One Too Many

by Jade West

  I was in control.

  Firmly in my comfort zone just as far as she was outside of hers.

  I loved it that way. Needed it that way.

  But it was more than the selfish power play of the teenage ghost inside me. The dynamic was as essential for her pleasure that evening as it was for mine.

  I needed Grace to yield to my natural authority with every fibre of her being. It was only through basking in my strength that she would ever allow herself to fully embrace her vulnerabilities, and therein lay the ultimate revelation, waiting quietly for exposure.

  As her defences crumbled and opened her up to my touch, so the quiet desires of her deepest filthy soul would be there for the taking. Claiming that shadowy side of her blossoming sexuality would be the ultimate prize, and the one that would leave her raw and desperate in the aftermath, an addict craving more.

  And that, ultimately, was why I was really here.

  Not to get my dick wet in some other man’s woman. Not to prove a passing point that another man’s cock could feel as good as her husband’s. Not even to prove that cash was king in a world stuffed full of valentine’s trinkets and grandiose statements of forever.

  This was about the man bracing in his seat as I lowered my mouth to his beautiful wife’s nipple and sucked hard enough that she cried out for me. This was about the history between us, the rivalry that spanned a lifetime, even if he was too sheltered by his ignorance to feel it.

  This was about me proving that I could shake his marriage to its foundation in nine short hours.

  Proving I was the better man. The more skilled man, more worthy man, the more powerful, gifted, sensual, fucking everything man.

  That I fucking mattered.

  That I was fucking somebody.

  I pulled away from Grace’s body as the fire inside roared too deep to contain. I calmed myself with steel will, staring down at her open, puffy lips as her body strained for her second climax.

  “Good girl,” I said again, loving the way the thrill flashed across her pretty face.

  I watched her orgasm through cold eyes, detached from her squirming groans as she unravelled before me. It was something truly special, the surprise in her dilated pupils a treasure to behold.

  The groans were all natural as she buckled and lashed out with her feet, her body betraying her shyness with every jerky motion as she cried out and rode the waves. She tensed in the throes for long blissful moments, head tipped back and mouth wide before the inevitable collapse that followed.

  Her breaths were heavy as she recovered, her fingers recoiling from her sensitive cunt and coming to rest on her belly. I could smell her wetness, musky enough to make my mouth water and every bit as appetising as I anticipated.

  Her eyes were closed as she gathered herself, only fluttering back onto mine as I raised two of her wet fingers to my lips and sucked them clean.

  She shivered but didn’t look away, making no effort to fight me as I took her other hand in mine and stretched both of them high above her head.

  The cuffs were already waiting, on chains that stretched under the mattress, waiting like coiled snakes out of sight.

  She murmured as I clicked the first steel restraint around her slender wrist, but didn’t argue. It was Brett that shunted in his seat, but I didn’t grant him even a sliver of acknowledgement.

  I knew he was a proud fool enough to stay seated, an angry bull stomping at the glowing red line on the carpet, but impotent all the same.

  All for the sake of a paltry, pitiful fifty fucking grand.

  I clasped the second cuff closed around Grace’s raised wrists, smiling just a fraction as I slipped back down the bed to her side. Her face was tipped in my direction, her endorphins still spiking as her breathing steadied.

  “Relax,” I told her, and she kept her eyes on mine as she tested her restraints.

  “Please…” she whispered. “Please just… wait… I’m so…” She rippled against me as she struggled to find the words.

  But I knew.

  Of course I knew.

  Her body was prickling all over, her pussy aching from the crest of her second wave. Her dark hair was a nest on the sheet underneath her, her hairline glistening with sweat as she swept her tongue over her swollen lower lip.

  She flinched as I placed a firm hand on her belly and slipped lower, whimpering as my strong fingers cupped her sopping wet mound through her knickers.

  “Please, I’m so sensitive…” she said again, but I shushed her.

  My mouth pressed to her ear, exhaling deep before I spoke. “I’m going to give you what you need, you just don’t know it yet.”

