Hypergamy Ch. 02

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HYPERGAMY

AN EROTIC REVENGE NOVEL

BY: FAUSTIAN FABLES

CHAPTER TWO

THERE AIN'T NO PLACE THAT BETTER REMINDS SOMEONE WITH PRETENSIONS HOW LOWLY AND PATHETIC THEY ACTUALLY ARE

# - Second Day of the Cruise, Morning

Mary stands on the bridge of the Pleasure Palace, her boss at her side, staring out the heavy-duty marine glass windows at the bow of the massive ship, which, like a leviathan, rapidly crashes forward against deep blue ocean waves under a chimerical sky hued with vivid orange, pinks, and purples cast by the rising sun, resembling a landscape so unfamiliar to Earth that she feels herself stranded on some alien world. It smells of sea salt. The ship's uniformed captain and a woman in a white lab coat are also present.

The young wife barely slept last night. She needs to find her husband. These people told her they would take care of it. She expected when they summoned her this morning that he'd be here on the bridge. Yet here she is, and nowhere is her husband. Ever since this cruise began, it's been nothing but bullshit.

The captain scratches at his bearded chin with his hooked left hand. "Erm, this is kind of awkward," he says. "D-doctor, may you?"

"Hello, I'm Dr. Anne Welker," the woman in the lab coat says before extending her hand to Mary.

Mary looks at the woman's hand and doesn't shake it.

Todd steps in front of Mary, frowns, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Where the fuck is Christian?" he asks.

Dr. Welker clears her throat, nods rapidly, and says, "Okay. I know you both are very concerned. I assure you, your husband is safe and not lost. This happened once before, on our prior voyage. Unfortunately, this happens, but it's often the hardest conversations one can have with his spouse."

This woman speaks in riddles; where the fuck is her husband?

"Doctor, just tell us," pleads Todd.

"I'm sorry that I had to be the one to tell you," Dr. Welker says. "Your husband is gay."

Mary's eyes widen before she scowls and crosses her arms over her busty chest. "Excuse me!?" she snaps. It's even more bullshit from these people.

"He must not have told you," Dr. Welker says, drawing in her eyebrows as the features of her face soften. "This is a fetish couples cruise. One where couples are separated so the husbands can crossdress and have gay sex while their wives swing with other alpha men. Your husband was offered the chance to be one of the alphas, but he ultimately chose not to vacation with you; he'd rather bottom for the alpha males on the ship. He is safe in the lower decks of the ship dressed as a woman." Dr. Welker thumbs at her nose as if it were a violin.

Todd's eyebrows raise and his lips part.

Is her husband gay? That can't be true. Christian is constantly pestering her for sex. She's stumbled on his phone's browsing history before. There was a lot of porn, and none of it was gay. She did see once that he looked at some gross tranny video. But that was an exception. He mostly liked porn scenes involving women with large breasts, and he often lusted over her own big boobs. She grimaces and looks down at her feet. All the times she turned him down, she wishes he was here now, and she'd let him play with them as much as he wanted. "That's a lie!" Mary insists with a snarl. "If he's gay, why is he always trying to have sex with me?!"

Dr. Welker nods rapidly and says, "Those men with repressed homosexuality are often the most performatively heterosexual. You never found it unusual that your husband was so expressive with his sexuality?"

"N-no," says Mary with a whimper. "Men are... hornier than women."

"I'm afraid that's just a myth," Dr. Welker says as she thumbs at her nose. "The reality is both sexes are equals. Both value sex evenly. If your husband had a larger sex drive than your own, it's a clear sign he was acting performatively to cover for his own suppressed homosexuality."

Mary feels goosebumps on her arms, bites her lip, and says, "You kept looking at me during that speech that sociologist gave. There is something you're hiding."

Dr. Welker remains still, does not blink, and clasps her hands together. "Ms. Robinson," she says. "Before this morning, I had no idea who you even were."

With tears in her eyes, Mary faces Todd and demands with a snarl, "Is it true!?"

Todd holds up his hands, leans away from her, and says, "I assumed Christian told you it was a fetish cruise. It was his idea. He told me we'd be better off booking this than a regular swingers cruise because it would be far easier to sleep with a lot of married women. Now I see he had an entirely different motivation. Him not telling you makes him a cruel coward."

Her husband can be a jerk sometimes, but he isn't cruel. This is far outside his character. She knew she didn't satisfy his constant horny urges. What if his resorting to porn somehow warped his sexuality?

Mary's chest tightens, and she feels pain in the back of her throat.

