"There's nothing I can do to you that I wouldn't do to myself."
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ADULT CONTENT
This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
Sexual References: Features sexual themes or language, without the depiction of sexual acts.
Sexually Explicit: Description of sexual acts.
Sexual Assault: Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Gore: Depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts.
Child Abuse: Features severe mistreatment of children.
Self-Harm: Description of self-harm.
Suicide: Description of suicide.
Torture: Description of torture.
Contains themes of long term relationship abuse and casual homophobia.If you are age 18 or above and wish to read such content, then you may click Continue to view said content.
⚠️ content warning ↑
Candaulism
"Nicolette Krupps — you know that girl. Liaison with the FSD? Light brown hair, about this long?" Carmine held his fingertips to his shoulders.
"Sure? Vaguely." I squinted at him.
"Would you fuck her?"
It was a casual question to Carmine, not one worthy of weight or pretense. Twelve years in Administration will do that to you — years of working on the fly, of spitting out orders and seeing everyone in the vicinity scuttling around to follow with very few questions asked. You get used to it, and then you learn to just kinda say shit.
"She's helped me with some stuff, so I talk to her sometimes." He quote unquote 'clarified'.
"What? Are these statements supposed to relate to each other somehow?"
Carmine had always oscillated between being extremely direct and hopelessly unclear. This was some hellish abomination of both stitched together.
"Obviously."
"Is the first one a hypothetical, a request, or are you preempting a suggestion?"
"If you wouldn't say yes to the hypothetical, then why the fuck would I bother with the request or the suggestion afterwards?"
Another logical, yet entirely non-clarifying question — all of the sudden we were two or three layers deep into this ridiculous word game.
"Okay, so…" I took a deep breath.
I'd wondered about my potential attraction to women for a while, even before Carmine. After we got together, I'd given it up pretty early on — solely because I took him as the type to go headhunting the moment I even breathed in the direction of anyone else.
"Hypothetically, I would, sure."
He was always so possessive, so in control. I was surprised to learn that he, as he'd put it, didn't give a shit.
"Okay?" He looked at me expectantly, "How's about literally?"
He'd explained it to me before in typical Carmine fashion: "So, you're not going anywhere, I'm the right hand man of this site, I got nothing to be ashamed of, I'm not scared of no other men, my dick's probably bigger than theirs, and they're never knocking you up in a million years. What else is there?"
"Why?" I cocked my head to the side.
"I just think it would be mutually beneficial." He shrugged.
Carmine always had close ties with the Fire Suppression Department. Something to do with his fucked up family, was his explanation. I never doubted that per se, but there were certainly reasons I could see why others wouldn't buy it.
To everyone else, the FSD only comes to you – selling you a better life at the Foundation that you know won’t ever be fully realized, or worst case scenario, threatening you with a worse life that you know could be realized at any time. Nobody approaches the Fire Suppression Department, unscalded and free of embers, just for a chat.
Well, nobody except him.
The modus operandi of the FSD was, and had always been dealing in loyalty — it was the only currency they accepted, and they set the price every time. For everyone else, demanding more for less was extortion. But, the way he did it, it was a friendly favor — a preemptive one that "didn't mean anything" until he needed it to.
He’d gotten better at playing games over the years, and by 2005, he’d given up on bargains. Why would he, when he could get a five-finger discount?
Nicolette was supposed to arrive at 9 o'clock that night and Carmine, always a class act in respect, looked at his watch. He saw he had fifteen minutes and coaxed me to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. When I looked up at his face, his expression was almost blank — somber, downturned eyes nearly pure black in the low light of the bedroom.
He told me to open my mouth and I did. Perhaps I was distracted by speculation over what was to come, but I could barely comprehend how I'd ended up there. I receded into my own mind. Anything to dull the unwanted sensation of tingly warmth in the pit of my stomach. An eternity passed before he was done with me.
I stared daggers into him, grimacing as I swallowed, only receiving a look of feigned sympathy in return. He quickly shifted his focus to tucking his shirt and straightening his tie. It was all a mind game with him — marking his territory, like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant.
Nicolette arrived, and Carmine made a show of it. He made a point to welcome her to our 'lovely (by on-site housing unit standards) home', all while ensuring that she saw him buckling his belt while I wiped saliva from my swollen lips and failed to smooth down my ruffled hair.
After the curtain fell on Carmine's little production, he flashed Nicolette his made-for-TV smile and wished us a fun night before exiting stage left. All while I sat on the bed, desperately wanting to disappear.
"Seriously?" Nicolette whispered the moment the door clicked behind him.
"I— I'm sorry!" I apologized rather frantically, knowing instantly that she knew. "He does stuff like this sometimes…"
Her brows furrowed, "Yeah, well… I figured it would be pretty fucking obvious to y'all that I, a gay woman, don't particularly take interest in the idea of licking his cum out of your mouth."
"None of—" I vaguely waved my hand towards the door, as if his presence still lingered. "that was my idea, for the record."