  My fingers were brutal as they dug inside the slit in her thong and ploughed hard into that tender cunt. She flinched, her thighs clamping tight around my hand, but I knew exactly what I was doing.

  The hook in my gesture was precise, pressing fierce on the bundle of nerves that pulsed behind her engorged clit. I located the spot in moments, angling my wrist for optimum pressure, and she moaned. Fuck, how she moaned, straining against the cuffs that held her wrists, buckling even as I set her alight.

  “That dirty little pussy needs filling,” I hissed. “You’ll be crying out for less even as it begs me for more. Trust me.”

  She didn’t trust me, her eyes were wide on mine as I stared down at her, the chains rattling at her wrists as she squirmed. It didn’t matter.

  She may not trust me, but her body did. That tight wet hole gurgled its pleasure and strained for more. Her grunts were primal, expression full of confusion as I worked her from the inside.

  And then she said it, barely more than a breath. “Yes…”

  I stretched her wider with a third thick finger and her thighs dropped open.

  “Yes…”

  I kept my fingers sweeping slow enough to drive her crazy, rippling for more until she was panting like a bitch on heat.

  “Yes… please…”

  “Please, what?” I grunted, letting my tongue taste her clammy cheek as she tugged at her chains for more leverage.

  “Please…”

  “Tell me,” I pushed, and rubbed that swollen clit from behind, hard enough to hurt if she wasn’t so fucking gone for me.

  “Please give it to me,” she whimpered and her eyes were full of pretty shame as they begged mine. “Fuck me, please fuck me.”

  And there we had it. Fifty grand be fucked.

  This wasn’t about the money, not for her, not anymore.

  “With pleasure, sweetheart,” I whispered.

  My smile was victorious as I finally met her husband’s raging stare.

  My eyes stayed fixed on his as I freed my swollen cock and his expression said it all, just as hers did.

  This wasn’t about the money for him either.

  It was about the fucking hard on that pulsed underneath his fucking palm.

  And hate. It was about hate.

  Hate and shame and humiliation in the face of his own sordid desires.

  I wished I could taste the pain in his eyes as I slammed my cock inside his pretty wife’s pussy and made her mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grace

  It shouldn’t have felt so good. Shouldn’t have had my whole body burning with need to take Thomas Heath’s cock inside me.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at my husband, petrified of seeing the disappointment in his eyes. The betrayal.

  Because that’s how it felt, even as I whimpered and begged the man paying for my body for more. A betrayal. Of my husband, and of myself. Of the younger me who’d pledged a lifelong commitment to Brett Foster a decade ago. Of the girl who knew he’d be her everything, forever, the only man she’d ever want.

  And I did want him.

  I wanted him there alongside me, his familiar hands on my prickling body along with the stranger’s. His hard on grinding against my clit even as Thomas Heath sank his dick into me from behind.

  He was hot, even through his suit, his firm l
ines pressing tight to my back as he flipped me onto my side and thrust his dick in hard.

  My pussy wasn’t used to this, already thrumming so raw it was bordering painful. Brett’s fingers were skilled and fierce, but not nearly so brutal as the other man’s had been when they’d fucked me hard. He was something else, something different, something alien but addictive.

  And he was big. Thick. Enough that my breath caught as his balls slammed against my ass.

  I was used to big. Brett was big. Impressive.

  But Thomas Heath was… different.

  Fuck, everything was different.

  The chains rattling above my head as I stretched and strained were different. The grip of metal on my wrists was different. Even the grip of lace panties against my clit while that cock took me in long, slow thrusts was different.

  My cheek was still slick from where he’d licked me, his breath tickling my ear with a heat that set me alight, and there was sweat, so much sweat that the plastic sheeting under me felt glossy. It was in my hair, my scalp damp enough that I could feel it gathering at my hairline. It was clammy between the lace of the bodice and my tingling skin.

