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Author’s Note: This started off as a thought exercise on the “ugly bastard” trope, derived mainly from netorare (cheating/cuckold) hentai stories. I wanted to understand what made a man truly ugly. For me, an ugly man is someone who is unambitious, lacks accountability, is a liar, cowardly, unashamed of his actions, leeches on others, and is infantile in thought and demeanour. A lot of these themes do not usually get explored in hentai, as those divert more towards packing in power trips, revenge fantasies and the disgust factor. I wanted to write a story that would fill that gap, without rehashing the conventional netorare hentai tropes.
While the following story does not touch on all of the above “ugly” qualities, I’m hoping that this will be a good starting point for a future series of stories. Also, this story does NOT have explicit depictions of penetrative sex, so find yourself forewarned.
Lastly, things took a weird turn towards the end, definitely not one I could have foreseen when beginning to write this story. But, keeping true to the source of inspiration for this theme — hentai — I think it was inevitable that a little bit of hypnotism, dare I say ugly bastard magic, weaved its way into the plot. I hope you’ll find the sudden change of narrative theme delightfully juicy.
See you in the comments section 😉
Ben went sprawling over the pool table, ass backwards. The edge of the table struck him in the back, right above his ass-cheek. He yelped in pain, turning over on his side on the green velvet surface. His hand gripped his wounded side, and his eyes scrunched in pain. In his blurred vision, he could see a shadow looming over him.
“I told you to not stare at her you piece of shit!”
The man who had sent Ben flying across the pub floor hissed at him. Behind him was his girlfriend, or his wife. Ben didn’t know either of them. A couple of patrons appeared in his peripheral vision. They looked bored, like they had seen so many bar fights before that this one didn’t even factor in the top twenty. And this wasn’t even a fight. He writhed on the pool table.
“What’s your fucking problem, dude? That was the third fucking time I told you not to look at my girl.”
The woman whose modesty Ben had seemingly defiled looked worried. When she looked at her man, her face held the worried expression of someone who knew that he was prone to violence. She whispered something in his ear but he either didn’t hear her or pretended not to.
“Apologise.” He growled. “Say you’re fucking sorry for acting like a pervert.”
Ben tried to roll over and off the pool table, but the man caught him and slammed his back onto the tabletop with a force that knocked the breath out of him for a second. Ben saw a pool ball rolling towards him.
“Jessie please stop!”
The woman had now come up behind Ben’s attacker and was trying to pull him away by his arm.
“That’s enough!”, she pleaded with him. She glanced at Ben but instead of mercy she only had disgust in his eyes, as if she was trying to stop a child from trampling a cockroach.
“He needs to apologize.” Jessie replied, not taking his eyes off Ben. The sharp, numbing pain in Ben’s back showed no signs of dulling. He whispered something.
“What was that?” Jessie leaned over Ben.
“fffuck you!” Ben grunted, and kicked the other man in the chest. His brown sneakers landed squarely in the centre of Jessie’s torso, but the man barely moved. It did, however, provide enough leverage for Ben to push off the pool table. He landed awkwardly on his hand and whined when fresh pain broke out in his arm. He tried scrambling to his feet but slipped, and tried to crawl away from the couple. Behind him, he heard the clatter of pool cues dropping to the floor, followed by the woman’s scream.
Ben had only made it a dozen feet away from the pool table when a booted foot slammed into the small of his back, right next to where the edge of the table had caught him. He screamed in pain. Jessie’s shadow fell in front of him, and Ben watched in terror as the figure raised its arms, something long and thin in its hands.
“I’m gonna teach you how to be respectful towards another man’s woman you creepy fuck”
Ben covered the back of his head with his forearms, fully expecting the blow from the pool cue to break his bones. Suddenly, the pressure on his back disappeared, and he heard someone struggling behind him. He turned onto his side and watched as Jessie struggled against two surly-looking men. One of them held him pinned to the wall and the other was trying to wrestle the cue out of his hands. A third man stepped in front of Ben’s vision, his face turned away.
“That’s fucking enough.” He grunted. He had a napkin tucked into his collar. He didn’t seem too pleased about being pulled away from his dinner. The men holding Jessie managed to pull the cue out of his hands. It fell to the floor and the guy with the napkin kicked it away.
