by Jewel Geffen
“Jason,” he said, his commanding voice steady and even despite his own stimulation, “lie down on the bed. Face up.”
I get unsteadily to my feet, knees shaking as I take the three steps to the bed and settled myself onto the soft surface of the mattress. It's one of those fancy tempurpedic things; I can feel my body sinking into the material as it molds itself to my shape.
“Vicky, get on top of him. I want you to suck his cock while I fuck you, and Jason, I want you to keep eating her out.”
I just nod, and lay there staring at my face in the mirror above the bed as my wife rises to join me. I look for some hint of something in my face, some outward sign of the change which feels as if it is taking place inside me. I don't look any different. My wedding ring still gleams on my finger.
Then Vicky's toned thighs are closing over my face, and I can't see anything but the warm darkness of her sex as it covers me. She slides her dripping pussy slowly over my mouth, moaning with pleasure as her sensitive clit moves over my face.
She's fucking me, I realize, using me purely as an object no different from a high school girl humping her pillow in secret. But she's doing it to me, and – more importantly – in front of him. She is at the extreme edge of her desire, suffused now with overwhelming sexuality.
I close my eyes and open my mouth and let her soaking cunt press against my mouth, my tongue sliding eagerly over the bead of her clit. Her mouth is warm and soft as it takes my hard little dick fully in without any apparent effort. After gagging on Antoine's massive black cock this little thing of mine must feel like it's hardly there.
I hear the bed shifting over me and I look up to see a wall of thickly muscled black flesh moving into position. Antoine has disrobed entirely now, his incredible body on display. His cock dangles and bobs right over my head. I feel like I'm going cross-eyed staring at it there.
He puts it without preamble against the wet pink lips of my wife's pussy and settles his legs on either side of my upturned face.
I can hear the slap of his hands on her flesh as he takes a firm hold of her rump, and pulls her back against himself.
She cries out, her voice muffled around my little dick, as his huge black cock opens her, and slides easily into the tight pink hole. I can feel her thighs trembling on either side of my head as he pushes into her, murmuring soothingly as he shoves the ten-inch monster inside.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, lifting her mouth from my dick to throw her head back, eyes closed in utter ecstasy as his cock fills her deeper than I ever could, its incredible thickness stretching her inner walls.
I can see in the mirror as he reaches out to grasp the back of her head and push it calmly but firmly back down onto my cock. “Keep sucking,” he orders, and pushes a little further.
I can feel the warm soft skin of his hanging balls brush against my face as he fucks my wife over me, and all of a sudden I'm overwhelmed with the intoxicating sensation of total arousal as I imagine him pumping cum out of those balls and shooting it deep inside her, filling her with his virile and powerful seed.
A groan slips out of me, humming in my throat, as I start to move my tongue faster over her clit. I can feel my tongue slipping sometimes a little further down to brush against the shaft of his black cock as it fills her opening.
He grips her tight, straddling my head, and he starts to fuck her, driving in and out with long and powerful strokes, over and over again while she squeals with pleasure and her entire body shakes on top of me.
Her juices are overwhelming me now, dripping down in a torrential flood over my chin and face and mouth. The huge black cock pounds her again and again, squelching as it's squeezed tight in her sopping pussy.
“You're a little slut for black cock, aren't you, Victoria?” he said, grunting slightly, still sounding like he's hardly breaking a sweat. “This pussy belongs to me now, Jason. It's mine. Anytime I want to fuck it she'll give it to me. How does that feel, Jason? Every time you touch her she's going to be remembering this and wishing it was me instead. You weren't good enough for her, and now I've taken her for myself, and she wants it so bad.”
I groan, gasping slightly as I cum. My issue spurts out, but Antoine snatches his hand out to grab her hair and pull her back off me so that my cum spills out on my own belly.
“No no,” he said, panting a little, “you don't get to cum in her again. That's for me only, now. She's my little cumtoy, Jason. And now I'm going to show you how a real man fucks a woman.”
I can barely hear him; the words wash over him as I twist in writhe in the afterglow of my orgasm, the shuddering feelings of pleasure sweeping through me. I'm still hard. I've cum, but it hasn't made my erection go away. I don't think I've ever been so turned on in my life.
Antoine's fucking my wife brutally now, slamming her over and over again with a primal ferocity, grunting and snarling now as he falls into the powerful rhythm, entirely given over to his own need. He uses her as if she were a doll made for his pleasure and she loves it, submitting utterly to his roughness.
“Yes, daddy!” she's screaming through the haze of my intoxicated pleasure, “take that pussy! That's your pussy, daddy! It's all yours!”
With a final hard slam of his body against hers he lets out a groan of deepest satisfaction. Her weight and his both settled hard on my face. I can feel his balls twitching against my forehead as they pump their load down the length of him and flood my wife's cunt with his seed.
He stays in her, holding her tight as he empties his load fully into her. I can feel her pussy twitching and pulsing with her own silent orgasm as the muscles inside contract, as if at his command, to milk every last drop of semen from his cock.
