Tempting Terri (Terri Trilogy Book 2)

by Ben Boswell

  I felt suddenly a bit like Wile E. Coyote, the ground disappearing beneath me, but not yet falling.

  “Do you want to see?” she teased.

  Bam. Gravity kicked in. My pounding heart jumped into my throat. A weird tingle surged through me. I thought, for a brief second, that I was having a stroke.

  Terri has a bit of a cruel streak, I guess. It is usually well hidden, or maybe it just doesn’t come out often. But her reaction to the stricken expression that appeared on my face was a sudden, proud smile. Got ya!

  She bounced up onto her hands and knees and crawled across the bed to her clutch, shaking her ass at me as she did. She pulled out her phone, and then flipped over and sat cross-legged on bed, shamelessly exposed.

  I stared at her mutely until she patted the bed beside her. I moved awkward toward her. Somehow my synapses weren’t firing quite right. I sort of flopped onto the bed, and awkwardly half-crawled, half-squirmed over to her.

  She was regarding me bemusedly now.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice dripped with a coating of honey covering what felt to me like a core of sarcasm.

  I nodded.

  “Are you going to speak?” she asked.

  I nodded again.

  She laughed.

  “I… I…”

  She grinned. “Here’s one.”

  She held out the phone toward me. And there on that stunning high resolution, Retina display, was a twelve megapixel image of my naked wife, bound and spread open on a strange man’s bed. My gaze was drawn from detail to detail, building up a pointillist impression that overwhelmed my senses.

  There were the ropes. White, very thick, coiled tightly up her limbs and pulled taut. Her pale, naked body against a background of rich, peach colored sheets. A cylindrical, navy blue, cushion wedged beneath her that angled her butt upward, putting on display her tight, little asshole and her sweet, pink pussy. Her hair crimped by a leather band….

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  She swiped right and the screen was filled with a close-up of her pretty face. Eyes-wide, mouth stretched around a bright red ball held in place by a thick strap.

  “You let him gag you?”

  I looked over at her, and sure enough, up close, I could see faint reminders of the straps across her cheeks.

  “He told me he had to. Otherwise my screams would bother the neighbors. And anyway, he said that I didn’t need to speak. All I would be doing is begging for more.”

  I felt a surge of anger. At Mike, who seemed increasingly like an arrogantly blowhole. And at Terri too, for again reminding me that she sometimes had fucking terrible taste in men. I could tell she sensed my irritation. She decided to aggravate me further.

  “I have to admit,” she added coolly. “He was right. He did make me scream. And he did make me want to beg for more.”

  “Sounds like you picked a good man to fuck,” I grumbled.

  “Mmmm, I’ll say,” she gushed, totally ignoring my tone. Or maybe deliberately poking at me. “But since I was all tied up and couldn’t move, it’s more like he fucked me.”

  My mind was slowly catching up to her revelations. My growing conviction that Terri was just humoring me left me unprepared to deal with the fact that she had, actually, no shit, gone through with it. She’d had sex with another man without giving me any warning or asking permission. And she hadn’t just dipped her toe into the water either. No hurried quickie or even a normal, vanilla lovemaking session. She’d gone zero to sixty in no time flat.

  “Did he fuck you in the ass?” I blurted out.

  She smirked at me. “Oooh, what a naughty question…. Would you have liked him to?”

  “Did he?”

  “Is that what you want, Bill?”

  I just stared at her. And when I didn’t answer, she smirked again, and continued, “He did all sorts of things to my ass. Do you want to hear about them? Hear about what he did to my ass?”

  I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes. I was still off-balance. My mind reeled. This was what I had wanted. What I had badgered Terri for. And yet, in a weird way, I think I was secretly hoping that Terri would never take me up on my offer. That she would never need to. That despite her maddening infatuation for that asshole Chucky, her weird/hot, rapey fantasies, her attraction to dominant jerks, that despite it all she might, really and truly, need nothing but me.