“Get him out of here.” He told the bouncers. They carried Jessie away, kicking and hurling expletives. The woman waddled behind Maltepe Escort them, her high heels clattering on the lino floor. Ben sighed and closed his eyes, but a moment later he felt someone’s hands grabbing fistfuls of his tee-shirt collar and roughly pulling him up to his feet. It was napkin man.
“And you,” he snarled. “I never want to see you back in my bar ever again.”
Ben stared at him, sniffling. He felt powerful arms sliding under his armpits as napkin man handed him off to his associates. The starting half-walking, half-carrying him to the back door.
“You creep out half my customers and piss off the other half.” Napkin man muttered behind him. Five seconds later, Ben was deposited squarely on his face, on a couple of trash bags.
“Ugly bastard.” One of the bouncers spat at Ben before slamming the door shut.
Ben adjusted the rear-view mirror till he could see the waves crashing into the sand, on the shore just beyond a small strip of pavement which separated the parking lot from the beach. Behind him, the late afternoon sun made the ocean shimmer silver and turquoise. It was a bright and breezy day, and although it had gotten warmer over the past couple of hours, it hadn’t kept the beach-goers away. People frolicked in the water and relaxed on the sand. Others enjoyed a walk on the shore trail. Light music drifted in from the deck of a nearby restaurant.
Ben’s phone buzzed. It was a text from his sister, the latest in a series of messages that he had been ignoring since noon.
“You didn’t take the trash out last night so now we gotta go another week with the rotting supermarket chicken stinking up the front yard.”
This was followed by another.
“The neighbours complained twice already”
“The back door’s come loose again. Get me some nails from the hardware store on your way back.”
“where the fuck am I supposed to put all these old boxes now”
A flash of pink in the rear-view mirror distracted him. He twisted around and looked out through the rear window, craning his neck to follow a woman running the shore trail. She was dressed in a sports bra and matching shorts. Her blonde ponytail bounced behind her, as did her tits up front. She went past a water fountain before turning back and coming to a stop near it. Ben watched as she bent over and drank from the fountain. Her tits practically fell out of their suffocating enclosure as she leaned over the fountain.
Ben found himself getting hard. He quickly flashed back to the night before, to the vision of Jessie’s girl in her slinky green dress, sitting on the other end of the bar perpendicular to Ben. Her dress had a frilly scooped neck, and her tits had similarly nearly spilled out all over the wooden counter as she chatted with Jessie. She had caught him staring first, way before Jessie had. Like most women, she had ignored him. That was entirely fine with Ben. Before getting the shit kicked out of him by Jessie, he had been planning to go into the bar’s restroom and beat off in one of the stalls. That bar had been one of his regular haunts, where he would usually wait around for hot girls to walk in through the doors — and into his mental spank bank.
He sighed and turned up the volume on the radio. The front speakers had stopped functioning a long time ago, so the ones in the back had to work overtime. More than once, he had caught vehement complaints from passengers who threatened to jump out of the car if he didn’t lower the volume. Ben’s sister had been one of them. She had offered to pay to get the speakers repaired. As pissed as she had gotten over the issue in the past, she knew that Ben loved listening to talk show radio. But Ben kept telling her he never had the time to take it to the shop, with “work and stuff”.
On this particular station today was a panel of hosts — two men and a woman. Ben had filed them away in his mind as black guy 1, black guy 2 and the girl. They were discussing an annual music awards ceremony that had premiered last night, and the various artists who had put on a performance between awards. Ben couldn’t put a face to most of the young stars and starlets the radio hosts were talking about. Not that he cared. Music was mostly background noise to him anyway.
Ben’s phone buzzed. It wasn’t a text from his sister however, because this time it was his work phone — mounted on a flexible stand stuck on the inside of the front windscreen — which had lit up. A new request had come through. He scrutinised the face on the screen for a long moment before sliding his thumb to the right, accepting the request. Immediately, a map opened up on the screen. Ben started his car and slowly rolled out of the parking lot. He drove along the promenade for about a minute before entering another, smaller parking lot.
