by Unknown
“Ain't your husband here?” he heard Mike say. His voice was low, like the purr of a Harley. “He ain't gonna miss you?” John pressed himself against the wall. A voice in an adjoining corridor sent his heart crashing to his feet. What would he do if he got caught?
“This is some dress,” Mike's voice continued. “What's this made out of? Tissue paper?” There was a silence, and John leaned toward the door and strained to look in, but he couldn't see anything. His heart was pounding, his cock was throbbing. He searched his mind wildly for an idea, a way to get in. Maybe he could crawl under the table?
But what if Mike caught him?
John's stomach suddenly felt wretched. This was a bad idea. She shouldn't go after someone they worked with.
How could he put the brakes on this?
“No panties, girl?” Mike's voice said.
John strained to peer into the darkness. As much as he wanted to put a stop to this madness, he also desperately wanted to see Mike Sternum's big black hand probing his wife beneath her sheer dress, feeling how she wasn't wearing any underwear.
He slid down the wall. His cock was leading him around now, and he didn't like it. He had never been that kind of guy. Yet here he was, about to crawl into a dark room to get a better view of another man fucking his wife. Even though he knew it was a terrible idea.
“Oh...no, you know what?”
Adria's voice.
“I can't. I just...”
“Oh come on girl, I'll make it quick and dirty.”
“I'm sorry,” Adria said.
John popped to his feet and paused. Was this part of her game?
“You can't take a brother all the way to the water and not let him have a drink..”
John heard some rustling, some movement, and his heart sank and rose again. Sank because he was sure this was a bad idea, sank because his wife was going to fuck another man. And rose for...well, the same reasons.
Then Adria, after a wet slurp. “No. No, I'm sorry. I know it's shitty...”
“Damn,” Mike protested.
More quiet kissing. John knew now that Adria was clearing out, giving up, letting Mike down. But he didn't want to miss a single second of it until she actually walked away.
“I won't tell your husband,” Mike was purring. John knew he was still pawing at her, rubbing her nipples into pebbles through the fabric of the dress, or maybe still crawling up her thigh beneath the fabric.
Then he heard Adria moving toward the door. He backed away and then scurried down an adjacent corridor when her voice grew louder. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I just can't do this.”
John was up on the deck when she emerged.
She shook her head, and went to the bar, where she got a glass of wine. She looked pale. She came to stand by John.
“Let's go home,” she said.
20 CONFESSIONS
“You want to talk about it?” John said, finally. Twenty minutes of silence had prevailed in the car after they had stepped inside.
He thought he saw, in his peripheral vision, a quick heave of Adria's chest, like a sob. She turned her head to the window by the time he snapped his head over to look at her. She had her hand to her mouth.
He pulled the car over, parking in a Walgreen's. There was a late-night scene at a fast-food restaurant through the bushes and it was spilling over into the pharmacy parking lot. He immediately regretted his choice, but he forged ahead anyway. He put his hand on Adria's knee. “Honey, listen...I don't want you to feel pressured by...any of this. I...look, you're obviously upset. I want to talk about it. If you don't want to do this anymore, you know that's okay, right? I was just going along with what I thought you wanted, too...Adria?”
When she turned to him her face was streaked with tears. “I have something to tell you,” she sniffed, and he felt his heart drop through his stomach and his groin, and through the seat. Involuntarily, he released her knee.
But just in case he had not already discovered, from her tears and her tone, that it was something bad, she lowered her eyes. “I did something. I wasn't going to tell you, but tonight I couldn't go through with things, not without...I don't know. I have to clear the slate. I have to tell you.”
A bottle splintered near the car, and John, stunned, turned the engine on and put the car in reverse. His face was stunned as he turned to Adria. “We have to get out of here,” he said calmly.
Adria burst into tears, and he knew it was because he had his “calm voice” on, the one he used to, in her words, “handle her.”
Which meant that whatever she did was very bad indeed.