  I felt dirty, nothing but a filthy little slut. I felt like every bit the whore the fifty grand had turned me into as I hooked my leg back over Thomas Heath’s thigh to take him deeper.

  My clit was exhausted, fluttering so hard that the press of the thong against me was a beautiful torment. My pussy was groaning even as it ached for more, my hips rocking on instinct, out of all control as I took what I was given.

  “I knew you’d be a dirty bitch,” he breathed, and I hated him for speaking the truth aloud.

  I didn’t want to be a dirty bitch, not for him. I didn’t want to be anything for him. But even though the thoughts kept piling in at the guilt inside me, I knew I was lying to myself.

  The saddest thing of all was that I’d been lying to myself since the moment he’d first offered his seedy proposition. He’d seen truth in me, in both of us, that I’d been blind to even after years in my husband’s arms.

  I tipped my head back as his fingers snaked around my throat and held me firm, shivering as his mouth pressed to my temple and breathed in my sweat-slick hair. There was no denying the thrill of the restraint. The forced obedience of the chains made submission to his needs so natural it was like sinking underwater, swallowed up by forces outside of me.

  My stomach panged underneath the pleasure as his next words reached my ear, and this time they were louder. So much louder.

  Because they weren’t for my benefit.

  “Look at your husband,” he told me. “Show him how good my cock feels inside that tight little cunt.”

  I was caught. Snared between a rock and a hard place. My cheeks burning up with embarrassment even as I dared meet the eyes of the man who loved me.

  It was every bit as painful as I feared.

  Brett’s face was as pale as mine was burning, his brows heavy and eyes dark as they glared back at me. His mouth was pressed tight, even though his chest was heaving.

  My mouth dropped open in horror, my whole soul reeling in protest as I struggled to come to my senses.

  And then I saw it. The thing that changed everything.

  His palm was rubbing at his crotch as his glare swallowed me whole. His hips were circling in tight little rounds, grinding his swollen dick against his hand as he fought the excitement.

  He was as torn as I was; split in two between the filthy need for more and the pain of another man coming between us.

  “Tell him,” that other man ordered. “Tell him how fucking good it feels.”

  Oh fuck, how I groaned as he shifted upwards on the mattress. His dick changed angle, grating so hard on the tender nerves behind my clit that I hissed like a whore.

  “Tell him,” he repeated, and his voice sounded so in control, so ice calm that it made me feel disgusting in my wantonness.

  “Good,” I whimpered. “It feels good.”

  His laugh was a low rumble. “You can do better than that, pretty thing.”

  His fingers slipped down from my neck to tug at my hard nipple, and I knew then that he was so much more than I’d anticipated. He saw everything, understood everything. Every impulsive reaction of my body, every dirty truth behind my clipped words, every brazen whimper of need as his touch claimed me as his.

  Knowing my clothes size was the very tip of the iceberg. This man was a poker player with laser vision, cutting through us both.

  “Tell your husband you want me,” he goaded, and my shiver said it all.

  Another tug at my nipple had me squirming. A sweep of his lips against my clammy shoulder was more than I could take.

  “Tell your fucking husband that you want me in your dirty little cunt,” he rasped, and I couldn’t help but screw my eyes closed.

  “I want you…” I whispered.

  “More,” he snapped. “Tell him how fucking wet you are for me, or I’ll show him myself up close.”

  I tightened at the thought, the pulse of wanting them both at once enough to knock me senseless.

  “I want you…” I said again, too petrified to risk it. “I want you inside me.”

  I knew his exact smirk as he pressed it to my cheek. “Now open your eyes and tell him to his face.”

  I looked at my husband quickly enough that I couldn’t hide from the impact.

  “It feels good,” I told him. “He feels good.”

  Brett’s face was a scowl, even as he grunted out his own low expletives. His palm was jerking fast between his legs, rubbing his length through the thick denim of his jeans.

  And then it all stopped.