  I was pissed off. I remained stubbornly mute, though yes, I did want to hear it. I wanted to hear all about all the things he’d done to her ass. And her tits. And her pussy. I wanted to hear how he’d made her scream and beg. How he’d turned my wife into his personal, little slut.

  Terri finally took pity on me. I startled when she placed her hand on my chest. I looked over to see that she’d stretched out on the bed beside me. Her face close to mine. I closed my eyes again.

  “He was actually very gentle,” she traced a circle on my chest with her fingertips. “At first, at least. He caressed me all over. My cheeks. My back. My legs. Sort of showing me that now that I was bound and gagged, I was his to do with as he pleased. He tickled my anus, and the side of my boobs. I kept shivering, like I was scared.”

  “Were you?”

  “A little. I have… a dirty mind. A… sick imagination sometimes. It took me to some dark places.”

  “Like?”

  “Like that he might sodomize me.”

  “I thought you liked that.”

  She chuckled. “I do. Sometimes. But Chuck and Jean-Pierre were actually pretty gentle and –“

  My eyes flew open. “You had anal with Jean-Pierre?”

  She covered her mouth, but her eyes were amused. “Oops. I was saving that story for another time. Sorry.”

  “Terri….”

  I trailed off. What was there to say?

  She resumed. “Let’s stick with Mike. Okay? So… where was I?”

  “You worried he might fuck you up the ass harder than your other boyfriends,” I snapped hotly.

  She grinned. “Um… yeah. Or… that he’d invite some friends over, and –“

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like that?”

  She batted her eyelashes at me. “Maybe I would. Maybe next time, Bill. Maybe next time I’m feeling horny, I’ll make sure it’s a roomful of guys to take care of me.”

  I snorted. “You’re sick.”

  “Yes, Bill. I’m a sick, dirty, little whore.” Her tone was precisely calibrated. Confirming, mocking, amused, angry all at once.

  I grunted.

  She laughed softly. “Shall I continue?”

  I nodded, staring again at the ceiling.

  “And then suddenly, he spanked me.” She rapped her palm firmly against my chest. “Not my ass. My pussy.”

  I peered over at her.

  She slapped me again. “He said I had a dirty twat. Or maybe that I was a dirty twat. And I had to be punished.” She laughed. “I hate that word. It’s so… crude,” she noted a bit absurdly. “Hard. But just with his fingertips. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a wet, muffled, squeak. He slapped my pussy again. I strained against the ropes, but I couldn’t move an inch.”

  She paused, thinking about the sensation. I suspected if I touched her twat it would be soaking wet.

  “Then he stopped,” she continued. “And I looked over to see him slowly taking off and carefully folding his suit. He climbed back onto the bed in just his boxers. I tensed, expecting another blow. My pussy already stung; it felt like it was on fire, but this time he was careful and gentle. He slowly traced the outline of my labia with his moistened fingertips. I was so wide open that he could have jammed them inside me, and I would have probably loved it. But he dragged it out. Slow teases. A feather light brush against my clit. Two fingers tracing a line down the middle of my wet, swollen pussy. It made me crazy. Horny. Desperate. It felt like I was on fire again, but different this time. Or maybe the same. I tried to thrust back against his hand, but I could barely move. I wanted to beg him to make
me come, but I couldn’t speak. He just teased me.”

  Terri moaned softly beside me. I took me a second to realize she wasn’t just reliving the beginning of her evening. I looked down between her legs to see her hand slowly, gently moving up and down her slit. She rolled over onto her back, and spread her legs slightly.

  “Then he put his finger inside me,” she said.

  I rose up on my elbow to see better, and when I did, she slowly pressed her slender, manicured finger inside her. She gasped softly. Her finger pumped in and out of her pussy, glistening wetly.

  “Then another,” she sighed.

  She slowly finger-fucked herself with her index and middle fingers, now rotating them inside her, now gently trailing over her clit, now just teasing up and down her slit. Her hips pumped sensuously.

  “God, it felt so good. So good.” Her fingers churned faster. “I was so close…. And then he stopped.”

  She removed her fingers. Our eyes met. Hers were a little glassy, heavy lidded.