"You still went along with it, though."
I stared at her, trying and failing to come up with a defense for why I'd done so. I could almost sense the blank spaces in my mind, inhabited by truths I'd never admit to myself. Eventually, she broke the silence herself.
"Whatever. Ugh, just go brush your teeth. Wash your hands too, while you're at it." She folded her arms.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror and wiped the blood off my split lip. As if I needed another reminder of the humiliating ritual I'd been put through. I scrubbed my tongue until it hurt, yet the residual bitterness still lingered.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Nicolette was lounging on the bed. Shirt off, bra and pants still on. I was almost surprised to see her — it would've been beyond understandable if she took the chance for an Irish goodbye, yet she stayed regardless. She stared at me, but I couldn't read her expression — even as she stood up and walked over to me, pulling me closer until the tips of our noses touched.
She inhaled, then pulled away.
"What now?" I asked, letting my arms fall to my sides.
"You smell like eau de toothpaste, with not-so-subtle notes of semen. Sorry."
She walked to her bag, pulled something out and tossed it to me.
"Here. Drink some of this."
It was a silver flask, engraved with a monogram — NJK for Nicolette Jane Krupps. Poison in a pretty package with her name on it.
"You know my liver's mostly scar tissue at this point?" I protested. Liver cirrhosis really was a bitch.
"Relax. You only need a swig. Just like, gargle with it. Like mouthwash, right?"
I swiped it from her hand.
Vodka. It burned like hell. I couldn't help but choke, gulping down air.
"God, this is a mess…" Nicolette chuckled, taking the flask back and downing most of what remained. "Some Russian you are…" The flask was tossed to the far end of the bed.
I hummed in response, already feeling just a little bit tipsy. Purely psychosomatic, but I felt woozy nonetheless.
She grabbed me by the arms without warning, pulling me down to face her. We fit together awkwardly — my rather broad figure against her lithe frame; almost a foot of height between us. This time, she didn't bother smelling my breath before shoving her tongue down my throat.
Kissing Nicolette was awkward at first, but quickly became passionate. Neither of us controlled the other, yet we met in the middle regardless. She pulled my hair and I reciprocated, regretfully turning her neatly styled curls into a disheveled mess — not that she particularly minded.
She broke the kiss — a string of saliva connected our tongues as we panted into each other's mouths.
"You know, I've never kissed another woman before…"
Nicki smiled, "Hm, well you don't suck at it, I'll give you that."
"Neither do you."
"I'd hope not. After all this time!?" She laughed, pulling away to grope at my red blouse, untucking it from my black pencil skirt. Getting impatient, she tried to pull up the hem, but the stiff fabric wasn't too forgiving.
"Goddamnit, can you try having smaller hips, jeez…"
"You know, they make zippers for that." I quipped, reaching for the invisible zipper on the side of my skirt and yanking it down.
I thought she'd finish what she started, but she went for my blouse instead. What felt like mere seconds later, it landed onto the back of a nearby chair. Nicki's hands were already around my chest, unclasping my bra. Just as she started to pull the straps from my arms, I crossed my arms over my chest — panic setting in.
"Wait— Wait I uhh, you should— I'm not that attractive, keep that in mind." I babbled frantically.
"Just because you have small tits? Whatever." She laughed.
"N-no! They're not just small, I—" Before I finished the sentence, she'd already exposed me to the cool air of the room. My face turned bright red.
Growing up, I'd never thought much of my tuberous breasts — not until I was seventeen, changing clothes next to a friend at the lake we'd visit in the summer. "You look weird," she'd said, with an expression of snide intrigue on her face. She'd glanced down at my chest, "Like, you still look like a kid, kinda. Not really, but…" I had opened my mouth to speak, but found that I was unable to. "Weird." Then, she went back to putting her clothing on as if nothing had happened.
"That's cute." She smirked, poking at one of them.
"I-I don't know about that…"
I looked up at the ceiling.
"Stop saying you're unattractive just because you look different."
"It's been the general consensus for the most part." I squeaked.
"You know, I'd say the opposite."
My heart jumped, then fell.
"Please. Don't tell me that's why you wanted this…"
It was a well-known fact that anomalous Foundation personnel were often fetishized, and I was no exception. Some wanted novelty, some wanted bragging rights, and the worst of them saw me as a safe outlet for a desire that, without compromise, would violate multiple codes of ethics. If I presented myself and invited everyone who wanted me to have a turn, no doubt I'd be rubbed raw and bleeding from every orifice by the time it was over. At least then, the novelty would be gone…
Of course I couldn't completely write off the possibility that some simply found my features attractive, but it was one I doubted every time I looked in the mirror.
Sometimes I wish I knew what my birth mother looked like — if she looked anything like me. Unfortunately, GRU-P wasn't in the practice of wasting film on photos of their D-Class equivalents. I'd seen pictures of my "father", though. Tons of them. They do that when you're the premier researcher of anomalous genetics, believe it or not. I remember the relief I felt when I saw him and could only identify him as a stranger.