“I don't know what to say.”
Adria had her arms folded over her chest, and she was staring at a mug she had filled with red wine when they got home. She had finished telling her story minutes ago, the whole sordid story.
John didn't know what to say.
He felt, obviously, a deep fury swelling up inside of him. An urge to stand up, throw something across the room, and leave the house. He had never wanted to slap anyone before; it wasn't his nature. But for a brief moment, he had felt the urge and had to fight it. To reach across the table and slap Adria right across the cheek.
There was that. There was also the calm, rational John. Analytical John, who was making a monotones argument in the back of his mind that he really had no right to be furious, since he was the one who had introduced the idea of extramarital affairs into the relationship, given her the go-ahead, so enthusiastically approved of it in rope after rope of white cum.
There was the sting of hurt under there as well. The fact that he couldn't give his wife something she seemed to crave so much sexually.
But then, there was the side of him that surprised him the most. The side of him that had a hard cock. The side of him that wanted to throw Adria over his knee and spank her for being so naughty, right after he extracted every last sordid detail from her about what she had done, and how it had felt.
He could feel that John, almost incredibly, winning, in the great four-way tug-of-war in his mind.
Adria looked up at him. “I know it doesn't really cut it to say I'm sorry, I know. But I am. I'm sorry because I risked too much for something so...trivial. It's not a thing about...I don't know. Anything except this fantasy I've been having. I can't get it out of my head. And I guess I thought that...we did this other thing...”
“Now I feel like you're lying,” John said sharply. “I mean, what do you want me to say, Adria? You risked our marriage for something like this -”
“Hold on there,” Adria said, and her eyes were suddenly angry. “You did the same thing, didn't you?”
“It's different. We talked about it.”
Her eyes seemed to get black. “Or it's different because you're in control of it. Because you get what you want.”
“Don't turn it back on me like these two things are the same. One, we agreed to, and the other, we did not. Not like this. And you know it, that's why you tried to hide it.” His voice was icy.
They stared at each other, two smart people having an argument that was about to turn to semantics. They had been here before. Nothing had ever been this serious before, but they had been here before.
He was surprised, then, when Adria, who was as stubborn as they come in an argument, let her arms fall away from their tight, defensive stance around her chest. “You're right,” she said. “There isn't any point arguing about it. All there is to do now is decide if you forgive me or not.”
John's mouth was hanging open slightly.
Adria cocked her head.
She was smart, and she had sniffed out something about his reaction.
Something not-so-angry.
“Unless...”
She leaned forward, and he was stupidly too late to move or block her hand from diving between his legs, where she found his hard cock. Her eyes narrowed. “So what's that, then?” she said. Her tone was one he had never heard before, her expression unfathomable. He didn't know whether to put mone
y on her being indignant, furious, turned on, or amused.
Maybe, like him, she was all of those things.
“So is it making me feel guilty that has you so turned on?” she said, and her voice was like a razor. She squeezed his balls. She smiled. It was all very dangerous, like holding a venomous snake. “Or what I did? Or maybe something else, like how you're going to make me make it up to you? Hmm? What is it, John?”
He exhaled sharply.
She raised her eyebrows and her fingers worked on his zipper at the same time.
She slipped her hand into his boxers and took his cock into it. “All three?” she asked.
His cock pulsed wildly in her hand, and he saw that she had felt it and registered its meaning, its obvious and primal affirmative answer to her question. Yes, all three. Yes he forgave her. Yes, he wanted to fuck her, as a punishment, as a reclaiming, as a way to get her to tell him what she had let another man do to her, and he wanted her to feel guilty enough to let him, John, do something truly wicked to her.
She squeezed his cock back. “I think I have a perfect resolution, if that's the case.”
He exhaled again. He had no idea what this woman, his wife but not his wife, was going to have in store for him.
