My Favorite Toy Found a Girlfriend, and I Didn’t Allow It

Once again, Bruno blocked me everywhere. This time I really didn’t get it, because that night of threesome with Don Casimiro we’d both had an amazing time, and he left my place laughing his head off. There is nothing worse than a man who cums three times all over you, licks your cunt until you’re shaking, and the next day acts like nothing happened.

So, once again, I had no choice but to show up at his job to find out what the hell had bitten him. Bruno taught classes at the neighborhood municipal gym, and at that hour he was always around stacking mats with that angry little-boy face that suited him so well.

When he saw me coming through the door, the bastard took off running. But, oh, the disadvantage of having such short legs! I caught up with him in four strides and cornered him against the wall bars.

—Now then, my little forest dwarf! Can you explain to me what the hell is wrong with you? I haven’t done a thing to you. And I’m dying to get our games going again, plus I’ve come up with a couple of new ideas you’re going to love.

—You’re always thinking about the same thing, gallega! Your sister’s cunt!

—Bruno, Bruno, don’t try to play the noble one with me. I know you naked and begging, with your cock purple and your little ass stuck up begging for more.

—But that was before, Lola!

—Lola? You’re calling me by my name and not “witch”? Have you got a fever?

—Of course not, boluda! It’s just that I have a girlfriend!

I stayed silent for a second and then burst out laughing. I couldn’t hide how funny it was to imagine little Bruno in a real relationship, one with flowers and anniversaries and all that.

—I guess she’s taller than you. Well, like everyone else.

—About thirty centimeters taller, yeah.

—So if you stand on a stool you’ll be level. And when you fuck her standing up you’ll have to climb onto a crate to reach her cunt.

—I’m serious, gallega! Herminia is the first woman in my whole life who wants something serious with me. Being available, playing around with no strings, letting you tie me to the bed for a whole Saturday while you suck my cock dry, all that’s very well and good. But there comes a day when you only want to love and be loved. I’ve got a right to be happy too, to a normal life and, who knows, maybe to start a family one day.

—And what if we bring her into the game? A threesome, you, her, and me. I can picture myself sucking her tits while you fuck her from behind, or opening her cunt with my fingers so you can drive it in deep.

—What kind of bullshit are you talking? She’s a decent woman, not a degenerate like you. Or like me, for that matter.

—It’s just that I’ve never had two men your size at the same time, and I’m curious. One in my mouth, one in my cunt, and both cocks crashing inside me.

—She’s not a little thing, she’s a proper woman! Look, gallega, go find someone else to boss around. I’m sure you can find a couple of amateurs who’ll tie you up, whip you, and then have fun with each other, sucking each other’s cocks while you shove that purple dildo of yours, which looks like a cop baton, all the way up your ass. Leave me alone.

With that, Bruno took his music elsewhere, very much the dignified man, stomping off in those short, furious little steps.

***

Herminia. There couldn’t be too many women with that name, so finding her would be easy. But there was still half an hour left before Bruno finished work, so I got in the car to wait for him, planning to follow him and find out where he lived with his famous Herminia.

Things turned out easier than I expected. Bruno lived nearby, because he left on foot. Since, luckily, he didn’t know my car, I was able to crawl along behind him at a snail’s pace until I saw him go into the entrance at 8 Calle del Olmo. While he went upstairs, I took advantage of the moment to look for parking and found a spot a few meters away.

His name didn’t appear on any mailbox, but Herminia Prados Prados’s did, second right. I wrote down the address and went home with a smile that promised nothing good.

I thought about calling Don Casimiro to keep myself entertained that afternoon, but I figured I wouldn’t be very welcome. Since that wild night with Bruno, we hadn’t seen each other again. His neighbor across the landing told me that an old friend of his, a doctor, had come up a couple of times to see him, because the poor man had been absolutely wrecked. The three of us went way too hard, especially when Bruno came inside Casimiro’s ass while I bit his nipples and squeezed his balls, and out of modesty he’d rather heal up at home than have to explain anything anywhere.

Definitely, I needed fresh blood. Don Casimiro was out of action for a good while, and Bruno, whom I still hoped to enjoy again, swore he was in love like a schoolboy.