  “I screamed into the gag, begging him to finish me. I could hear him chuckling. He left me dangling for a good long while.” She chuckled as well. “The bastard.”

  Then she grabbed my hand with hers. Her fingers were still slick with her juices. She eased my hand toward her red, spread pussy, her obscene, juicy gash. I felt her heat and wetness. Without even thinking, I pressed a finger into her tight hole.

  She moaned.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it. Make me come. Make me come, Mike,” she sighed.

  I added a second finger. She gasped and bucked against me.

  “Harder,” she groaned.

  I didn’t really need the encouragement. There is something about a wet, swollen pussy that almost demands to be penetrated vigorously, if not with a cock, then with fingers, or a toy. Still, feeling her hand on mine, urging me on, her soft gasps, the undulations of her sexy body was intoxicating.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she gasped.

  Her tight, little snatch clenched my fingers over and over.

  She gulped.

  “And then he really got me worked up,” she cooed.

  Our eyes met again. She gave me a quick nod.

  “Take off your clothes, Honey, and I’ll tell you the rest.”

  I nodded and stripped. We lay side by side on the bed. She dragged it out, parceling out details slowly, carefully until my cock ached.

  He didn’t give her a break. After making her come by finger-fucking her, he went after her swollen clit. It was too much, like pin pricks. She screamed into the gag and tried to shake off the ropes. He just went at her harder. Her pleas coming out as muffled whimpers. And then, suddenly, the agony turned to pleasure, a weird, head rush, a sensation that seemed to come from deep inside her. Dizzying, even before his tongue began teasing her ass.

  She came hard and again as he continued to eat her ass while tormenting her clit. I wanted to do the same to her. To flip her onto her stomach and go to town. Or maybe I didn’t. Either way, I didn’t follow his lead. Instead, we remained face to face. She stroked my cock slowly, enough to keep me right on the edge, but not enough to push me over.

  “My arms and legs ached from struggling against the ropes. I had spit running down my face. Sweat dripping into my eyes. And then, Bill, finally, he fucked me.”

  I pictured him rearing up behind her, his fat cock plunging into her soaking, over-stimulated cunt.

  “Was he big?” I asked.

  She shook her head and laughed. “Normal,” she replied.

  But in my mind he was anything but average. In my imagination he was long and very thick, and her pussy stretched to the limit to accept him.

  “He fucked me hard,” she continued. “I didn’t think I could come anymore. But there was something so exciting about it. About being restrained like that, unable to stop him from using my pussy as hard and as long as he wanted. I probably would have come anyway, even if he hadn’t put his thumb in my ass. But once he did, I was lost. My vision blurred. My head pounded. He plunged into me one last time, and came inside me.”

  She leaned forward and gave me a soft, incongruous kiss on the lips. She rolled away from me, off the bed. I followed after her, sitting on the edge.

  “He untied me. I was shaking all over. I waited for him to remove my gag. It was like I wasn’t sure I was allowed to do it myself. I ached, everywhere. He told me that if I enjoyed myself, I had to do one last thing.”

  I shuddered as she dropped to her knees between my legs. Without a word, she swallowed my prick deep into her mouth. She rose up slowly, her tongue trailing along the bottom of my shaft.

  “I could taste him… us… on his prick. I sucked him hard. He ran his hands through my hair.”

  She reached out and grabbed the phone. She swiped to next picture and handed it to me. I took it just as she swallowed me again. I gasped, in part in delight at her hot, wet mouth, in part as the image on the screen of Terri, mouth full of cock, the strap marks on her cheeks still fresh, looking up at the camera with her big, blue eyes.

  “Oh God,” I sighed.

  I came in my wife’s mouth. She swallowed my load without hesitation, just as I knew she’d done for Mike Coates, the silver fox, a couple of hours earlier.

  She rose and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard her brushing her teeth and then she reappeared in her flannel nightgown.

  She grinned at me, still sitting naked on the edge of the bed.

  “Bill? You okay?”

  I nodded.

  She tilted her head as she studied me.

  “This is what you want, right?”