"I wanna see how fast I can make you cum." Nicolette mused.
I was leaning against the back wall of the bedroom, bracing myself against the nightstand while she assumed the awkward position necessary to suck on one of my nipples while doing something with her hand that made me have to put in effort not to drool. I whined, suddenly far more aware of the growing tightness inside of me. It really wouldn't take much… I tried to distract myself by counting the seconds in my head, but I couldn't even make it half a minute more before I broke. I bit down on the side of my thumb, while my other hand gripped tighter in her hair. I felt uneasy on my feet by the time I was done — barely keeping myself from swaying.
"Goddamn, you're good for my ego…" She pulled her hand from the waistband of my skirt, holding it up to the light to better see the viscous fluid that coated her fingers.
"You're the one who did it." If my face could've gotten any more flush, it would have.
Nicolette hummed and told me to open my mouth. I complied, cleaning off her fingers without a second thought. It was metallic — I assumed she would taste better. She stood on her toes and kissed me before I could swallow, licking the residual fluid out of my mouth. I froze. The liquor on her breath reeked of a night I'd been trying to forget for the past decade. My stomach suddenly felt queasy.
"No, but seriously. That was like — I don't know, a minute? Hold on, let me try something…"
Nicolette pulled down my skirt without pretense, and prompted me to step clear of where it pooled on the ground — I did it without thought nor question. As for my pantyhose, they were only yanked halfway down before she dropped to her knees.
My relationship with Carmine had started at the will of his alcohol-stained tongue. At least with Nicolette, as petite as she was, I knew I could stop her if I really wanted to.
I could've at any time, but I knew I never would. My vision blurred when I felt her nails scratch my thighs. Feeling her hair in my clenched fist made it better. It helped, but the shaking never really stopped. My queasy stomach told me to pull her off of me. The heavy feeling in my chest told me to apologize profusely. I hate that I just…couldn't. It felt wrong to do so, ungrateful. She should've left the moment she came in, but she didn't. Even though she noticed what Carmine had done. I had no idea why she was prostrating like this, not when I'd done nothing to deserve it. My hand in her hair moved to the back of her head — she moaned when I pulled her closer. Resigning myself to focusing only on the physical sensations made me realize how much my body had responded to her. I let my mind go blank — I wasn't surprised that it didn't take much more. She reacted positively to me being forceful, but I still felt guilty afterwards. I hated how much pleasure I derived from coaxing her head forward and grinding on her tongue when I finished.
For the record, she did taste better. She sounded better too — high pitched and breathy, yet she still felt in control of herself (as opposed to me — stuttered, whiny, and desperate). She held on to the ends of my hip-length hair, but never pulled. She trembled and gracefully arched her back when she climaxed, but that was it (a humiliating contrast after I'd just humped her face like a dog).
I felt as though I knew why she desired me — why she accepted, and even enjoyed how uncoordinated and unsophisticated my conduct was — yet I chose not to think about it.
"Rule number one: If you want something from someone and they might say no, you gotta have some way to get them to change their mind. Get it when you're in their good graces, or when you have something they want — then keep it in your back pocket."
"Carmine…is this about what I think it is?" I took a deep breath, trying to suppress my anger. "I'm like 99% sure you got me to have sex with Nicolette because you wanted to get something from the Fire Suppression Department."
"Why wouldn't I? I have two back up plans now. First, I got the "your liaison fucked my wife" defense — no way in hell would she want that information out there. If that doesn't work, I'll just raise hell over conflict of interest. Foolproof."
"Are you fucking kidding me? You'd out us? Just for some deal with the FSD!? Even after you told me that she doesn’t want people to know?!" I groaned in frustration, covering my face with my hands. "You know what, Carmine, I have a question for you. Would you fuck another man, just for some bullshit back up strategy? I'm curious."
He laughed until he was red in the face. "Let's just say that Riker and I getting close within half a year of him becoming Site Director is no coincidence."
"Oh my God, you're fucking unbelievable…" I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Unbelievably good at getting what I want, yes.”
“You know what? Thank you for that information. If you’re low enough to out her, now I’ll have some recourse.”
“At that point, it'll just be a he-said-she-said, don’t you think?”
“Good. Then nobody will believe either.”
“I guess, if you play your cards right.”
He smirked, and I wished I could slap it right off his face.
"Carmine, did you like it, being with Riker? Or was that just another way to get what you want?”
"We're not as different as you think."
He smiled.
"You know, it feels like you never do anything you don't like. Only I do."
"Oh, so you didn't like being with Nicolette?"
His tone could only be described as biting annoyance. He was baiting me to tell the truth, to tell him how I'd really felt for the past decade.
I scoffed.
"I never said that."
"Come on, you know I'd never do anything to you that I wouldn't do myself, right?"
"You do it to me because you do it to yourself. Have you ever considered that sometimes what we want is different?"
"It always ends up the same eventually. Doesn't it?"
No. Wouldn't it be nice, though?