She pushed her chair away, and moved around to the other side of the table. As she approached him he pushed away from the table, and his chair ground on the floor. His cock was bobbing in the air, freed from his boxers. She climbed onto his lap, and he felt her juices drip from her pussy as she hovered just above his cock, swaying slightly. “Do you want to hear it?”
He must have looked confused.
“My plan?” she said. “How I'm going to make it up to you, and everyone will be happy?”
But then she let her body fall, and his cock was suddenly immersed in all of her hot, wet flesh.
She leaned close to his ear. His cock was pulsing wildly and he was close to coming, he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to concentrate and holding back until she finished her “plan.”
She rocked slowly, stroking his cock with her soft cunt, her juices pouring down his balls, as she whispered in his ear:
“I bet you think I've been a very bad girl. Maybe I need a little bit of a spanking. Maybe a little bit of punishment.”
John shuddered, and he could feel himself going over the edge.
“And you never got to watch, which is your favorite thing,”
Another shudder. He sucked in his breath.
“So what if we give my friend Andy a call, and tell him to show you exactly. What. He. Did? Hmm? And then maybe he can give me the kind of punishment I deserve?”
He felt her pussy well up with his hot cum, and his head felt light as his face went red with rage and lust and the rocketing, intense orgasm that made him rigid as stone from head to foot, while his cock pumped his very naughty wife full of cum.
21 MAKE UP SEX
John felt like he had to tell himself to breathe. If he forgot to remind himself, his lungs forgot, and began to ache as much as his cock, and then his breath was loud and ragged. He willed himself to breathe calmly as he waited in the darkened room, only the light of the bathroom casting a faint glow on the bed where he would watch his wife with another man.
He knew he should be less excited, more angry, more horrified by what Adria had done, and by what they were about to do. The implications of it, in the delicate dance of power that was sex and love and marriage. He knew he should be thinking more rationally about consequences and trust. Instead, he had found a well of reptilian desires inside of himself, all of them bottled up. Now that the lid had been unscrewed, they were overflowing, like street covers blown off in a flood.
Did it disturb him that his wife had arranged to meet the same man she had technically cheated on him with, and bring him here, so that he, John, could watch them together? It should. He knew it should. Maybe it did. But his desire to see them together, to feed his own animal, to see what Adria craved so much that he couldn't give her, to see her get it, in the flesh – all of this overpowered the disturbance.
He was sitting in a chair, as though waiting for a meeting, and the arrangement was that he would do so. This “Andy” character didn't care, in fact, he had seen it before. So much for feeling alone in the world, or truly perverted. The man hadn't batted an eye, apparently, when Adria told him the plan.
The door clicked and he watched his wife walk in. She was dressed in a short black dress, nothing particular special about it except that it was stunning on her. A little slutty, with a low-sweeping collar in the back and the front, and sleeves that sort of hung off her shoulders as though she had already had a roll in the hay. Her hair, tantalizingly, was in a tight ponytail, and he hoped she had done it for the same reasons that he immediately imagined: so that her rough lover could hold her ponytail while he rammed himself inside of her. John's cock throbbed.
“He's coming,” was all that Adria said, and she walked sexily toward the bed. John had a moment to wonder if she would sit on the edge of the bed, and if they would have some kind of awkward conversation as they waited. But only a moment. Because before the door even swung shut, his wife's paid lover pushed the door open. He moved stealthily, stopped just behind her, and seized her. His hands slid over her body from behind, drawing her skirt up to just below her waist, fondling her breasts, and then one hand wrapping around her throat. He lifted her off the ground for a second, and placed his mouth against her face. “How's my naughty little girl?” he sneered, and licked the side of her face.
John sucked in his breath.
Andy spun her around and pushed her to the bed. She fell onto it violently, and started to kick off her shoes. He grabbed her hair and pulled on it, turning her face up to him. “Don't take those off. Not yet. I have plans for them. Right now I want you to suck my cock.”
