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Chapter 4 Surprise! Corrine Agrees To Fluff

 

         

     “An off-stage person hired to keep a male porn star in a state of erection, usually by performing orally,” read Corrine off the computer screen.  She had just looked up the term, ‘fluffer,’ in a Web-hosted slang dictionary.  “Do you realize what you agreed to?”

     We were in our home office.  My swollen testicles were resting against a cold pack.  They were slowly getting better.  The swelling was slowly going down.  I’d just spent the absolute worst hour of my marriage telling Corrine about my gambling and my agreement with Mr. Quarles.  I kept expecting her to get up and walk out or tell me to pack my bags and get out.  But she had hung in so far.

     I’d left out the part where I was sodomised by Alex and Sidney.  It didn’t seem relevant.  My asshole was sore.  There was a wad of toilet paper stuffed in my butt crack to absorb the piss and come that slowly leaked out. 

     Corrine would have wanted to hear all the details and I was too embarrassed.  Al Quarles was right about how being fucked by black men gave a white man a different perspective.  I wasn’t the same proud asshole full of hubris that woke up that morning.

     The term, fluffer, was unfamiliar to us.  I suspected it didn’t mean anything pleasant.   “I didn’t have a choice.  They were going to cut my balls off and shove them down my throat.  He said they would cut your breasts off.”

     “So instead, you agreed your wife could suck off men so they could gang rape strangers while you made a porn flick,” said Corrine looking totally disgusted.  I kept expecting her to tell me to vacate the premises permanently.

     I said I was sorry for the fiftieth time.  I was exhausted.  Two Vicodin were barely controlling the pain in my scrotum.  My butt was tender and I felt queasy when I thought about what I had swallowed.

     Corrine leaned back in the desk chair looking up at the ceiling.  “Be quiet for a minute and let me think.”

     It was several minutes before she straightened up in the chair and gave me her decision.

     “You are never to gamble again.  I mean never.  If I catch you spending a dollar on the state lottery, I’ll divorce you.  If some kid come to the door selling raffle tickets for little league, you ask me first before you pull out your wallet.  No, you send him my way and I will buy the tickets.  Your gambling days are over.”

     “I promise I will never gamble again.  I swear it,” I said breathing a sigh of relief.  She was going to help me.  I didn’t doubt for one minute that if she didn’t show, my balls would not be with the rest of me.

     “Be quiet.  I’m not done,” snapped Corrine.

     “Sorry.”

     “I’ve been a decent person all my life.  I don’t claim to be Mother Teresa but I have not acted like a slut.  I’ve been faithful to you since we began our relationship.  I haven’t even looked at another man since we married and there have been opportunities,” said Corrine.

     I didn’t doubt men and maybe even women hit on Corrine at her health club.  She was a beautiful woman with an incredible body.

     “You’re very beautiful, Corrine,” I said.  “Any man would be attracted to you.” 

     “Quiet, I’m still not done.”

     “Sorry.”  I was saying that a lot, today.

     “You’re asking me to become a whore, a slut, in order to save your sorry gambling ass.”

     “I know.  I feel terrible about it.  I argued with Quarles.  Told him I could handle it alone but he said you had to be there.  I didn’t have a choice.  He threatened to hurt you too.”

      “All right, I’ll help you; but if you ever disrespect me for anything I do or throw it up to me, I will cut your balls off and make you eat them.  And I will use the dullest knife I can find.”

      “I’d never disrespect you, Corrine.  I love you,” I said.

      “All right, I must love you too; but right now I can’t think of a single reason why.”

 

***

 

     “It was over six weeks before Morgan called.  I’d actually begun to hope Mr. Quarles had decided to drop the idea or really wasn’t serious about it in the first place.  Maybe he was just yanking a white boy’s balls.

     Two days after the visit, I’d handed Abe a briefcase containing almost a quarter of a million dollars.  The bank manager gave me a knowing look when I asked for the loan in cash.  Abe asked me if I wanted to place a bet on Sunday’s game but I politely declined.

     Morgan’s call was brief.  “I’ll be there at 9:00 to make sure everything’s ready.  The crew will bring her sometime after 10:00.”

     I walked over to Corrine’s office and gave her the news.

     “He didn’t say who she is,” asked Corrine?

     “Morgan’s not the informative type.  I imagine it’s the wife or girlfriend of someone who owes Quarles money.”

     “I picked up some things at the drug store,” said Corrine.  She opened a tackle box for me to look.    It was the same type she used to make up the models when we shot a commercial.

     Corrine was a very organized person who believed in preparation.  There were boxes of different brands of condoms and two plastic squeeze bottles of lubricant.  There was also several of what are euphemistically termed marital aids.  There was an unopened blister pack containing a dildo vibrator with one of those forked fingers for the clit.  The packaging identified it as Doctor Johnson’s Maximum Pleasure Dildo.  There was also an anal probe named the Butt Master.  It was two feet of flexible latex with a handle on one end and a round ball on the other.  I mentally calculated the ball would reach well into my large intestine if someone stuck it up my ass.  At the bottom of the drawer there were packages of different size batteries.

     I didn’t think drugstores sold dildos but I didn’t want to make an issue of where she got them.  There was an adult store at the next exit off the interstate.  It was difficult for me to imagine Corrine shopping there but I let it pass.  After all, whatever she felt compelled to do was to save my sorry gambling butt.

     “You think you’ll need all that,” I asked facing the import of what was in the tackle box?  I was on the verge of turning my beautiful wife who I loved dearly into a whore, a slut, and a participant in the production of pornographic films.

     “Who knows?  I have no idea what a fluffer’s tool kit contains.” 

     “God help us,” I said falling heavily into the chair and placing my head in my hands.  “What have I done?”

     “Don’t be like that,” said Corrine looking slightly miffed.

     “Like what,” I asked?

     “Like you’re about to go take a handful of pills or drive off a bridge.  If I can manage to get through this so can you,” said Corrine putting her hand on mine.  “We’ll be okay.”

     I stiffened my shoulders.  Having your wife proved more resilient than you can cause a husband to get his act together.  “I’ll pull myself together,” I said.  And Corrine was right as usual.  I needed to buck up and be a man while I watched my wife suck black dick.