by Violet Blue
By the time we get home I’m half asleep, floating on a delicious cloud of fear and sex and hunger. You pull into the garage so the neighbors won’t see me get out of the car nude except for your jacket. You lead me into the house, put me to bed, and bring me a tray of food—cold cuts and sourdough bread.
“It’s not from a nice restaurant,” you say. “But I hope it’s okay for dinner.”
I swallow a bite of bread and lean over to kiss you.
“I had my dinner,” I whisper hoarsely. “It was delicious.”
Pearl Necklace
JOLIE JOSS
We’re just finishing up Sunday brunch at the Uptown Plaza when I get the text. As Rick goes on talking, I fish my smartphone out of my purse. My heart pounds as I read it. I go tingly all over. I feel like my temperature has just shot up about ten degrees.
I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t think it would really happen. I’ve been flirting with him online for months—three of them, and five days, to be exact. I didn’t think he’d actually take me up on my offer of “Anytime, anyplace.”
But now that he has, how can I say no?
“Rick, darling,” I break in when he gives me half a chance. “I know we talked about spending the day together, but I’m afraid something’s come up. I’ve got to show a property near here for work, all right? You understand, don’t you? We can spend time together later.”
At first Rick looks crestfallen, then suspicious. When my wicked look confirms his worst suspicions, he looks confused, dismayed, and about to faint.
“I’ll need the car,” I tell him. “Be a dear and take a cab home. You’ve got cab fare, don’t you?”
“Well, I—uh—” he sputters, not believing what he’s hearing. “Yes, of course. It’s just that…” He draws away and looks guilty.
“What, darling?”
“I bought you an anniversary present.” He slips the small box out of his pocket and holds it out to me.
I open the package and smile.
“How nice, darling. A pearl necklace. Is that a hint?”
Rick gets flustered.
I wink at him. I stand and let him lift my cascade of red hair and clasp the necklace on me. I break out my compact, purse my lips, and admire myself wearing Rick’s pearl necklace—knowing within just a few minutes I’ll be wearing someone else’s.
“It’s so lovely, darling. I’m touched. Now, run along home. I’ll be home when I’m finished.” I run my hands along his neck and whisper: “Don’t get too worked up on those downloads you like to watch. Save some for me, darling. Will you?”
Rick looks down and scampers away to the cab stand.
Just for the sake of appearances, I get out my parking receipt and stand lackadaisically in line. But lucky for me, the line at the parking window is longer than the line for a cab, so just as I reach the front, I see Rick disappear into the back of a Yellow, and I peel off for the elevator—leaving a briefly bewildered clerk.
I glance back, once, and spot Rick’s eyes glaring from the back of his taxi. Whether he spots me looking back at him, I won’t know until after it’s occurred, this thing I’m doing.
My betrayal.
And once that’s done…everything will be different.
Online, I’ve cheated on him before. In chatrooms, I’ve gotten pearl necklaces from dozens of men not my husband. In phone calls, I’ve been unfaithful more times than I can count.
But not like this. Not in reality. And I never dreamed I could really do it so blatantly, ditching him after a perfectly lovely brunch. Not so carelessly, discarding my husband like a piece of used tissue and moving on to the next shiny cock. Not even caring that he suspects. Not even caring that he knows.
Not even caring that my husband’s pearl necklace will soon be sticky with another man’s come.
Or, on the contrary—being turned on by it. The very fact of my betrayal makes me wet. The very knowledge that he knows gets me so unbelievably aroused I can’t control myself.
The looks of suspicion and confusion on my husband’s face making me want to betray him so bad that I can’t not cheat on him.
Like he’s begging for it.
I open my phone again. The original text from Dion burns there on my screen: Room 1916. Behind it, a new text blinks.
It’s a photo: Dion’s cock. Big and thick and glorious, glistening even in this low-resolution photo. What is it about men? They think the cellular phone exists solely to send pictures of engorged genitals back and forth between cheating lovers. And perhaps more importantly, every man seems to think a JPEG of his cock makes a woman weak at the knees.