  I nodded again, less out of conviction than some sort of inertia. Truth is, I didn’t know how I felt. I was on autopilot, even as I rose and changed into my PJs as well. As I climbed back into bed and Terri turned out the lights, I was sure I’d never be able to fall asleep. But I did. Almost before my head hit the pillow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Terri let me sleep in the next morning. I woke up around 9:00am to a delightfully empty, quiet house. Terri had already taken the kids to school and left for work herself.

  She did leave me a surprise though. Her anklet was draped across my phone, and when I checked my email, I found that she’d sent me another batch of pictures from last night. I swiped through them one at a time.

  A close up his fingers deep in her sweet pussy, her folds wet and glistening, her clit swollen and prominent.

  A close up of her asshole, wet with his saliva, almost begging to be fucked.

  His fat prick about to penetrate her hot cunt. Even though she’d said he was just average, he looked big to me. Some sort of cuckold theory of relativity. The closer a man’s prick is to your wife’s pussy, the bigger it seems.

  A wide angle shot from above of him fucking her. Just as obscene as I’d imagined. His cock glistening with her juices, half inside of her, his palm on her lower back with his thumb wedged deep into her ass.

  A close up of the wreckage he left behind. Her pussy, red, raw, dripping his seed; her ass gaping open.

  Her face, gag still in place, sweaty hair pinned to her forehead, mascara running, lips and chin dripping drool.

  Kneeling before him, hands on her knees, a submissive slut waiting for cock.

  Her head in his lap, his hands threaded through her hair.

  My beautiful wife, open mouthed, a pool of come on her tongue.

  And then finally, her again, ravishing, hair a mess, smiling, a drop of jism, apparently unnoticed, dripping from the corner of her lip.

  I couldn’t help myself. I swiped through the set again and again, stroking myself, until I came in my hand.

  I immediately felt disgusted with myself. Ashamed. Another man had fucked my wife better than I ever could, and I’d jerked off into my palm.

  I jumped into the shower to clean myself off. There was something nagging at me. A sense of real discomfort with what had happened.

  The pictures… that was definitely part of it. When I was looking
at them, it tended to short-circuit my brain. It would have, I think, even if she’d just been some random porn slut. They were just so wildly erotic. The fact that it was my wife made it that much more intense.

  Still, this was a pretty wild escalation of things. As weird as it may sound, at some level I could deal with the sex. It wasn’t easy, of course, but it provided such a mix of emotions, from the sublime to the ridiculous, as the saying goes, that I couldn’t produce a coherent reaction. I neither wanted her to do it, nor to stop.

  Part of what gave me that option was the fact that it was transitory. Knowing my wife was with another man was deliciously painful, like poking at a bruise. The memories of it, whether my own recollections, or those provided by Terri as she recounted details of it providing an echo of that sensation. But always, always, it had been something that was time limited. At some point she’d be home. Time and a shower would wipe away all the traces. At some point the power of those stories would fade. It was, of course, precisely that slow dimming of it that had led us to Brian in the first place.

  But the pictures…. Those were permanent. Especially nowadays. No destroying the negatives. No burning the prints. No, somewhere, somehow, probably for eternity, out on the cloud, there existed pornographic pictures of my wife.

  Terri had been bound. She couldn’t stop it. Except, that wasn’t quite right. She not only didn’t stop it, she was now circulating them. She could have demanded he delete the pictures. She didn’t. She was, it occurred to me, complicit in their production, a partner with Coates in creating a permanent record.

  I stepped out of the shower, feeling queasy.

  I dressed in a fog and made my way downstairs. There, on the sofa, was a tote bag from the conference. I was drawn to it. I’ve never rifled through Terri’s things. Even as crazy as things were between us, I’d could never bring myself to violate her privacy like that. But that tote seemed almost like a public item. Less a handbag than a shopping bag. At least, that’s how I rationalized it.

  Instinctively, I knew what I was looking for before I realized it consciously, but as I came across the conference program, I knew this was it. It was creased, either from yesterday… or perhaps she’d printed it out earlier? I couldn’t be sure.