  I cried out in protest as Thomas Heath’s glorious big dick pulled out of my pussy and he rolled away. I spun my head to face him, watching him rise to his feet and shove his cock back in his suit trousers, even as my chains rattled hard overhead, and my pussy… Lord help me, my pussy screamed for more, clenching on nothing and aching in despair.

  I rolled onto my back with my legs spread wide, rocking myself in the same echo of a rhythm and whimpering for more.

  “Relax,” the smug voice called over as he stepped up to the dresser to the side of the wardrobe. “There’s plenty more to come.”

  I raised my head to watch his back as he surveyed the toys in front of him, wondering what the hell the ice cold stranger was planning next. I would’ve been scared if I wasn’t so lost to the pleasure, and again I didn’t understand it. Not how this felt so different to the years of amazing sex I’d shared with my husband.

  Brett knew all of me, every inch enough to drive me crazy.

  Just not this kind of crazy.

  This, with him, was crazier than crazy. So fucked up I wondered if I’d ever be able to walk straight again.

  I used Thomas Heath’s turned back to shoot the first vaguely human look at my husband since this sorry night started. His own desperate palm had slowed to almost still, his breath calming, even as his eyes still burned.

  I hoped he could read my expression, even though I was still craving more. I hoped he knew I was there for him, even as another man played my body like some kind of universal master.

  I knew Brett’s smile was forced as it flashed for me, but it was relief enough that I took a breath and closed my eyes back up again.

  He’d be ok. We’d be okay. And we’d be fifty grand richer to soothe the trauma.

  I didn’t register Thomas Heath’s reappearance at the foot of the bed until I started at the warmth of his hands on my thighs. He was positioned at a crouch, staring up into my clenching pussy like this was some kind of personal examination. I flinched as he tugged the ribbon sides of my thong loose and ripped the scrap of fabric out from under me, suddenly blooming afresh with self-consciousness as my most intimate parts were bared naked for his viewing.

  He hooked his hands around my thighs and yanked me further down the mattress, until the cuffs bit into my skin and my arms were well and truly stretched tight. My
heels left the bed, finding natural purchase against his back as I hooked them over his shoulders, and even then my body betrayed me by coaxing him closer.

  His fingers didn’t touch the sensitive nub of my clit. They landed either side and splayed me wide, so close to his face that I was sure he could feel the damp heat.

  “You truly have a gorgeous little cunt, Mrs Foster,” he told me, and his tongue slipped inside for a taste.

  It was electric.

  The cuffs pained as my back arched, my breath too ragged to even moan.

  His tuts were so patronising I could have happily slapped his perfect face as he pulled away and smirked up at me.

  “Now, now, pretty Grace. We’re just getting started,” he said, and this time his words were all for me. “Let’s see just how much this tender little pussy can take, shall we?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brett

  The asshole was everything I’d feared. He’d pulled out of my beautiful wife with barely a wince, shoving his dick back in his pants like this was a day at his swanky office and nothing more.

  He was a slippery fish, a cold-faced cunt without any hint of emotion as my Grace whimpered and squirmed.

  I guess that’s when it hit me for sure, the nasty reality that this was something more for him. Fuck knows what, or why, but this wasn’t about taking another man’s woman. It wasn’t even about taking my beautiful Grace.

  Whatever he was spending fifty grand of his cash on was beyond cheap thrill-seeking. It felt personal somehow. About something I should fucking know about but didn’t. About me.

  But that was crazy. Batshit. Crazier even than this bizarre sex show.

  I shoved the insanity aside as I caught my breath and forced my hand away from my straining dick.

  The last thing I wanted to give the prick was the glory of seeing me jizz in my fucking pants while he fucked my woman. Fuck that for a fucking laugh.

  I knew she was as fucked-up as I was when he turned his back and she looked right over. I knew she could see the grim hate on my face, even with my dick still swollen. I wanted to tell her it was alright, that we’d be alright. That the prick was a nobody, even if he was playing her like a dirty fucking professional. That he’d be gone in the morning and she’d be back in our own bed where she belonged.