Well, when you meet men online, I suppose there’s not much more they have to work with. And in this case, it was the very blatant nature of Dion’s aggressive stance that made me cream. Wasn’t that what I’d liked in all those hours of trading chat messages while I sat casually “working on some property spreadsheets” as Rick and I watched TV, my body turned “just so” to make sure Rick couldn’t glimpse images of Dion’s chest, abs, and cock?
Didn’t I beg Dion to “grab me,” “bend me over,” “spank me,” “pull my hair,” “make me your slut”? Didn’t I make him promise over and over again that if—no, not if, when—we met in person, he’d do all that and more? “Whenever, wherever?”
Didn’t I beg him to push my boundaries?
And didn’t I just “happen” to drop him a text to mention that Rick and I were planning on a nice leisurely Sunday, with brunch at the Uptown Plaza—which sometimes had very reasonable last-minute Sunday rates, and let you check in at noon if you asked nicely?
I’d done all of those things, hoping and praying that it would lead right where it was leading.
I’m sure as hell not backing out now.
I punch in a number and forwarded the JPEG, with a happy face.
Dion’s left the door ajar. The comforter’s folded on the floor. Ample light filters through the white gauze curtains to bathe the room in a gloriously flattering light, so when he’s first revealed to me he looks about as good as a man can look.
Dion’s stretched out nude and gorgeous across the hotel sheets, his dark skin accented by the bleached, starched white cotton. I see that he hasn’t exaggerated a thing during our extensive online chats. Twenty-six—a full ten years younger than me—he’s ripped and cut, with bulky forearms, big shoulders, and a broad chest. And his cock? Well…more on that later. His voice is just as delicious as it’d been all those long, late dirty talks while Rick was asleep, or pretending to be asleep.
“Hi,” says Dion.
“Hello there, beautiful,” I sigh.
I put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign and closed the door behind me.
There’s no need to introduce ourselves. There’s no need for the preliminaries usually engaged in by lovers meeting for the first time. He knows who I am. He knows me as intimately from my pictures as I know him from his. He knows far more of me, in fact, than he’s seeing now, which is why it’s so strange that my hands tremble as I start to undress for him. It always scares me to get naked in front of a man I’ve never fucked before, no matter how many dirty snapshots of me the guy’s seen.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Come over here. Let me.”
I come to bed. Dion grabs me and pulls me onto him. I drop my purse beside the bed. Before I know it, he’s got me pinned under his big, broad, muscular body. I melt into his scent and his heat and the feel of moisture against my skin. He’s wet from the shower.
He kisses me, hard. His tongue is insistent. I react instantly to that first touch, and every further touch forces me deeper into his spell. But I’m still scared. In fact, I’m terrified.
I feel the need to talk or something. I feel the need to tell him how nervous I am to be cheating on Rick.
But when I try to pull away, he kisses me harder. He pins me down. He holds my hair. He pulls my hair. His kisses plunge deeper. He violates me with his tongue. When I struggle a little bit more, he turns me
over, pins me with his weight, and lifts his big hand up high.
“No talking,” he says. “Not till I’ve fucked you.”
Then he spanks me, just once, to still me. To gentle me. I’m his skittish little mare, and this is how he harnesses me.
It makes me warm all over. It makes my cunt wet.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, and spread my legs.
He grabs my hips and lifts them high, forcing my ass into the air. He doesn’t take my panties down. He doesn’t take my skirt off. He just pulls the skirt up, the panties to the side, and exposes my Sunday-shaved cunt.
Then he fucks me from behind.
Just like that, I’m not a wannabe-adulteress anymore. I’m a real adulteress. Before I even know he’s doing me, I’m done. I’m being fucked. He’s in me, and I’m cheating.
There’s no talk of a condom. All those discussions have been had. All those boundaries have been laid out. He goes into me bareback, his big stranger’s cock naked, terrifying, and hot.