He jerked her head back more, and used his free hand to liberate his cock. His jeans fell down to his ankles, and his cock sprang from inside of them. He was already hard, and his cock seemed to be growing with each second. It was fat, almost as though it was overstuffed; veins bulged on the sides of it, pushed out by the thickness of the meat. He placed the blunt tip of his cock on Adria's lips and rubbed it over them. “I hear you've been a very, very bad girl,” he said. He used his hand to slap his cock on Adria's mouth, and then across her cheeks. “You have some apologizing to do.”
It was obscene. Utterly obscene. And all John could do was stare, his cock throbbing to every more painful hardness with each slap of Andy's cock on his wife's face.
“Maybe you can show me how sorry you are right now.”
Adria opened her mouth, and John watched as each fat inch of Andy's cock slid slowly between her lips. Her jaw was forced to stretch to a painful-looking width to accommodate the big cock, and her nostrils flared as she struggled to breathe with it in her mouth as he slowly pushed in, until her throat was filled and she could breathe no more.
Andy's huge balls pushed out to bulbous globes as he pressed his pelvis against John's wife's face, and they crushed against her chin. Andy's hand stretched down to Adria's neck and rubbed the outside of her throat. “Look at me, Ana,” he said, using Adria's (John supposed) whore name. “Look at me while you eat my cock. Give it a little massage.”
At least twenty seconds had passed and John was beginning to fear for Adria's ability to breathe. Her eyes were watering, and a fat tear slid from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. He had an urge to stand up, call the whole thing off, but a perverted desire to see how long Andy would leave his cock in her throat. Adria began to ball her fists up on the bed cover, and another tear snaked down her cheek.
John was tensing the muscles in his thighs to rise from the chair, when Andy slid his cock out from Adria's mouth and let her gasp for air. But he gave her very little time, and held her chin so that she had to look at him while she gasped for air. Then he went back in again.
John watched, transfixed, a mixture of jealousy, repulsion, and, strange
ly, satisfaction, coursing through him, as Andy held his wife immobile again with his cock, his hand around her throat, coaxing her to massage his dick while she squirmed with the pain of being unable to breath.
Her skirt had been pushed up to above her waist now, and on the third “massaging” she was giving to Andy's cock, John noticed that she had spread her legs and that the material of her panties was soaked through. However perverted what Andy was doing might be, it had both of them aroused to near-climax.
John fumbled for a drink he had placed next to himself, not knowing what else to do but stare at his wife's stuffed mouth, at the big hand wrapped around her throat, at her watery, submissive gaze for another man. He was grateful for something to do to keep his own hands from his cock; he felt like the lightest graze against his throbbing dick would send him sporting cum all over himself, with what seemed to be a long time still to go.
His hand shook as brought the drink to his lips. Andy released Adria again, and saliva dribbled from the tip of his cock to her chin. Her mascara left black streaks from the corner of her eye to her cheekbone, and her lips seemed almost distended by the stretching of her mouth. Her face was a streaked, spit-covered disaster, and John felt his cock thump painfully against the confines of his pants.
Andy went in again and again, forcing Adria to wait for nearly half a minute, until her lungs must have begun screaming for air, and she was pleading with her eyes and presumably the motion of her throat, for him to let her breathe. Each time, she gasped more desperately for air, and it seemed that he gave her less time to recover before stuffing her full again. Adria's panties soaked through, and her innermost thighs became sticky and shiny with her excitement.
John could never do anything like this to his wife. Even imagining himself in this position was too much for him: but he loved watching it. There was no denying that.
Andy pushed Adria back onto the bed suddenly, and dropped down to pick up his jeans. For a second, John felt a drop of disappointment: it looked like he was leaving. He hoisted them up to his hips. But it was only to unthread a belt from the loops of his pants. John shivered as the leather snapped loose and Andy tossed it on the bed. He shimmied out of the jeans again, and stood over Adria, who was panting, while he removed his shirt over his head.