So I did the only sensible thing. I took out the recording of that threesome night, which I still hadn’t watched, and put it on the TV. I spread two towels over the couch, prepared the lube and my yellow chick vibrator, the biggest in my whole collection, and gave myself the attention nobody wanted to give me.

On the screen, Don Casimiro could be seen tied down on his back, with his cock hard as a stick, while I rode him mercilessly. Bruno, kneeling at one side, was sucking the old man’s balls, and every now and then he’d run his tongue over my soaked cunt, which was swallowing the other man’s dick. The image was a glorious mess: three bodies tangled together, three mouths, six hands, and a chaos of tongues.

I spread my legs on the couch, sucked two fingers and started rubbing my clit slowly, watching how Bruno, in the recording, got onto all fours so Don Casimiro could fuck him from behind while I, sitting on the old man’s face, ground my cunt into his mouth. The dwarf was moaning like a bitch and my clit swelled just from remembering it.

I switched on the yellow vibrator and ran it over the lips of my cunt before shoving it all the way inside in one go. A cry escaped me. With my other hand I pinched my nipples, one and then the other, while the toy opened me up inside and hit the exact spot. Fuck me, I muttered, fuck me too, you bastard, and I drove the vibrator deeper, faster, until my legs started trembling on their own. I came with a rough growl, biting my lip, soaking the towels with juices and saliva.

I drank two glasses of wine with my cunt still throbbing and went to bed. Tomorrow would be an intense day.

***

Midmorning I went to Herminia’s place, taking advantage of the fact that Bruno would be at the gym. I parked where I had the day before and, without a second thought, went up to her flat. The entrance was open, so I only had to get to the second floor and ring the bell.

The woman who opened the door was the most singular one I’ve ever seen in my life. She had a forehead the size of a highway, sunken eyes, and an expression of such sincere goodness that I almost felt sorry for what I had come to do. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, though her tired look added a few years. She was wearing a red T-shirt stained from cooking and a skirt down to her ankles. A saint, basically. No wonder she wanted something serious: for a one-night thing and nothing more, Bruno would get bored in no time with that much decency.

—Herminia? —I asked with my best look of concern.

—Yes, that’s me. Who are you?

—Well, my name is Cristina Barrientos, and I’ve come to speak to you about your boyfriend.

—Bruno? What do you have to do with him?

—Well, we were together for years. In fact, we were almost about to get married. But on a trip to Argentina, to meet his parents, I found out who he really is. I caught him in a hotel with two women at once, extorting money from them in exchange for not telling their husbands anything.

—What are you telling me? Come in, please, I wouldn’t want any neighbors hearing this. I’ve lived here all my life and we all know each other.

—Of course, I’d rather sit down. It’s a long story.

—Yes, go on, Cristina, I beg you.

—I was horrified and took the first flight back to Spain. I told his parents that my grandmother had become seriously ill, because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what kind of son they had. For a long time I tried to avoid him, spent seasons away from home, but he always ended up finding me. A few days ago he showed up at my door and confessed that he was with you only for convenience: that way he saved on rent, household expenses, and the little whims you buy him. He told me he wanted me, and that in bed the only thing that made him cum screaming was thinking of my cunt while he fucked you. I was terrified. And since there aren’t many Herminias, I looked for you until I found your address, solely to warn you: your boyfriend is a manipulator, a hopeless cheat, and a freeloader. I’m sorry to say these things, because I can see in your eyes that you’re a good woman, but precisely because of that I can’t allow him to keep hurting you.

Then I faked the most shameless crying fit of my life and hugged Herminia before saying goodbye. On the way to the car I was dying of laughter, imagining the dressing-down my favorite dwarf would be getting at lunchtime.

***

That night I turned on the news, more to avoid sitting in silence than out of interest, since Diego was still lost to the world. The anchor took the floor with a grave expression.

—A new Bobbitt-style case. A thirty-seven-year-old woman has cut off her partner’s penis, for reasons that are still unknown, and thrown it out the window. A neighbor had to rescue it before a cat could take it away and put it on ice, while the victim cried out for help. The man is in intensive care at La Concepción Hospital after emergency surgery. The next few hours will be crucial to determine whether the reattachment is successful. The woman has been arrested.

I froze with the glass of wine halfway to my mouth. Fuck. I wanted that man only for myself, with that curved cock that fit my cunt and my ass so well, and suddenly King Solomon was stepping in with his verdict: neither for one nor for the other. For all the meekness Herminia seemed to have, she turned out to be one hell of a psychopath.