My cunt goes tight around him as he penetrates me. He’s hard to take in this position, but I’ve been working on it. Yoga. Pilates. Deep knee bends. It’s been the way I dreamt of Dion taking me since the beginning. “Something about your cock,” I told Dion once during a filthy chat, once he showed me his dick. “It makes me want to get fucked in this position,” and I sent him a JPEG mined from Rick’s extensive porn collection, of a woman taking cock exactly like this. Face down. Ass up. Skirt lifted. Panties yanked to the side. Fully dressed, but fully exposed.
His huge cock stretches me. I’m so wet that I seem to pour juice down over his cock as he slides in, but he still has to shove hard to penetrate me. He fits me like a glove and starts fucking me slowly, holding the crotch of my thin silky panties out of the way. My hands are flat against the hotel bed, my face pushed into the indentation left by Dion’s body. I take him eagerly, ass in the air. I inhale his smell.
My body’s a mass of sexual energy. I’ve been anticipating this for months, ever since the first time I laid eyes on Dion’s photo. I’ve been dreaming of the moment when I would submit to his cock. But he is heavy on top of me, and all I can do is lay there and get fucked. It feels incredible, but I know there’s no way I’m going to come. And I don’t want to. All I want is to feel every inch of Dion’s cock sliding into me over and over again, thrust after thrust, while he licks his thumb and works it up to my butthole.
He goes slowly at first, taking his time, stretching me out without ever quite entering me.
Then he takes me, with one thrust. I gasp as he inserts his thumb. He starts fucking my cunt deeper with his cock, holding his thumb as deep in my ass as he can as my muscles tighten around it. He thrusts his dick all the way into me. Feeling him inside both my holes five minutes after we’ve first kissed, I realize how deep I’ve gone into this. I’ve given myself to a total stranger. He’s going to take me how he wishes.
That’s when I realize he plans to make me come.
I never asked him if he was right or left handed. It’s just not the sort of thing that occurs to one online. I realize now that he’s right-handed, obviously, which is why it’s his left thumb he’s shoved up my ass. It’s his right hand that he shoves under me, pressing middle finger to clit and gauging the pressure as I squirm on his cock. He seems to know it instinctively. He starts rubbing as he fucks me, drawing out his cock until the thick head nudges my G-spot, then he tips it at just the right angle to get a moan as he increases pressure on my clit. Then he slowly glides down into me, ceasing when the moaning stops. He draws back. He rubs more firmly, more gently, based on how loud my cries get.
Soon it’s obvious he’s found the spot.
I claw at the sheets. I grab a pillow that smells like him and shove it in my mouth to keep from screaming. I scream anyway. He teases me right to the edge and leaves me there hurting.
Then he pulls it all away: his cock and thumb pop out of me, and his hand abandons my clit. He backs away from the bed. He just leaves me hanging there, ready to come but not allowed.
“All right,” he says. “Now you can undress for me.”
I’m red all over, but my face and my tits feel hottest. I drop onto the bed and squirm around like mad tearing off my clothes. The little sundress I’ve worn wouldn’t be hard to get off if I could make my hands work, but I can’t. Dion stands by the bed and lets me fumble and struggle. I finally kick the dress away, hurling it into a sodden lump on the floor. I pull off my panties and bra and reach out to him desperately, grab his hands and shove him into the bed.
I don’t know why I need to give him head just then—I just need to. Maybe it’s because with my severe oral performance anxiety, I won’t do it if I have to think about it, and right now I’m too crazy with lust to think about anything but pleasuring his cock. I kneel next to the bed, coax his legs apart, and go down on him eagerly, wrapping my lips around his dick. I taste my sex. I suck him hungrily, eyes closed, the feel of his big smooth cock feeling very much like heaven against my tongue and lips and into my throat.
I see a flash and look up. Dion is taking phone cam pics.
I blush a little. I remember that I made him promise me he would. “Something to remember me by,” I told him, in one of my very dirty moods.
I keep sucking him, letting him hold my long hair out of the way with one hand while he guides me into a position so he can get shots of his cock, of my face, of my lips parted around his shaft and my tongue swirling around his glistening cockhead. I lower my mouth to his balls and lick those, flashes blinding me over and over again. He punches buttons. I work my way back to his tip in a loving slurp and start making love to the head. More flashes. I know my makeup is ruined, but I’ve never felt hotter. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve never felt more beautiful.
