Keeping It Up with the Joneses

by N. S. Johnson

  As the juices began to dry up, Calvin felt Mrs. Jones’ body shift. Carlos raised Mrs. Jones’ hips. He unwrapped her legs and leaned her forward. Parting her ass cheeks, he slid two lubed fingers inside her ass. Then he slid his thick cock into her tiny hole. Calvin watched as the man’s dick disappeared into her ass. He watched as her tight skin grabbed the man beneath her.

  Above her, Enrique came to his knees. He lined himself up with her cunt. He slid in slowly. Calvin stared transfixed at the tiny patch of Mrs. Jones’ skin between the two cocks.

  The two men pumped her in tandem; one going in as the other came out. Both men’s eyes were closed, given over to the ecstasy. Only Mrs. Jones’ and Calvin’s eyes were open. Mrs. Jones gazed at him, a grin on her beautiful face.

  “Come here,” she said.

  Calvin stood on wobbly legs and came around to her.

  “Give me your cock.”

  Calvin took his straining cock out of his pants and turned it over like an offering. Mrs. Jones stuck the head into her mouth, squeezing her mouth around him.

  If that wasn’t enough to nearly bring him to his knees, she moaned. The vibrations of her throat coupled with the suction of her jaws made Calvin double. He grabbed the back of the chair to keep standing.

  Mrs. Jones took him in deep, deep down her throat. His balls slapped her chin. His pubic hair tickled her nose. All the while, two men below continued to pump into and out of her.

  Calvin knew when she was coming again when she sang a low, long note in her throat. He felt the tone of her hymn in his balls. They constricted, pulling tight as she hit the high note. But she didn’t release his cock.

  She sucked him tight through her orgasm. He felt the edge of her teeth, but he didn’t pull out. He was sure that her bite would be just as erotic and satisfying as her tongue.

  Beneath her, Calvin heard Carlos give over to his orgasm. The man gave a few final thrusts into her ass. Just as Carlos went down, Enrique was soon to follow. Enrique pulled his dick out of her cunt and shot his load on her toned belly.

  Calvin was next to fall. He didn’t bother pulling out of her mouth. He’d learned two weeks ago that she liked the taste of cum. So he spent his seed on her tongue.

  For long moments, they all four breathed heavily. Calvin was still braced on the back of the chair. Carlos was laid back in the chair with Mrs. Jones splayed over him. Enrique rested his head on her thigh. In the distance Calvin heard the mechanized gate to the house open.

  None of them moved. Calvin doubted any of them could. A car door opened and then shut.

  “Hey guys,” came Mr. Jones’ voice. “Looks like you all had fun.”

  None of the three men could find his voice. Neither could any of them lift their heads from his naked, cum-soaked wife’s body.

  Mr. Jones sat his briefcase down and came over to the foursome. Calvin took a step aside. Enrique lifted his head from Mrs. Jones’ thigh.

  Mr. Jones scooped up his wife in his arms. “You have fun, honey bud?”

  She nodded her head, her lids too heavy to focus.

  Mr. Jones started towards the house with this prize in his arms. Before he went into the door, he stopped and turned over his shoulder.

  “You guys are welcome to come in and watch the game after you clean up. I’ll order a pizza.”

  The Home Invader

  Mr. Smith pulled into his driveway after a long day of work. He only called it long because of the hours. In truth, he loved his job. He was an accountant, and he was living the dream, working with numbers every day just like he’d planned as a Mathlete in school. Better yet, people were paying him to deal with the numbers and equations that they preferred to ignore.

  Today, Mr. Smith had had a particularly interesting problem that had him reminiscing back to Calculus. He’d been looking over a lawyer’s books and ran into derivatives and integrals on the infinitesimal level. He’d been in heaven for hours as he’d made sense of that balance sheet.

  And now he was headed home to his loving wife and children. He’d pull up to his white, picket fence. Dinner would be ready for him on the table. Then he could spend a few hours playing an online game before climbing into bed. He might even seek out his wife for some marital bliss after the lights went out. This was indeed the life, everything he dreamed of.