Beachgoers milled about the shore a few dozen feet away. The shoreline here was lower than the parking lot, so Ben had a good view of people walking up and down the narrow sandy pathway that led up to the lot. He pulled into a vacant lot between two SUV’s and cut the engine. Anadolu Yakası Escort The car on the right had its trunk open, with its owners packing their picnic things into the back. He watched them through his driver’s side mirror. It was an older couple — the man, shirtless with a towel wrapped over his bulging gut, and the woman with a long, flowy shirt draped over her one-piece swimsuit. Her breasts sagged under the wet Lycra. Ben sucked in a breath through his teeth, making a disapproving noise.
Another flash of pink caught his attention. The jogger from earlier had made it down to this end of the shore on her run. Ben got so absorbed in watching Pink Tits’ jiggling bust straining against her sports bra, that he didn’t notice two figures approaching the car in the passenger side mirror. It was only when one of them knocked on the window, making Ben jump in his seat, that he relinquished his gaze. He rolled the window down, and the woman who had knocked poked her head halfway in.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Sara. Are you going to let us in?”
Ben nodded and unlocked the rear doors. Sara let herself in, sliding across the seat, followed by her companion. The second woman pulled the door shut, and Sara called out to Ben.
“Number 73 on Westerfield avenue. Don’t take the motorway, I don’t want to get stuck in afternoon traffic. And don’t go through Richmond either. Can you do that?”
Ben looked at Sara in the rear-view mirror and nodded again. She sighed and turned away, looking out the window as Ben reversed out of the slot, exited the parking lot and merged into the main road. The address wasn’t too far away, but due to Sara’s requested route, it was going to take them at least forty minutes to get there. Ben kept an eye on the mirror. The women would occasionally exchange remarks but both of them mostly kept to themselves for the duration of the trip. Sara was a brunette with pale skin. She had on a mint green cover-up that came down to her knees, and rode up her thighs when she sat down in the back seat. Underneath, it looked like she a white two-piece bikini on. Her companion was the one who really caught Ben’s attention.
She had tanned skin and sported two piercings: one on her septum, adorned by a nose ring, while the other was on her upper lip, sporting a silver stud. Her hair was cut in a short bob that came just down to her jawline, and was dyed a shade of light navy. Her neck was covered in what looked like imitation jewellery — multiple necklaces, one of which had a star-shaped pendant hung from it. She was wearing a white cotton romper which was unbuttoned almost to her navel, and between the folds lay a pair of ripe, fat, perky tits covered up in a halter bikini top. The top had a green snakeskin pattern on it, and was small enough that it left most of her cleavage, side and underboob hanging out. She must’ve been at least an E-cup, however hers were a gravity-defying pair if Ben had ever seen one.
Ben kept sneaking peeks at her throughout the trip. At one point she rolled the window down and held her phone out, shooting a selfie video. She smiled and pouted at the camera. Her hair flew around in the wind, and she had to tuck it back behind her ear a couple of times. Then, with a grin and a wink, she ended the video. Ben watched it all between glances at the road. Eventually, they pulled up at Number 73, which turned out be an apartment complex. Ben drove into the ground-floor parking lot, and found a spot on the far end, near the elevators.
“Thanks” muttered Sara as she opened the door and stepped out. Her companion filed out after her. The parking lot had low walls, and the late afternoon sun streamed in through the gap between the wall and the ceiling. The women walked up to the elevator and pressed the call button. Ben stayed staring at them. A shaft of orange light played on their sun-kissed skins. Sara’s friend’s white romper was rendered almost transparent, and Ben could see that she only had on a g-string underneath. Ben had sported a near-constant semi since the pair had gotten into his car, and now with this revelation, he felt his cock grow uncomfortably rigid in his jeans.
Sara turned and whispered something to the other woman just as the doors slid open. They walked into the empty elevator, turned around and looked directly at Ben. He didn’t flinch, fully expecting them to flip him off. That had happened far too many times to count. But to his utter shock, a second before the doors closed, Sara’s friend pulled her bikini top down, flashing her plump tits at him. The last glimpse Ben caught of her was her winking at him, tongue stuck out.
His chest throbbing, Ben quickly unlatched his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down until his cock sprang free. He started furiously stroking himself, the image of the nameless woman’s bare breasts fresh in his mind. He pictured himself holding them, massaging them, pinching her dark nipples until she squirmed. He imagined himself putting his face between them and squeezing them together until he couldn’t breathe. He saw himself licking them, İstanbul Escort all the way from her cleavage, underneath them and back up the sides until his mouth zeroed in on her sensitive nubs. He imagined what it would be like to kiss them, suckle on them, run his tongue across them.
