Behind His Back

by Stranges, Sadie

  “I didn’t say you could stop,” I tell her sternly, and she buries her sloppy face back in my pussy, sending me almost over the edge.

  “Now get the fuck over here and fuck my mouth,” I tell Hunter.

  This time there’s no dawdling. He strides toward the bed, and in a single, swift motion, he’s on top of me, straddling my torso with his massive cock pulsing above my lips.

  “That’s a good little whore,” he says.

  Before I can finish licking my lips, he plunges his thick cock into my hungry mouth. He grabs a handful of my hair from the top of my head to hold me steady, and he thrusts deep into my throat while I moan and gag, savouring its warmth and feeling trails of saliva spill down my cheeks. Jessica continues lapping at my clit with a perfect pace, and soon I’m so overcome that I can’t hold back. I clamp Jessica’s head between my thighs while the sensation swells from deep within me, and then my head pulls away from his cock and my thighs spring open like a clamshell, freeing Jessica as I release a tidal wave with a deep, primal moan.

  When the storm has receded, I’m left shivering on the bed, my hands still tied, and Hunter still straddling me. A large bead of lube drops slowly in a sticky tendril from his tip, and I catch it on my tongue and follow it up to his cock, which I lick and kiss gently.

  “Very good girl,” he says, and then he dismounts me, revealing a shiny, wet Jessica between my legs.

  “You came all over my tits,” she tells me with a giggle.

  She pushes up on her skinny arms so I can admire my work.

  “That’s not very polite, Faith,” Hunter says. “I think you should clean her off.” He unties the rope, slipping it through itself to undo his assistant’s fancy knots, and I use my newfound freedom to lunge toward Jessica. Holding her by her wrists, I pin her down sideways across the bed and sit on her belly, making her squeal with delight.

  I grind my sopping, slippery pussy against her tummy and then lower myself to lick my juice off of her chest, sucking and biting her nipples while she bucks and struggles against my strength to free herself so that she can reciprocate. Slowly, I work my way down to her pussy, which is wet and waiting for my mouth.

  Being eaten out by another woman is one thing, but doing the eating is something else entirely. When your pussy’s being eaten, you can easily close your eyes and pretend it’s a man. Save for the lack of stubble and the enhanced understanding of your anatomy, the two sensations are pretty similar. But as I grip Jessica by her tiny ass and stare at her pink slit with its narrow landing strip, I realize that I’m at the threshold where playful girl-on-girl action ends and full-fledged lesbian encounters begin. Thankfully, Hunter’s here to cure me of my overanalyzing.

  “Stop fucking around and lick her pussy, Faith. I want you to make it nice and wet for me,” he says.

  With Hunter back at the helm, I have no choice. I mimic her technique, lapping her juice with broad, slow strokes of my tongue, and she gyrates and groans with each lick. When she’s good and wet, I open my mouth wide and lock my lips around her so I can go to work with my tongue. I attack her clit with overeager darting motions, and I can tell instantly by the way she bucks her hips that I’m being too rough. To make it better, I kiss her clit with soft lips and seal my mouth against her again, this time softening my tongue and caressing her with fainter friction.

  This time my approach is just right, and Jessica moans wildly and arches her back, pointing her perky little tits strait at the ceiling. In my periphery, I watch Hunter roam to the side of the bed behind me, and I feel his hands dig into my hips. He deftly pulls my ass into the air and back towards him, and I wait on my knees for Jessica to wriggle her way across the mattress so that her pussy catches up to my mouth.

  “I’m going to fuck you while you eat her,” Hunter says.

  I jump a little when I feel his cock against me. He slides the length of his shaft along my pussy to make it wet, and then he forces it into me. I could fuck him a thousand times, and the fullness of his perfect cock would still be a shock. I pull my mouth off of Jessica to let out a loud whimper, and then he puts a hand on the back of my head to push me into her while he fucks me without mercy.