#

Christina shivers as she stares at her sultry reflection in the mirror of her tiny cabin bathroom. She is dressed the same as yesterday, except without the dress. Her fat tits jiggle in the black lacy bra as she applies the makeup to her face from the kit her cabinmate had purchased from the commissary.

God, she can't believe she let Tucker bust in her mouth like that yesterday. It didn't matter how many times she brushed her teeth; she couldn't stop thinking about the taste of his nasty nut because of that godamn injection that cunt gave her. What the fuck is he going to make her do with him today? She shivers as her ribs squeeze together. Remember, she's not the hot whore of a woman she sees in the reflection. She's a husband, a man, and heterosexual. These fuckers made her this way, but she is still ultimately in control of who she is.

She can't be around an alpha guy like Tucker again. Not looking like she does. She hates how Complacify made her act around him. The things it could lead her to do under its influence disgust her. What did that bitch doctor say? It helps activate the prostate. Her stomach knots as she feels a chill pass over her. God forbid he gets inside of her ass. Still, she could probably unlock a lot of achievements if he does. She feels goosebumps on her arms. That's what these fuckers want: her playing their game, unlocking achievements, salivating like Pavlov's dog for the next greasy serving of tubesteak.

She plumps her lips out and applies pink lipstick. It's the same shade as Mistress. The thought causes her cock to stiffen. God, maybe she should buy the strap-on. Better to do it with her than a guy. Ugh, stop it! No more entertaining thoughts of anything going inside her butt. She's not some degenerate fag... What if gay guys naturally have some Complacify thing in their sex hormones? Could she really blame them for dressing like some bitch and spreading their legs for a bigger guy? Ugh, stop thinking about anal sex.

She should find somewhere on the ship to hide. It's the only way to preserve her butt cherry. Staying in the cabin won't work. He'd find her in here, work his way in, and then be in the perfect secluded place to help himself to what he wants for today. Fucking bastard probably uses those fucking wrist credits he unlocks doing stuff to her to spend the evening buying drinks, seducing wives, and swapping stories of conquest with the other alphas aboard. Perhaps she could find some secluded utility closet.

Her eyes widen in the mirror's reflection. No guys came searching for her yesterday when she went back to the club. That means Tucker hadn't told anyone he found a straight guy down here. If he had, there'd be guys lined up outside her cabin right now for sure, looking to spawn camp her. She doesn't think that if she had made it to the upper decks, she'd come down here, but if she caught wind that some straight guy was trapped as a sissy, that is exactly the sort of thing that would intrigue her to check the lower decks out.

He must want her for himself. What if Mistress is wrong? What if even a lowly sissy like herself can earn the trust and affection of an alpha? Just because the force multiplier happened once doesn't mean it's inevitable.

She bites down on her lip.

Yeah, but at what cost? Her becoming his gay slut. Serving her daddy on her knees, giving him her cherished virginity, and granting him free use of her swollen anus to unlock all the nastiest achievements?

There has to be another way, one not so lowly and benighted. Her eyes light up in the mirror as she applies eyeshadow. What if the key to saving her wife was to be her wife? She could think of no one better at flirting with all sorts of guys, grabbing their attention, showing off her tits, manipulating them to do things for her, without ever putting out.

She sighs. Hiding in a closet is the plan of a coward. How can she expect her wife to deflect the advances of these alphas when she doesn't trust herself to do the same? She has no reason she can't have a hot, flirty date with Tucker and, instead of succumbing to this wretched place's debauched incentive structure, build a genuine rapport.

#

Knock, knock!

Beep!

Mary screeches open her cabin door, her makeup running down her tear-stained face.

Todd stands there, and when he sees her, he draws in his eyebrows, and his facial features soften. He moves to embrace her.

Mary blocks him with the open palm of her left hand, shoving him back outside into the hallway.

Awfully convenient that he is alone with her on this cruise while both of their spouses are missing. She's seen the way he looks at her sometimes when he makes her model her booth outfits for him.

"Look, I feel awful this happened," Todd says with a solemn nod. "Had I known this would have happened, I'd see to it that the whole thing was canceled."

"You don't believe it, do you?" Mary asks. "That Christian is gay. Something is not right here. Y'know, that doctor woman didn't actually talk to Christian. He was with me up on the upper decks. This has to be some mistake."

"Honestly, with all the guys at the office coming out as trans recently, I thought Christian might be next," Todd says. "What is it called again? A social contagion."

"No, I need to hear from him myself before I'd ever believe something like that," Mary says.