“Your husband’s name is Rick, isn’t it?”
I look up at him. “What?”
Dion holds my hair and positions his cock against my cheek.
“Rick. That’s your husband, right?”
I realize he’s holding my phone, not his.
I smile wanly.
“Oh, my god,” I say. “You’re not—”
“Come on,” says Dion brightly, aiming my phone at me. Again. “Smile for the camera. Don’t you think your husband wants to know how much fun you’re having?”
I moan softly, arousal instantly dominating every cell in my body. I’ve never been this turned on. I feel drunk. I feel confused. I feel as if every conscious thought has been blasted out of my head and replaced with sudden need for Dion’s cock, as he humiliates and degrades my beloved husband.
“Let’s see some tongue,” says Dion.
I obey him. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m going crazy with lust. I want his cock everywhere. In me, on me. I want his come all over me. I want his brutal camera to drink in every image of me sucking his cock. I want Dion to send them to Rick for him to stare at in disbelief.
I resume sucking Dion’s huge cock eagerly, wetly, looking up into the periodic flash of the camera. Every now and then, Dion turns the phone around to show me my image with his dick in my mouth—and to show me the speed dial he’s just thumbed into the phone. He makes me watch as he sends it to Rick. And then he turns it around and takes more pictures.
I’ve gone delirious. I’m going crazy. I want Dion’s cock like I’ve never wanted anything in my life. My pussy drips down my thighs, my mounting arousal fueled by betrayal. It isn’t long before Dion has to pull me off his cock, panting, to prevent me from making him pop.
Dion pulls me up onto the bed and plants me on my hands and knees. He spanks me. I’m surprised at first, but why didn’t I expect it. He knows what this does to me. I’ve told him a thousand times online, on the phone. He spanks me again, harder. Harder. Still harder. Then the phone cam flashes and he shows me the pic: his big red handprint dark red on my pink pale ass, and Rick’s name in speed dial.
Dion sends it. I whimper.
He gets behind me and mounts me. I cry
out as he penetrates me. This time I know it won’t take his hand to make me come. I’m almost there the second he’s inside me. The flash goes off a half dozen times.
He tells me, “Turn around. Face the camera, baby.”
I do it. I show him my face, pink with pleasure, while he positions the camera to get a shot of his big cock violating me—and my face looking into the camera as it does.
He does a hell of a job. He shows me the picture. He shows me Rick’s name, just in case after dozens of pictures I’ve decided to wonder if he’ll really do it. I see the MESSAGE SENT icon.
Then Dion fucks my ass.
I hear myself moaning, “OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod,” somewhat pathetically, as Dion’s huge cock opens me up.
He says, “Oh, Jolie—that’s too good to pass up. Let’s share that with Rick, shall we? Let me get one more, and—”
The flash goes off. He grabs my hair and tips my head back and shows it to me: his cock breaching my ass, his dark red palm print still upon my cheek. He sends it to Rick right in front of my face.
Then he hits DIAL.
“OhGodOhGodOhGod,” I moan incoherently, unable to conceive of what I’m doing as Dion puts the phone to my face and starts rhythmically working his cock in and out of my ass.
“Darling,” moans Rick, desperate. “What are you doing? I’ve been getting these texts—”
“I’m getting fucked, baby,” I moan. “I’m getting fucked in the ass. God, it’s so fucking good—baby, I’m sorry, I’m getting fucked by a stranger, I’m cheating on you, I’m cheating on you, I’m betraying you, I’m unfaithful, I’m a bad girl, badbadbadbad—”
And then I come, screaming, my eyes rolling back in my head. My hips start working. I shove myself back and forth on Dion’s cock. I feel the weight of his body bearing me down as he orders me to come harder for him, and I do. I come harder and harder and harder and harder until I’m screaming into the phone as Dion’s cock plunges deep into my ass.