I can taste the musky sweetness of his cum mingling with her juices as they flood out. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slides back out of her. As he withdraws as gush of his pearly cum slips out behind the retreating cock and beads in the pink opening of my wife's pussy for just a moment before her weight shifts and it flows down over my face.
She rubs her well-fucked cunt over me, and for a moment I can taste his load on my lips. She makes no move to rise, gripping my legs and clinging to my body, breathing as hard as if she'd just come from running a marathon. Her hips move slightly back and forth, as if still caught in the spell of him and desperate for some ghost of that pleasure.
I reach my arms up and wrap them around her bottom and I eat out her creampied pussy like I've never eaten her out before. When she cums, it squeezes out more of his thick pearly cum, but by then I'm fully aroused again and I don't object as it floods my mouth.
I open one eye and look up to see him standing over us with a little smile on his face. “Very good,” he says approvingly, and I would think that he's talking to Vicky but for the fact that he's looking right at me. “Very good,” he says again and reaches out to slap my wife's upraised ass.
* * *
The canoe scrapes softly over the sandy beach as we push it out onto the glassy surface of the water.
For a moment we just hold our paddles at rest, gliding out silently onto the polished mirror of the lake. The regal pines and towering blue-gray mountains seem to rise up around us as we float away from the island.
I risk tipping the canoe to twist a little in my seat so that I can look back. I can't see anything on the island but the trees and crags and the white sand of the beach. Not even a glimpse of the massive mansion hidden away on the center of the island. None of it feels entirely real to me now, as if the whole thing might have been some kind of dream.
But it wasn't a dream, it really did happen.
My wife fucked another man. She did it right in front of me – hell, she did it on top of me! I watched it all, and I loved it. That really happened.
We hadn't stayed long after the event, though he hadn't kicked us out exactly. We all showered separately, each of us with our own thoughts. He offered us food to pack for the return journey, which we accepted gratefully. Then he'd seen us out and wished us a safe trip
.
In the doorway he had lingered a moment, and pulled Vicky against himself, his ebony hands caressing her white skin as he held her body, dressed again in that little nothing of a bikini, and he'd kissed her. He had kissed her deeply and passionately, and I hadn't been able to do anything but watch as another of our rules was broken right in front of me.
He couldn't have known what we'd discussed, but he'd done it all the same. It was as if he was sending a message, plain as day: there are no rules anymore, not on my island.
“Thank you for that, Jason.” Vicky voice is quiet from behind me.
I turn back and look at her, my breathtakingly gorgeous wife, and my heart is overwhelmed with love for her. I love her, and I can see in the soft smile on her perfect face that she loves me. This didn't destroy us.
I don't say anything, just nod.
“It's not over yet, you know,” she says.
I lift an eyebrow. “Not over?” God, I hope not. Already I can't wait to do that again.
“No,” she shakes her head, “it can't be. He didn't make his painting yet. He'll be back for more.”
“And... is that something... you want?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
She doesn't say, but I can see her fighting to keep a little smirk off her face. She gives a little shrug that says yes as loudly as the word itself ever could.
I turn back ahead, grinning like an idiot. Everything has changed now. Turns out this vacation might save our marriage after all. I take a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, then I dip my paddle in the water.
Slowly, we move away across the water and when next I look back the island behind me has vanished in the morning mist.
Book 2: Hotwife in Bondage
Chapter One
I stare at my face in the mirror, looking for some kind of clue as to what in the world I think I'm getting myself into. A slender woman looks back at me, blue eyes, blonde hair, rouge on my cheeks and black mascara on my lashes. There are no clues in that prettily made-up face.
“Do you know what you're doing, Victoria Dubois?” I ask myself, my voice a low murmur.
The truth is, I've no idea.
The last few days have been some of the strangest of my life, and some of the most exciting. My husband and I were taking a weeklong vacation in the Adirondack Mountains, though we hadn't just come to relax and enjoy the sights of the wilderness. My marriage was in trouble. I knew it and my husband knew it. What we didn't know was what to do about it.
The simple fact of the matter is that he can't satisfy me in bed. It seems like such a small thing when I say it like that, and I thought it was, at the beginning. I told myself I'd be fine, that I could live without sex.
Jason and I love each other, that hasn't changed. He's the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, I don't have any questions about that. But he can barely get hard anymore, much less fuck me well enough to get me off. The longer it went on, the more I came to realize that sex wasn't something I could give up.
More than that, it made me realize that Jason hadn't ever been able to keep up with my needs. I hadn't had good sex since before we were married, and that was a thought that couldn't help but put me in a dark frame of mind. I was starting to get depressed, and that got him depressed too. It was becoming bad between us.
Then we came here, and at first it seemed like nothing would change, but then something incredible happened, something that I can still hardly believe.
We were canoeing on the lakes when, quite by accident, we found ourselves stranded by a thunderstorm on an island. Upon that island, tucked away up in the forests of the island, was a huge mansion, the home of the French Billionaire businessman Antoine Moreau.
As if that in itself hadn't been strange enough, we met Antoine himself there and, over the course of the next twenty-four hours, we embarked upon the strangest and most sensual adventure of our lives.