Todd shrugs and says, "Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not. Either way, we've got a lot of time left on here. Time that would be better spent doing stuff with me and the others aboard. You shutting in and crying by yourself like this isn't good for your mental health."

"We agreed before the cruise that I wasn't going to fool around with other guys during the cruise," Mary says. "Even if it's true that what he's doing down there is..." Her nose writhes as she frowns. "I am not going to back on my word."

"C'mon, Mary, at least get some food inside you," Todd says. "The buffet is starting. Let's talk things through."

Her boss is probably right. It is likely better for her mental health to leave her cabin. Her stomach has been rumbling since she hasn't eaten since lunch the day prior. Even if her husband's absence was by some mistake, and he ought to be with her, Christian still will have to answer for why he never told her about the cruise's fetish aspect.

Todd holds out his arm through the cabin doorway.

She looks at his open palm, feels a shiver, followed by a quiver in her stomach. All those women in that auditorium yesterday; they were really ok with their husbands dressing like women and getting passed around together alongside themselves by a bunch of tall, jacked, studs? Her ribs feel as if they are squeezing against each other. Were the husbands really so perverted, and the wives so entitled? Dr. Denning's speech yesterday left her with a lingering feeling of ick. It wasn't merely its overt misandry. She was used to feminists speaking out against the patriarchy, and that was the first time she heard one flirt with the idea of joining forces with it. The whole premise feels like the start of some weird psychological horror film. No, that's not right, more like sociological horror. Is that even a thing?

Mary grabs her boss's hand, curls his fingers into a fist, and shoves it out of her doorway. "Sorry, but I need to be alone right now," she says with a whimper, before slamming the cabin door shut.

#

Christina wanders through Sodom and Gomorrah, her heels clacking against its purple-and-white resin floor. She wears another black and yellow dress provided to her by these fuckers.

She wets her lips and feels a shiver run down her spine. God, where is he? Remember, the most important thing is that no matter what, they do not have sex. She doesn't know what the Complacify will do to her if she lets him inside her. Nothing good, that's for sure. It'd probably be an instant Game Over. Just like she predicted would happen if one of the alphas saw her like she was.

Rough hands clamp onto each of her soft, exposed shoulders.

The hair on her neck bristles. She turns and sees Tucker towering over her with a lecherous grin above his chiseled jaw.

She needs to be flirty and teasing, like her wife does at the booth. "Oh, hello daddy," She says before nuzzling her head against his muscular barrel chest. "I've been so looking forward to seeing you again. God, you smell nice." He really does. She bets if she put on whatever cologne he's wearing before lying with her wife, she'd be totally DTF. "Can you tell me the brand? I'd like to buy some."

Tucker raises his right eyebrow.

Shit, she is supposed to be some hot bitch, not someone who would wear cologne. "Y'know, so I can spray it on other more stinky guys I date," she says.

"I thought you were straight."

"Yeah, I am totally a straight girl, born female, capable of making babies," she says, winks at him, and whispers, "It's less gay if we roleplay."

Tucker shrugs and says, "Sure, I'll write it down for you when we get to your cabin. Why don't we head over there now?" He smirks.

Shit, if they go to her cabin, it'll be done. God, getting pumped by such a huge, hung alpha, she wonders how long until she would even be able to walk after something crazy like that. Her cock hardens under her black and yellow dress. How does his wife handle it when guys get pushy? She flirts and misdirects.

"That sounds fun, but what about the hot date you promised me, daddy?" Christina asks, pouts her lips, and taps the long tips of her yellow and black fake nails against the alpha's hard chest. "Ok, I am breaking character. Of course, you making me into the ultimate gay bottom bitch is a pretty good conquest. But you know what would be even better? If you made a straight guy like me fall in love with you. Ok, going back in character. So what do you say, my strong, powerful daddy? You want to date me and see if we have burning romantic desire for each other?"

He frowns before a smile slowly builds, and he snickers. "I think you're just trying to delay the inevitable. But that doesn't mean the idea is without merit. The idea of you walking down that gangway as an absolutely defeated straight man with not only a sore and calloused asshole, but also a broken heart. There's something about a bitch who texts you every couple of months asking to lick your nutsack. You can tell she isn't horny, nor is she really particularly interested in doing it. Instead, she's just so desperate to hear from you she's willing to say anything that might get a response."

There's something wrong with Tucker Maxxx, aside from his ridiculous fake name. Normally people don't think this way, or if they do, they certainly don't say it. Something happened to make him this way. If Christina can figure it out, she might be able to use it to connect with him romantically, or, preferably, through some platonic friendship.