  Mr. Smith pulled into his garage, set his station wagon in park, and headed inside. As expected, dinner was coming out of the oven as he closed the back door. His kids were seated at the table waiting for him. His wife greeted him with a peck at the corner of his mouth.

  “How was your day, my dear?” his wife asked.

  “I closed the Wright account. You wouldn’t believe those numbers.”

  Mrs. Smith smiled brightly and nodded as she cut into her slice of perfectly cooked meat. She listened and asked questions as he went on about his day and the challenging account. Before he knew it, the dishes were being cleared and his wife was putting the kids into bed.

  Mr. Smith went to his bedroom. He slipped out of his work clothes, being sure to place them neatly into the laundry bin. He showered, toweled himself off, and headed back into his bedroom.

  Mrs. Smith was already in the bed. She looked lovely in her flannel night gown. Mr. Smith caught a peak of her boney ankles and he felt himself swell in his pajama bottoms.

  He grabbed for his planner which was on the nightstand. He pulled up his calendar and assured himself that she wasn’t in the midst of her monthly situation. Finding that it had happened last week, he took his glasses off and set them next to his alarm clock as he tucked his bare feet under the covers.

  Mrs. Smith laid her head on the pillow beside him. She was also beneath the covers. Mr. Smith leaned over her, kissing his wife’s shoulder -the signal that he would like to give her attention.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she said and turned fully on to her back.

  Mr. Smith carefully climbed between her thighs and rolled up the flannel night gown that covered her body.

  That was curious?

  His wife wasn’t wearing any underwear. Mr. Smith doubted that choice was hygienic. But he was a master of numbers, not women’s bodies.

  He reached into his own flannel pajamas and slipped his member out. He lined up his manhood with his wife’s entrance.

  That too was curious? His passage inside her channel was much smoother than normal. She gave way to him easily. Her passage felt moist rather than dry. He needed to thrust in and out of her a couple of times before the friction gave way.

  Mr. Smith pumped a few more times, and then he spent inside her. It took him a moment to catch his breath as he emptied himself. He heard her sigh, and he raised his head.

  “Did I hurt you, my dear?”

  “Hmm? Oh no, not at all,” she smiled up at him.

  Mr. Smith leaned down and kissed her. Then he rolled off her. He pulled up his pajama bottoms and reached into the dresser for hand sanitizer. He was already drowsing when he heard the bedroom door open.

  His children knew better than to come in without knocking. Mr. Smith turned to see which child was getting a punishment. Instead of an adolescent he saw two masked figures frame the doorway.

  Mr. Smith sat up in the bed as one of the intruders made their way to the bed. The other shut and locked the door behind them. Then the two masked figures stood over the bed and looked down at him and his wife.

  Mr. Smith was certain he’d set the house alarm. He was certain that the doors were locked. How did they get in? What did they want? Everything of value was in the office. He would simply direct them there.

  “Take whatever you want and leave,” Mr. Smith said.

  The bigger invader came near to him. He could see nothing of either of their faces, but he knew the bigger one was a man. The man reached past Mr. Smith and ran a finger down his wife’s flannel gown. Mrs. Smith’s breath hitched. She must be terrified.

  “That’s a kind offer,” said a deep male voice. �
�But I see exactly what I want of yours right here in this room. And I am going to take it.”

  Mrs. Smith was shoved down, head first into the mattress. Behind her she heard her husband struggle. Her heart raced in her chest and her pussy tightened for the first time tonight with excitement.

  “Please,” Mrs. Smith begged. “Please don’t.”

  “Stay there,” said the big man. His voice was full of command and power. His massive paw gave her a rough shove.

  Mrs. Smith did as she was told. They left her on the bed. The man hefted her husband up, shoving him into a chair at the side of the bed.

  The man’s partner, a woman by the curve of the dark shirt at her chest and hips, reached into a bag and pulled out rope. Mrs. Smith watched, helpless, as they bound and gagged her husband. The man she married barely put up a fight. He must have been in such shock at the violence and brutality being reigned down upon him. She could barely catch her breath as she watched the assault.