Antoine and I became lovers, with Jason's consent and seeming approval. We fucked right there in front of him – right on top of him, actually.
I don't know if it was Antoine himself or the taboo nature of the act, or some combination of both, but it was the best sex I'd ever had. It was his kink, he told us, to fuck other men's wives, white men with white wives especially. I never thought it would be ours, but... things have a strange way of working themselves out sometimes.
I had sex with a black man in front of my husband, not just to fulfill my own needs, but to satisfy his own desires. Jason told me afterwards that he'd never been so aroused in all his life.
We came back to our cabin and it seemed to both of us that we were waking up from a kind of strange dream.
But it hadn't been a dream. The next day – today – Antoine himself knocked on our door. I was the one who opened it and, the moment I saw him, my entire body reacted with a sensation of powerful and inescapable desire. If I'd been flirting with the notion that it had been a onetime thing, that idea ended in that moment. This would always be a part of me now, that was clear. Just one look at him and I was craving it again, so powerfully that it made my knees buckle.
“Victoria,” he'd said, and smiled that slight and knowing smile, as if he could see right through me, like every thought in my head was written upon my face in words which only he could make sense of.
“Mr. Moreau...”
“Please,” he'd said, and leaned in to kiss me gently on the cheek, his arms sliding in around me to pull me close in a firm but brief embrace, “call me Antoine.”
I'd known I would see him again. We still owned him something for our time together.
Antoine had asked for but one thing in exchange for all he'd given us: that he be allowed to paint a portrait of me to add to his collection. I'd agreed, but we had left the island without mentioning it again.
I had been waiting for him to come. “Please,” I'd said, gesturing for him to enter the little cabin we'd rented for our vacation.
He stepped inside, ducking down a little to avoid bumping his head on the low doorway.
I stepped back, wringing my hands like a nervous housewife entertaining an important guest. We'd only been here a few days, and would only be staying for a few days more, but a part of me had already started to think of it as being ours. “Sorry,” I laughed, a little nervously, “I know this must seem tiny to you...”
“It's charming,” he said, and flashed a reassuring smile in my direction, “very rustic.”
Jason had been sitting on the sofa in front of the unlit fireplace. He turned around and looked, wide-eyed, as the imposing black billionaire stepped inside our little vacation home.
“Mr. Thomas,” Antoine said with a nod.
“Uh, hi Antoine.”
“Forgive the intrusion,” he said, quite congenially, “I'll not stay long. I had something I wanted to discuss with you both, however, and, seeing as you don't have a telephone here...”
“Sorry,” I said, giggling a little bit, “like you said, rustic.”
Antoine sat in the easy chair beside the fire, set up facing the sofa. He rested his large dark hands on the armrests and gave us a look of careful consideration.
I stepped up behind Jason, my hands on the back of the sofa. He reached one hand up to hold mine, perhaps looking for some sort of support. I gave him a squeeze.
“Is this about the portrait?” I asked.
He smiled slightly. “In part, yes... I'd still very much like to paint you, Victoria. I desire it quite intently, as a matter of fact. You are singularly beautiful, and it would be an honor to be... entrusted with capturing that ineffable essence upon my canvas.”
“Of course,” I said, “thank you...”
“But... there's more. I... don't usually do this, but I find that... I want to see you again for... other reasons.”
“Other reasons?” Jason said, his voice squeaking just a little.
Antoine leaned forward, his dark eyes flashing. “Indeed,” he said.
I felt a quiver in my stomach a
nd a heat between my legs. Oh God, I want him so bad. “Please,” I said, “we were going to have dinner in few minutes. Perhaps you would... care to join us?”
He nodded slowly. “I would like that very much.”
We talked over dinner, but the discussion remained purely conversationally. He offered suggestions of things we might like to see in the area, hiking trails and attractions in town or sights that we might want to see, and I asked him about France – my parents were both French, and had moved to America when I was a baby, and I've always had a deep fascination with my home country.
We didn't talk about sex. At least, we hadn't yet. All the while, however, each of us three knew that it was coming sooner or later, and that eventually the conversation would turn in that direction. That knowledge gave everything, even the most simple of pleasantries, a kind of electric charge. It hummed in the air between us, and the longer it went on the more aroused I could feel myself becoming.
It didn't help that Antoine kept touching me. They were only little things, incidental, a brush of his hand on my arm as I passed him a napkin or poured a glass of wine, his body pressing against mine when he got up to use the restroom and had to slide between my chair and the wall. Nothing overt, and yet with every touch I felt myself melt a little more inside.
Images of our night together kept flashing in my head. His cock sliding into my mouth, his hands on my naked breasts, his eyes locked with mine as he took me for his own. The way he'd gripped my hips and thrust forward, his cum flowing inside me...
As I sat there next to my husband, I'd started to feel my panties getting steadily wetter and wetter.
After we finished our meal he pushed back from the table and smiled at us. “Thank you,” he said, “that was a delightful meal.”
I blushed. “Oh, it was nothing. I'm sure you're used to much better than that...”