"C'mon, might as well get loosened up a bit," Tucker says as he takes her right hand into his left and pulls her toward the club's bar.

She clings to his side, her arms wrapping around his muscular left arm, and her head nuzzling against his hard flesh.

They sit at the club's bar.

The Dom staffing the joint polishes a glass tumbler with a wet, tan rag. Heterochromic, irises green on one and brown on the other, brown hair, and a mole on her cheek, dressed in fascist garb, sets her left hand on the bar near Tucker, clutching the vessel with her gloved right. "Wan't a drink, handsome?" she asks.

"Scotch on the rocks," he says.

She winks at Christina, scoops ice from a drawer into the glass with a scraping sound, and grabs a bottle between amber and brown.

Glug, glug!

The Dom sets the drink before daddy.

Christina stares at it, wets her lips, leans forward, and salivates. A stiff drink could loosen her up and might make this whole flirting operation a lot less stressful. She squirms atop the worn wooden barstool. "C-can he give me his?" she asks. "And you make him one? I know Her Highness said we couldn't drink. But she also said the alphas could force us to use drugs..."

"Drugs?" Tucker asks before snickering.

Shit, did he not know about that whole thing? God, she shouldn't have mentioned it. Now that she thinks about it, if there was one key element of his wife's booth routine, it was her sobriety. Hitting the sauce might make her sloppy, which would only compromise her already extremely vulnerable cherry. She peers over the granite surface of the fluorescent pink-lit bartop. A minifridge with a transparent door is stocked with various sodas. "Never mind," she says. "I will have a Coke Zero."

The Dom crosses her arms across her chest, the symbolless red armband on her right, and says, "It's not allowed. The God Empress says it's too masculine a drink for sissies."

Christina rolls her eyes.

The Dom scowls, grabs her cattle prod from its hook on her fascist uniform's belt, and primes it so it crackles with light blue electric current that illuminates vividly in the dark, windowless interior of the place on Earth furthest from Heaven. "Listen, maggot, you might think you're hot shit hanging out over here with your huge boyfriend," she warns with a snarl. "You heard of Benjamin Franklin, right? He was a big fucking deal back in the day, and he fucked a lot of whores. You've probably heard about that, right? Y'know what you haven't heard? Any of their names. There ain't no place that better reminds someone with pretentions how low and pathetic they actually are. You'll see soon enough, scumbag."

These Doms are just playing into this place's fetish for humiliation. Better to ignore them than fight and get shocked again by a fucking cattle prod.

Christina sits at the bar, her arms wrapped around her daddy's hugely muscular left arm, nuzzling her head against it, breathing in his sandalwood cologne tinged with musk, watching him drink smoky amber Scotch as the veins in the enormous bicep of his right arm twitch as it bends. She, meanwhile, sips from a silver can of Diet Coke.

Another Dom, blonde with medium hair, clacks heels against the club's floor as she walks over to the photo station with a large camera hanging from her neck over her chest with a leather strap. "Anyone want photos!?" she shouts over the thumping synth music.

"Bumblebee, how about you buy a photo of us for your cabin?"

"A photo?" Christina asks as she blinks. That is something couples would do, right? Pose for pictures together, and keep or display them for romantic purposes. It's not a sex thing; it's a show of affection. "Daddy, I'd love to have a pic of us together."

Christina clings to her boyfriend's arm as they approach the Dom photographer.

"Can you take a photo of us?" Tucker asks.

The Dom smirks, nods, and says, "What a hot couple you two make. Of course, why don't you stand right over there."

The pair stands near a framed painting of a skimpy bikini-clad sissy splayed horizontally over the laps of two muscular, shirtless alphas. She is cross-eyed and drooling onto the enormous swimsuit bulge of one, her mouth hovers precariously above, while her ass m0unts atop's the other's swollen groin. The sissy depicted in the painting's own cock strains against the narrow material of her baby blue bikini bottoms and is damp with pre cum at the spot of her urethra. The two alphas high-five each other with their enormous biceps straining like when her daddy and the other alpha celebrated busting inside her mouth and her cabinmate's asshole.

Christina clings to her daddy's side like a small and needy child, nuzzles his muscular chest, jiggles her fat, fake tits in her low-cut dress, and looks up at him.

Tucker smirks at the photographer and pulls his bumblebee in close against him, wrapping his thick arms around her lean, delicate body.

Christina blushes and also smirks at the photographer.

Snap!

Several of the sissies hanging out at the club circle around, clap, and catcall at the couple.