  The relentless pummelling of his cock feels so good that I can barely focus on my technique, but judging by the way Jessica’s writhing and carrying on, she’s close to cumming. But before I have a chance to finish her off and pat myself on the back, he pulls out, gives my ass a firm slap, and walks around to the other side of the bed so that he’s facing me and standing above Jessica’s head.

  Looking back up at him, Jessica reaches up to fondle his cock, but he grasps her hands in his and restrains her. He winks at me, and then he pulls her body toward him. Her head falls backward off the side of the bed, and he thrusts deep into her open mouth again and again, making her groan with delight between gurgling gags.

  I marvel at the sight of her throat bulging as he probes it with his cock, and when he pulls his cock out to give her a short break, I slide up her body to lick the clear saliva and lube that drip from it.

  “Suck my cock,” he says, and he seizes the opportunity to grip my head and fuck my mouth while Jessica catches her breath beneath us. I feel his hand around my throat, and he lifts me up to kiss him while he plunges back into Jessica’s gasping mouth. Controlling me with his hand, he pulls me up and down, alternating between forcing me to suck him off and kissing me while he’s fucking Jessica’s face. While he’s fucking each of our mouths in turn, Jessica still has the wherewithal to reach up and rub my pussy while I’m straddling her. I don’t know how she learned any of this, but the girl is a pro.

  His thrusting intensifies while he’s fucking Jessica’s gaping mouth, and I can tell by the way he’s gripping my throat that he’s about to blow. He pulls my head to the side of his and then whispers into my ear, “I’m going to cum in your mouth.”

  All the good grades and accolades from teachers I ever received have nothing on the feeling that those words give me. Before him are two eager mouths, both hungry for him, both willing to swallow every last drop of him, and he’s choosing mine.

  As if a trap door were opened beneath me, I’m plunged down to the level of his cock, just above Jessica’s face, and he forces his throbbing cock into my mouth as I gasp and then seal my wet lips around him. Instinctively, I bob up and down on his shaft while he squirts a warm and seemingly endless load into my cheeks. I do my best to hold it in, but there’s more than I can manage, and his cum spills out of my mouth and falls in white globs onto Jessica’s face while she tries to catch them like the first flakes of a snowfall.

  When he’s done, he pulls out with the satisfied groan of a yawning lion, and I suck back and swallow what’s left in my mouth. Then, before I collapse beside Jessica, I stare at myself on the television screen. I’m exhausted and sweaty, breathing heavily and straddling a kinky young blonde with the taste of her pussy still in my mouth and drops of Hunter’s cum still glistening on my lips.

  And I want to remember myself this way forever.

  Chapter 16

  I’m at the New Balance store down the street from my office, and it’s full of a weird smattering of weak men. Most of them are skinny, effeminate marathon types with sallow cheeks who foolishly feel good about themselves in their silly little tights. A year ago I was intimidated by marathon runners. I was in awe of their endurance and their skinny limbs, but now I’m pretty sure I could outrun them. And I can definitely kick their asses. They wouldn’t last a minute next to me in the gym, and certainly not in bed.

  Other men in the store are grossly overweight. They’re probably in the market for running shoes because they’ve finally decided to take up jogging and kiss their guts goodbye. Right, like carbing up on pasta and putting more pressure on their poor knees will make their lives better. If only they’d learn to lift weights, they might stand a chance of actually seeing their dicks again. Maybe they’d even get to use them.

  I’m here to find a new minimalist workout s
hoe that’s supposed to mimic a barefoot experience. Since I started training at Rev, I’ve been lifting in the cushy-soled shoes that I bought before I knew any better. Apparently, flat-soled shoes will add twenty pounds to my deadlift, which means I might finally hit two fifty.

  There was a time not long ago when shoe shopping meant finding tasteful flats for work and sexy heels for date nights with David, but I barely remember that woman. Heels still have a purpose, of course, since they complete my lingerie sets and prop my ass up just high enough for Hunter to pummel from behind. But for lifting, I’d prefer something that lets me put more weight on the bar. Do enough deadlifts, and your ass stands up on its own without help from three-inch heels.