In this fantasy he saw himself milking them like udders, each pull on her nipples expressing a warm jet of milk straight into his waiting mouth. He’d milk her until his face was drenched in her tit-juice and he couldn’t drink anymore. Then he’d milk her some more. He imagined his cock between her massive globes, rubbing and slapping on her skin. Lubricated by her creamy nectar, he pictured his cock sliding between the valley of her breasts. Ben spat on his cock once, twice, imagining the warm fluid making its way down his shaft to be her boob honey. The sun was now coming straight into his eyes through the driver’s side window as he vigorously pumped his cock in this less-than-remote corner of the building’s parking lot.
Ben didn’t stop even when the elevator doors opened. So focused was he on the task at hand that he didn’t notice footsteps approaching his car, pausing, then hurrying away. When he spurted the first jet of cum out of his cock a minute later, it went all over the steering wheel. The second one sprayed on the centre console, and the subsequent ones landed on his tee-shirt over his gut. Ben sat immobile in his seat for about two more minutes, panting. When he eventually reversed out of the spot after having cleaned himself and his car as much as he could, Ben didn’t notice the absolutely filthy look an elderly man gave him from inside his SUV.
The rest of the evening had passed by rather uneventfully. No more hot women with bouncy, fuckable tits came his way. By the time Ben finished his shift and headed back home it was just past midnight. He pulled up into his driveway and killed the engine. As soon as he stepped out, the stench of something horribly rotten assaulted him. He covered his mouth and nose with the collar of his tee-shirt and hurried to the door. He slid the key in the lock and gently opened the door, hoping his sister was already asleep.
She was not. She was up watching TV, one of the late night crime dramas where the producers could get as explicit and gory as they liked. As soon as Ben closed the door behind him she barked out
“Did you get me the nails for the back door?”
He hadn’t. For the next ten minutes he listened to his sister berate him from the lounge room, while he changed into his pyjamas and fixed himself dinner — a sandwich with salami slices and peanut butter. She eventually switched the TV off and went to bed. Ben threw his clothes from the day into the hamper. His sister would get to doing the laundry at some point over the weekend. She had way more frequent change of clothes than he did, so in Ben’s mind, naturally it was her responsibility.
When Ben hit the sack that night, he thought about the nameless woman again. For the purposes of record-keeping for his spank-bank, Ben decided to call her Snaketits. He would never forget her again.
Two weeks passed by. Ben found a new dive bar to frequent, closer to his sister’s place. She would complain when in the mornings, Ben would still reek of cheap alcohol from the night before, but it was a decent joint. The beer was cheap, and the bar stayed open till 2 AM. There weren’t many bullies around either, but on the other hand, not many exciting prospects passed through, at least not any candidates for Ben’s personal porn palace. The traffic passing through his cab during the day hadn’t been that memorable either, so Ben was stuck with the memory of Snaketits. He beat off to her many times in those two weeks: in parking lots, at strip malls, in bar restrooms, on his bed, in the shower, and once in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic crawling along on the motorway.
Usually Ben would tire of his muses, but Snaketits hung around in his memory, goading him into raging hard-ons, pulling every last drop of his cum out of his tiny sack. Usually he pictured getting his nut off all over her tits, her face, her hair, inside her mouth, over her back… sometimes he even found himself imagining her taking his load over her thighs, her feet, her toes dripping with his cum. For some reason, however, he just couldn’t devise a scene where he came inside her cunt, or her ass. Every time he tried picturing what her pussy and the pucker of her asshole looked like, it would feel out of order — like he was missing a very important detail. He couldn’t put his finger on it, however.
And it drove him insane. Ben resorted to porn — looking up images and videos of girls who had a similar figure as her. Within a few hours of research, he deduced her exact measurements. The list of women online who matched those measurements wasn’t small, yet every time Ben started watching their videos or perusing their photo galleries, there would be a worm crawling around in the back of his mind, telling him that something wasn’t right. Once — through heroic effort — Ben brought himself to climax over one of those women, but then he felt so empty, so drained, so… unsettled, that he vowed to never do it again. So he went back to his memories from the day, where a ghost of her lived in the slimy folds of his brain in perfect high-definition.
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