  Mr. Smith’s gaze locked on hers. His eyes were huge and terrified. Mrs. Smith felt her nipples go tight at the sight of it. She pressed her thighs together. But then they spread apart as she was shoved back onto the bed. Rough fingers were shoved up her bare cunt. She groaned out loud and writhed at the violation.

  Mrs. Smith heard her husband struggling over in the chair. She heard him mumble through the gag in his mouth. Then she heard a crack.

  “Shut the fuck up,” came a feminine voice. “You’ll get taken care of, too.”

  From the corner of her eye, Mrs. Smith saw feminine hands reach down her husband’s pants. He squealed and squirmed as his manhood was involuntarily handled.

  “He’s flaccid as fuck,” the female intruder said.

  “Did he just fuck you?” asked the gruff voice above her. The man with his fingers inside of Mrs. Smith used his other hand to grab her hair. He gave it a rough yank to guarantee her attention. “Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  She felt his glare before she saw it in his eyes.

  “Yes, sir,” she corrected.

  “Was it any good?”

  Mrs. Smith’s eyes shot to her husband’s. She’d never talked with him before about their sex life. It simply wasn’t done with people like them. Besides, there wasn’t much to talk about.

  The masked man looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Smith’s husband. “You’re a fucking disgrace of a man. You can’t even please your wife? You can see how much she wants a thick cock in her. She’s a total slut.”

  The intruder ripped Mrs. Smith’s flannel gown, rendering it in two, exposing her naked body beneath. Her body was flushed. Her nipples were hard little points. Her cunt was throbbing, not from her husband’s few, meager thrusts. Her body had already forgotten about those. She didn’t think she’d felt them at all.

  From his bound position in the chair, Mr. Smith moaned impotently as he watched his wife being assaulted by the intruder. She knew her husband could see the thick fingers thrust up into her cunt. She knew he could see the massive body between her thighs. She knew he could see how her head was wrenched back, completely at the mercy of her assailant. And like a dutiful wife she worried over her husband’s comfort before hers.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” Mrs. Smith said.

  “That will be up to you,” said the man who continued his assault on her pussy. His fingers were deep inside her, past his knuckles. “Suck my cock.”

  Mrs. Smith swallowed down the flood of moisture that coated her tongue. She turned to her husband. Mr. Smith shook his head. But she had to. She didn’t have a choice.

  The man in black hefted out a thick cock. Mrs. Smith licked her lips as she looked at it. Then it was shoved down her throat. So far that she gagged. Her eyes closed at the intrusion. Her tongue swelled at the spicy taste of the cock. His pubic hair tickled her nose as he buried his groin in her face.

  Mrs. Smith heard her husband mumble over the rope constricting his mouth. She heard the chair squeak against the floor as he struggled against his bonds. She heard another crack of an open palm across his face. And so she took the cock deeper and deeper down her throat.

  She felt the spittle collect in her jowls, but the man in black didn’t leave her any room to swallow or breathe. She had to take it all until he was satisfied.

  So she did what she had to do. She tried to satisfy him. For her husband’s sake.

  There were tears in Mr. Smith’s eyes as he watched his wife being violated in front of him. She was being forced to do things she likely never knew were possible. He’d never put his member anywhere but where it was meant by God to go. He’d never ripped her clothes off. He’d never made her whimper and moan like she was doing now. It was unbearable to watch. But he didn’t take his eyes off her.

  He had to bear witness to her distress.

  His hands were bound. There was some type of fabric stuffed down his throat by the female assailant. The smell was musky and salty, but when it hit his tongue it turned to sweetness, like a piece of exotic candy.

  Mr. Smith hoped that the lewd sex act the man was performing on his wife was all they’d demand of them. He had to be nearing his completion. The act couldn’t possibly take that long. But somehow he knew it wasn’t all the intruders wanted of them.

  The man in black parted his wife’s thighs and Mr. Smith struggled more to get free.

  He felt another crack against his cheek and he was momentarily dazzled.