  I find what I’m looking for—a sleek black sock of a shoe with hot-pink laces and a wide toe box that almost resembles the webbed foot of a duck—and I’m about to signal to the lazy teenager behind the counter for a size when my phone rings.

  It’s Cassie, and it’s not a text, which means she’s either really excited about something or in serious trouble. And considering that I schooled a complete stranger on how to have his way with her last night, either scenario is plausible.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “What the fuck did you tell that guy last night?” she says frantically.

  Shit. Did he turn out to be some kind of psycho? Maybe he spent the night struggling with erectile difficulties and begging her to fuck him with a strap on.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Did he hurt you or something?”

  “No! Well, yes, but not in a bad way. Honestly, I haven’t been fucked like that since our first year of college.”

  “Wait—you had good sex in college?”

  A douchey-looking New Balance employee with way too much gel in his hair perks up and pretends not to eavesdrop. If this conversation is anything like a typical talk with Cassie, every man in the store will be fumbling with sneakers while secretly soaking up every word.

  Fuck it. These poor saps could probably use a little excitement.

  “Which of your college flings was that good in bed?” I speak loudly and enunciate every syllable.

  “I didn’t say he was in school,” she says. “God, do you remember how clueless those boys were when it came to fucking? They either clumsily hammered you for sixty seconds before filling their stupid ribbed condoms, or they tried to make love and said please every time they asked to touch your boobs.”

  “I remember,” I say. Sadly, my husband never grew out of that clumsy, ask-for-permission phase.

  “No, he wasn’t in college,” she says. “He worked in finance or something, and he was always coked up. He fucked like a champion, and he’d go forever. I thought he’d have a heart attack and die on top of me. But he was married.”

  She catches herself before berating his cheating ways. Now her best friend is the cheating liar who fucks all night.

  I do her a favor and change the subject. “So yoga boy was that good?”

  “Maybe better,” she says. “Remember what you were saying about your new fling being all bossy in bed? That was totally him! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a man who’ll boss you around these days?”

  “I do, actually.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she says. “Though it seems like you’re not having much trouble lately. Speaking of which, you owe me some dirt on what went down.”

  I’m silent. Gossiping out loud for fun is one thing, but I’m not about to go into detail about last night with a bunch of strangers around. It’s still an affair, after all.

  “Faith, you fucking promised.”

  “He asked me to meet him at Lotus,” I say.

  “That new hotel by the waterfront? Shit. That’s one way to get laid.”

  “Exactly,” I say.

  I hold back on dishing about his assistant tying me up. Cassie’s pretty wild, but I’m not sure she can handle my current level of depravity. At the very least, it would fuck up the dynamic of our relationship. She’d freak out if she thought for one second that she was the good girl in our duo.

  And I’m definitely not telling her about Miss Sassy Pants. Who knows how jealous Cassie would be if I ate out some blonde sales girl from a lingerie store instead of her?

  “So how long do you think you can keep meeting this guy in hotels and running around behind David’s back?” she says. It’s a very un-Cassie question in that it peers more than five minutes into the future.

  I give her a very un-Faith response. “I don’t know. I’m kind of just having a good time right now and trying not to think about all of that. I don’t want to get bogged down in the ethics of everything. This is the first time in a while that I’ve actually been happy.”

  I run a quick inventory of the other truly happy moments in my life. Getting the call about my job at Simply Living was pretty great. The first time I tried a Frappuccino was up there too. And until recently, the first time I stood in my new walk-in closet was about the happiest I’d ever felt—it was even better than my wedding day, which I barely remember thanks to the cloud of anxiety and a few strategic shots of vodka.

  “Well, assuming you can keep this from him, I guess there are two possibilities,” she says. “Either this is just a phase, and you’ll go back to your perfect, boring life with David once all this hot fuss is out of your system—”

  “Or?”

  “Or this is the new you, and there’s no going back,” she says. “I just hope you don’t reach a point where you want to go back but can’t.”

