had gotten very tired. She showed Ron a selfie on her phone of the two of them. He silently congratulated himself for getting away with his mischief. Then he pleaded weariness and went to bed. Sherri, still wide awake from having coffee with her old acquaintance, was puttering around. She noticed the edge of a pair of panties sticking out of her dresser drawer. When she investigated there were two pair slightly out of place and, on inspecting them, one had suspicious speckles of something still damp on it. When she took them to the hamper and opened it, there was a towel, neatly folded over, on top of everything else. She hadn't put it there and Ron wasn't usually that neat. Sherri lifted it out and opened it. She saw -- and smelled -- the mess of sperm all over it and flew into a rage.

Ron felt pain. What was happening? Someone was pummeling him. It was Sherri, and she was pounding his chest with her fists, using them like hammers. He curled protectively into a ball.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled indignantly.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing. I'm teaching you not to jerk off behind my back." "It was... an accident."

"Sure it was. That's why the spray was in such an obvious pattern. That didn't get there from you wiping up an 'accident'. You rubbed off your little dingus and squirted all over my clean towel. This towel was a gift from my Mom."

She held the incriminating exhibit out accusingly. Then, before he knew what was happening, she shoved it just inches from his face and kept it there.

"I put up with you for almost a year. You and your tiny dick. That's right. Tiny! I was disappointed by your pitiful excuse for a cock from day one. But I thought you were an okay guy and that we could have something together. And this is how you pay me back. I go for almost twelve months having to fake orgasms every time you climb on top of me, stick that pencil prick in my pussy, and shoot way too soon. I got pumped full of your slime again and again, and now you can just... just..." She rubbed the towel against his startled features, getting cum all over his face. "... just wear it. You make me sick, with your nothing dick and your wimpy behavior."

In desperation he said, "It wasn't supposed to happen. The towel was on the bed. I was going to get a shower. And... and..."

"And somehow that silly thing between your legs just went off." "Something like that."

"And it left pecker tracks on my favorite panties."

"It... what?"

She held up the incontrovertible proof of the misused lingerie. "You pervert. Maybe you were wearing these. Is that it? Go ahead, pig. Let's see you put them on."

Sherri wrenched his shorts down and pulled them off. She took the panties and hooked them over his foot to pull them partly up. She grabbed his other ankle and shoved that foot through the remaining leg hole. Then she started to raise them.

The furious female yanked them higher and screamed at him to finish the job. Too intimidated to make more lame excuses, he did it. He was wearing panties. Not since his teen years had he experienced that wonderful and addicting sensation. His cock betrayed him, springing to attention. Sherri gasped and backed away.

"You really are some kind of faggot freak. Jeez. I've been living with a no-dick queer. No wonder you stood there and watched while that bouncer at the club had his hands all over me. You didn't care. You were probably getting off on how strong he was. And I'm sure you enjoyed it, when you finally put on an act like you were going after him and he pushed you around and knocked you down. You wanted him to rough you up."

The towel had slipped to the side. She grabbed it and held it over his face. He struggled ineffectually, blinded and semi-helpless. And his dick was still stiff in the panties. She seized his wrist, stuck the second pair of panties into his hand, and positioned his fingers on the small bump made by his immature organ. She pulled the pair he was wearing down in front, so he could manipulate himself directly.

"Go on. Have your sick kicks. Think about Lamont and me. Or him and you. Whatever. Hump your hand, loser. No girl could get off on that mini-dick, but I'm sure your fist has been down there so much that they're old friends."    

Not entirely knowing what he was doing, his mind full of images of Lamont embracing Sherri, the long-missed feel of panties around his hips and over his bottom stimulating him, he frantically stroked his willy with the panties he held. All too soon he popped his cork. A second, equally generous helping of cream was launched into the thin material. As soon as he understood what he'd just done, Ron froze. He was riven with shame. Sherri took advantage of his momentary paralysis to seize the badly soiled panties and stuff them deep into his wide open mouth. He tasted cum on his tongue but, every time he tried to dig out the stained lingerie, she angrily slapped away his hands. Not until Ron had most of the salty spunk in his mouth was he able to get the panties out.

"You creep. You sick twisted pig. You disgust me. Take your midget dick and get out of here. Now. You can pick up your crap later. Right now I don't want any sad excuse for a man here. Get out, wanker."

Ron got unsteadily to his feet. She wouldn't even let him rinse his mouth. All he was able to do was gather up essentials and a few changes of clothes. He would have to use a charge card to get a cheap room somewhere. He left the apartment with his head hung low. As he went through the door his EX-girlfriend made a loud spitting noise. Then he heard the door slam behind him. Utterly humiliated, not understanding why he had gotten so excited the two times he was touching himself, he got into his car and, reeking of ejaculate, drove off into the night.