  “Don’t turn your head away,” she said. “Look how a woman is supposed to be fucked.”

  His personal tormentor sounded vaguely familiar, but he was sure it was the shock playing tricks on his mind. His tormentor’s partner spread his wife’s thighs apart. Mr. Smith could see his wife’s intimate, pink skin weeping with fear, soiling their thousand-count sheets. She had to be so afraid if she was even wet down there.

  “What’s turning you on, shy guy?” asked his tormentor. “Is it seeing my husband’s massive cock? Or is it finally seeing the sight of your wife’s cunt?”

  The woman was insane if she thought he was aroused by any of this. But the heavyweight in his flannel pajamas called him a liar. How was this possible? His wife was spread out before him being violated in the worst way.

  The sounds of her cries and gasps and groans filled his ears as the intruder pumped his disgusting tool into her soft core. And still her secret place wept along with her moans. Her toes curled. Her knees rose up around the man’s hips.

  Mr. Smith felt a hand down his pants. His tormentor began to fondle him as they both watched his wife’s violation take place in front of them.

  “That’s how you fuck a woman,” hissed his tormentor in his ear. And then she gave him a bite on his neck. God, that would likely bruise and he’d have to cover it for work tomorrow. If they survived to see tomorrow.

  Mr. Smith’s tormentor’s hand stroked him roughly. His body betrayed him as he became harder and harder under her touch. He felt the tension building in his own loins as his wife began to cry out in distress. He’d never seen her writhe and move so. It had to be because of the violation and not-

  But then she began to shake and tremble. Her moans didn’t sound as though she were in pain. They sounded as though she was eating her favorite dessert, like the delight when he’d given her jewelry for her birthday, like when he’d surprised her with a cruise for their anniversary.

  Then Mr. Smith heard the filthiest words spill from his prim and proper wife’s mouth as the intruder spun her around and shoved her face into the mattress. The man thrust his manhood back into her and pumped her with merciless thrusts. His partner continued to stroke Mr. Smith to the same rhythm.

  Mr. Smith locked gazes with his wife as her head was reared back in the man’s grasp. The man rubbed his fingers against her core. Mr. Smith looked down to see a protruding bud on her shaven core. He hadn’t noticed that she was shaven until now. When had she done that?

  But he couldn’t focus on that. His testicles were tightening. He was close to his
own crisis.

  His wife opened her mouth and a loud, keening sound came out as she closed her eyes and her body trembled, violently. Mr. Smith felt the male intruder’s eyes on his. Mr. Smith knew the man was smiling. The man pulled out his member, shoved his wife down on the bed again, belly up this time, and sprayed his essence all over her face.

  Mr. Smith’s tormentor sped up her motions. There was nothing Mr. Smith could do but let the sensations pull him down. He had never had two orgasms in one night before. He had never had two orgasms in one week before.

  This orgasm was something else entirely. It took command of his whole, entire body. It kept going and going for seconds, minutes, hours.

  When he opened his eyes, his wife lay on the bed alone. Her chest heaved as she lay naked, like a broken doll that had been played with all day.

  Mr. Smith looked around the room for the two invaders, but they were well and truly alone. He realized he once again had the use of his arms and legs. His tormentor had left him unbound. His mouth was also free from the rope. He pulled the fabric that had gagged him out of his mouth to see that it was women’s underwear.

  The Playdate

  Johnny dropped his backpack on his bedroom floor. Unlike most of his friends his floor was clear of clothes and debris. Johnny wasn’t a neat freak, but he liked order.

  He shuffled his cell phone to the other ear as he leaned down to shove around a bunch of papers from the bag’s inner pocket. “Hey listen, Stacey, I’ll give you a call later. Okay?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? My parents aren’t home right now. They won’t be back until late this evening.”

  Johnny had heard what Stacey Boswell had said. Her voice carried from the receiver, shrill and nasally at the same time. It was always that tone, even when she was groaning and coming. Everyone had heard her high-pitched grunts as he’d fucked her in the teacher’s lounge after last night’s dance.