  With Cassie’s sage words buzzing in my ear, I reach out and take the silly-looking minimalist shoe with the flat sole off of the shelf. It’s a seven, so I slip off my flat and slide my foot into it. I dig my foot into the skimpy cushioning and spread my toes, and it feels weightless and natural. It’s a perfect fit, unlike the girl I used to be.

  Chapter 17

  “I know you hate this stuff, but I appreciate you coming,” David says as he helps me out of the cab. “This is a big night for the company.” The long red dress I’m wearing is so tight that every step is a chore, so I’m grateful to have his arm. I’m coping with the assumption that the trophy wives I’m about to meet will be blessed with surgically perfect bodies, so I might have gone a little too far in selecting something that reveals the curves of my ass.

  “I don’t mind,” I say, but I’m barely there. Some large media conglomerate just paid an ungodly amount of money to buy the tech startup David works for, and we’ve been invited out to schmooze with the new executive team. And of course, the event is at Lotus, which is making it difficult to stop thinking about the scandalous things I did upstairs with Hunter and Miss Sassy Pants. As David whisks me past the lounge where Anika carried out Hunter’s instructions, I entertain a silly fantasy that he’s sitting in his loft, eating takeout on his couch and watching the video we made.

  Then again, he’s probably making a different video with some other woman who’s even younger than Jessica and has a better ass than me.

  David guides me toward an elaborate conference room featuring a massive indoor waterfall. About thirty men are glad-handing each other and making small talk, holding glasses of expensive Scotch and wearing dark suits with thick ties. Most of them are a couple of decades older than David, though the women who stand dutifully beside them, pretending to take an interest in whatever business they’re discussing, look young. Some don’t look much older than me, but that doesn’t stop them from giving me the stink eye when they see me. A lot of things can pique a woman’s jealousy—designer handbags, lustrous hair, exclusive ZIP codes—but nothing makes us boil like seeing another woman with lower bodyfat and a higher ass.

  “Welcome to corporate America,” David whispers sarcastically in my ear. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible for you.” I smile to convey my thanks.

  Aside from the distracting text messages he seems to be sending every time he leaves my side to fetch drinks from the bar, David behaves like a doting gentlemen.
Every introduction, every handshake, every gleam in his eye when he calls me his wife in front of his new colleagues, is a piercing reminder of how sweet my husband is. And nowhere is this more evident than in the jealous glares of the trophy wives scattered around the room in their elaborate gowns. They’re so fancy—so clearly smacking of wealth—that any one of them could have been buying tonight’s ensemble at Holt Renfrew when I passed through the store to suck Hunter’s cock in the Fräulein dressing room. I’d feel silly in my off-the-rack gown if I wasn’t certain that my body is the best one in the room. Nearly every woman here is naturally skinny, but their exposed limbs all share the same saggy, sallow skin that comes from too many lemon-juice cleanses and a misinformed fear of lifting weights. They’re also in various stages of dead-faced Botox dependence, and many have made the jump from injections to the scalpel, which gives a few of them the appearance of perpetually surprised lizards.

  As David guides me around the room from group to group, the wives devour him with their eyes. Their graying husbands are so old and self-involved that they don’t even notice. Viewing my husband through the eyes of these attention-starved woman, I see him as more than vanilla sex with a soft cock. He’s tall, polite, and handsome with a gracious smile that puts anyone at ease. It makes me feel shitty for all the crazy things I’ve been doing behind his back, and I compensate by sucking back long, greedy sips of my wine a little too quickly.

  While the women are drinking David in, I feel the eyes of the rich old men penetrating every part of me. There’s something sinister in their gaze, and it might have something to do with the way they don’t try to hide it. When I catch one of them staring at me, they don’t look abruptly away or pretend to look past me the way other men do. They stare right into my eyes—or at my tits and ass—as though I’m their property to look upon. They’re probably members of some aristocratic sex cult, where they bring a new partner into their ranks and then sacrifice his wife to their covert carnal rituals. Every time one of them eyeballs me, I imagine he’s assessing me for a strange ceremony where he and his associates will wear masks and take turns fucking me.