I looked up the details of the original Bobbitt case on the internet, the one from the nineties, and found out that after the implant the husband even went on to build a career as a porn actor. There’s hope for everything, I thought.

If Bruno managed to recover, he was going to have a serious problem on his hands. I didn’t know whether Herminia had confronted him first, throwing in his face that a supposed ex-girlfriend, whom he was still harassing, had shown up at her place to tell her everything. Or maybe she just waited for him in silence, with a serrated ham knife in her hand, and carried out the castration the moment he walked in, the way they’ve done all their lives with the pigs in the village, though not exactly there.

By then the case was already all over the afternoon talk shows. Marisol Vega argued that a cut like that had to be in response to something very serious; Aurora Beltrán shot back that nothing justified such a barbarity, and that poor man, who was also short, would be marked for life. I was crying with laughter. Bruno turned into the star of the gossip columns, and for his best asset, no less.

Suddenly, the host Quique Sanz interrupted the broadcast to give news that, in his own words, was chilling.

—Sorry, Aurora, but we’re getting breaking information. Herminia Prados, now being called the Spanish Lorena Bobbitt, has been found dead in her cell. All signs point to her having hanged herself with a bedsheet.

I switched off the TV. This had already gone farther than I’d planned, in a way I hadn’t foreseen. A woman had taken her own life, in part because of my little stunt. For the first time in a long while, my laughter stopped dead.

***

I mustered my courage for the matter — and never better said — and went over to the hospital to see Bruno. Pilar, a childhood friend who worked there as a nurse, had told me that same morning that he’d already woken up.

When I got to the room he was asleep. I couldn’t resist lifting the sheet a little and taking a look at the damage. They’d sewn him up with admirable skill; it looked crumpled and sad, with an unsettling resemblance to the face of an old stuffed toy, the cock stitched back together with a line of black stitches running over the skin like a railway track. The balls, on the other hand, were still intact, hanging heavy beneath the bandage. I brushed them with one finger, almost tenderly, and felt that the flesh was still responding; a tiny tremor, an involuntary twitch. A bitchy smile escaped me. I lowered my hand a little more and stroked his testicles with my fingertip, just barely, imagining what I’d do when he could get hard again: climb on top of him, ride that patched-up cock until I made him scream at the stitches, suck his balls until they turned purple. I was almost about to do something naughty, maybe lower my head and give the stitched tip a soft lick, just to say hello, when I felt him stirring. I covered him back up in a hurry and sat down in the chair like a model visitor.

Bruno opened his eyes with a pleading look I had never seen on him before.

—Gallega... They almost killed me, gallega.

And he burst into tears like a little boy.

—The doctor says that, with a lot of rehab, I’ll be able to use it again.

—Shhh, calm down, Bruno. Now you need to rest. The important thing is that you’re alive and that it’s going to get hard again.

—Gallega... Thanks for coming. Through thick and thin, despite all your craziness, you always show up. I can see that I really matter to you.

—Look, I’m not going to lie to you: what mattered to me most was what you had between your legs, that brown cock of yours that made me cum like a crazy woman every time you shoved it in all the way. But since they’ve retreaded it, well, for now you’re all I’ve got.

—You fucking son of a bitch! The day this works again, you’ll find out what’s what. I’m going to fuck your cunt and your ass until you can’t walk for a week! —he said between tears and a crooked smile—. But thanks, Lola. At least I’ve found out I’m not so alone in this life.

I felt a little sorry for him, I confess. But I couldn’t afford sentimentality. Herminia’s suicide, which apparently she hadn’t even ratted me out over, could land me in a nasty mess, and there we were, the dwarf and me, with a reattachment patched together like Frankenstein’s monster. And my mind, traitorous as ever, was already starting to fantasize about the rehab I meant to impose on him once he got out of there: slow massages with warm oil climbing over the stitched shaft, gentle handjobs to retrain sensitivity, timed blowjobs twice a day to test the strength of the stitches, and when the doctor gave the all-clear, long rides on top where I’d milk every last drop of semen out of him to make sure everything was working. Because not every woman has the privilege of ruling over a survivor with more lives than a cat, or of taking a man’s brand-new cock for its second spin in his life.