"That'll be four credits," the Dom says before pulling her black wristwatch out from the cuff of her black jacket and swiping it against Christina's pink sissy watch.

Her balance reduces to 20 credits.

The Dom looks at an LCD monitor and clacks her long-nailed fingers against a computer keyboard. "Here, let me apply a few filters, and... perfect!" she says.

A printer whirs and spits out a glossy, high-definition photograph of Christina and Tucker. The Dom hands it to her.

Christina looks at it. God damn, do they both look smoking hot in this picture. Not that she finds men like Tucker hot, but more in the sense that if she were asked to cast a porno, she couldn't do better than the two people she sees in this photo, disregarding, of course, the fact that under the short hem of her dress is a big old penis and a dangly set of balls, which is not usually what she wants to see attached to a woman in the porn she watches. Her fat tits really pop in the photo. She lifts the left one with her free hand and releases it so it drops and jiggles around while her cock stirs and hardens underneath her dress.

"Well, isn't that sweet," says the Dom before smirking. "Now how about we take a naughty one."

"Woooo!" yell several of the sissies gathered around the photo station while others catcall and whistle.

God, things were going so well. If she takes some gross photo with him, it'll get his huge prick all hot and bothered, and he'll demand to go to her cabin and pump her with his giant fucker. "N-no, I think one is enough," she says.

"Don't be stupid," says the Dom. "It unlocks an achievement and enough wrist credits to cover both photos. Plus it will make for a nice souvenir. You can even show it to your wife when we get back, give her a taste of what you were up to down here."

Christina's virginity is worth far more than earning another one of these fucking wrist achievements. She doesn't even bother with the achievements when she plays games. She does the main quest, maybe the side quests if the game is still fun. The only people who try to unlock all the other achievements are just too poor to buy another game. That or they're just stupid, who do shit for the sake of doing it.

"Do it!" yells one of the sissies.

"Unlock the achievement!"

"If she isn't going to do it, I will take a nasty photo with you."

"Do it, do it, do it, do it!" the sissys begin to chant.

Her daddy snickers.

Goddamnit, why can't she just have a wholesome date with her fucking boyfriend, whom she doesn't even want to be with, but who these pieces of shit are leaving her as her only option?

"Ok, fine!" Christina snaps. "What do you want me to do?"

The Dom chuckles and says, "Get down on your knees. Big guy, lose the shirt."

They do as the photographer asks.

"Take out his penis and hold it with your right hand with the tip pointed at your mouth, as if it had just been inside there," instructs the photographer.

"That'll make it look like I was giving him a blowjob!" Christina objects.

"So what?" asks Tucker. "You did give me a blowjob, remember? It was yesterday, just a few minutes after we first met."

"Oh my gawd, you sucked that alpha's cock?" asks one of the sissies.

"That's so hot!"

"Wait, isn't that the guy who said he was straight and here by mistake?"

"Uhm... can you please tell me how it ended, you blowing him? I need to know for... reasons."

Christina ignores the sissies, sighs, unfurls the zipper to her daddy's pants, and pulls out his enormous cock. She grabs the base of it, throbbing hard, a real hot and heavy fucker, and holds it close to her face, pointed at her fat, pink, puckered lips.

"Now pop out your left cheek as if it had just been stuffed inside there and cup his balls with his other hand," the Dom instructs. "Make a face like he just told you he's about to cum and quickly yanked it out and now you're about to deal with the consequences."

Several of the gathered sissies giggle.

Christina pops out her cheek, cups the alpha's oversized testicles with her other hand, looks around at all the people staring at her, feels her ribs squeeze together, feels her cock twitch, and sees herself cross-eyed in the reflection of the camera lens.

"Perfect!" says the Dom.

Snap!

Ugh, she shouldn't have let herself be photographed like some stupid bitch. Why would she want a fucking photo of herself dressed like this, looking like she is about to let some alpha use her face to catch the nut he is about to bust?

The printer whirs out the cursed image she did not need or want.

Christina sighs. At least it's something she can jack off to whenever Tucker finally decides to leave her alone. For as fucked up and sexualized as this place is, it's entirely devoid of porn. Not having her phone felt like having withdrawals last night, especially after she let Tucker fool around inside her mouth and Mistress offered to bang her when they return to Frisco.

The sissies gather up close behind Christina and look at the picture. There are more catcalls and whistling.

"Here, big guy," the photographer says before handing a felt marker to Tucker.

Tucker zips up his fly, approaches the photo laid out on the photography desk, puffs out his muscular barrel chest, and uses the marker to scribble on it: With Love