I don’t know what this says about my self-confidence, but I’ve often noticed that what attracts me to a woman is how she looks at me. Give me a look that says “you’re kinda nice” and I’ll do anything for you, it seems. Or so my wife, Jill, has pointed out on a few occasions, and she should know. I practically wrote her papers for her our senior year in college, and all because she tugged a stray lock of long blonde hair over one ear and told me, in so many words, that I looked like I was a smart guy.
Fifteen years later, I was apparently staring at another woman at our son’s basketball practice, because Jill startled me by whispering “She’s kind of cute, isn’t she?” into my ear.
I quickly looked away. “Who are you talking about?”
“Who else, Doug? The young little blonde cutie on the bleachers over there. She looks sorta like me: I guess I should take that as a compliment.”
I tried to deny it, but we both knew I was busted. I’d been stealing glances at the bleachers, and at the young woman, ever since the game started. She did look a bit like Jill – blonde, athletic, well-dressed. Squared away. Her white blouse was tailored, but not too tight. Her jeans flattered her figure, especially her trim little ass, which I got a chance to admire when she walked down to the court to give her son (her step-son, I later learned) a water bottle. But they didn’t look like she was poured into them. And she was wearing neat little brown loafers on her feet, not fuck-me heels like a desperate housewife or beat-up tennis shoes like some of the women who’d given up on life and kept the fifty pounds they’d gained after their third pregnancy.
And then she’d smiled at me, which was when she really hooked me, and I didn’t even know her name (Not that I’d wanted to – Jill was my one and only). A smile that indicated there was nothing more natural in the world than that one of the team dads would make appreciative eye contact with one of the team moms. Nothing pervy about it at all, even if she was 8-10 years younger than us.
It was another two weeks before I had a chance to say hi to her. Jill had been teasing me about my renewed interest in William’s basketball practices, but one night she had to go grocery shopping and I volunteered to take him. Her name was Anne, and her step-son Charles was becoming one of William’s friends on the 12 and under team. My heart nearly stopped when Anne said “we should have a play date.” I must have done a bit of a double-take, because she laughed softly and said “that is, I could bring Charles over. He’s told me all about your basketball goal in the driveway. If you think that would be okay.”
I controlled my emotions enough to say that I thought William would love it, and that I’d check with Jill about a good time. Later that night, I made it a point to give Jill the task of calling her to confirm details, although it didn’t stop her from teasing me. “Oh-ho, got her to come over, have we?” Jill talked to Anne quite a while on the phone, in the kitchen while she stirred soup. I strained to hear some of their conversation, but William had the Wii cranked up with some noisy game and I didn’t hear much.
After awhile she came in and sat down next to me. “Soup’s on, when you’re ready.”
“What did they have to say about Charles coming over?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“She. Feminine singular. ‘They’ is a plural neuter pronoun, and sometimes used as a cop-out.”
“Okay, grammar Nazi,” I hissed into her ear, laughing, not sure why I was whispering. “What did she say?”
“I invited the whole family over Friday night. Charles and William to practice until they’re worn out, supper to follow, Charles staying over because they have a game that Saturday morning.”
“Okay, so her husband’s coming too?” I said, neutrally.
“Don’t sound so disappointed. She’s not sure, really. He’s got to get his other son over to the ex-wife; technically they’re both supposed to be there but Anne doesn’t think it’s a problem. Usually the ex-wife is reasonable, and they all get along great. Anyway, her husband, Charles Sr., has to work until 6 and then get his other son across town; Anne said he’ll probably tell her to start without him.”
“That’s what she said,” we both whispered to each other flatly, giggling. I stole a kiss from Jill while William wasn’t looking; I needn’t have worried that he would look away from the flat screen TV and the explosions occurring there.
That night, lying together in the dark, Jill decided to play one of my favorite games in bed, which we call “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours” — what stray sexual thoughts had plagued us that week. As usual, I had to go first. I told her about one of our new contractors in my I.T. firm, a shapely young lady from India who likes to wear saris. I told her the thought had crossed my mind that I’d like to ask her to show me how she puts that thing on, preferably while we were alone in my private office.
“You’re sure that’s the main thing you’re thinking about this week?” Jill asked as I caressed one of her nipples and she rubbed my cock through my underwear.
“Your turn,” I said.
“The whole time I was talking to Anne, I was fantasizing about you with her.”
“Really?” I said, hoping that the immediate perking up of my erection wasn’t too obvious.
“Yep,” she half-whispered, half-moaned as my fingers trailed down her abdomen and curled through her trim bush. “Kind of narcissistic, really. I thought it would be as close as I could come to watching us together, not counting those videos, of course. Like an out of body experience for me. Poor you, though. Not much of a fantasy. She looks so much like me; it would be a busman’s holiday.”
“I think it would be okay for me. In our fantasy world, of course.”
“Of course. Darling, could you go down there for me first? I promise to make it up to you.”
Actually, I love giving my wife head; she likes to talk like it’s a chore because she’s just a little bit on the dom side in bed. I eagerly scooted down and began to cover her thighs with kisses as she squirmed into position; her sock-covered feet on my back. As I began to lightly tongue her outer lips, she began to squirm; she was way more turned on than she normally was at this stage. I went very quickly to inserting my tongue in her. I could have sworn that she had a bit of an orgasm from that, but she didn’t seem to want me to stop, so I pressed on, gently stroking her clit with my thumb, which was covered with her juices. When she began to buck against my hand I gently inserted two fingers and lightly pinched it all together; thumb and fingers on a slippery slope. She threw her head back and moaned. She thrashed so hard I was afraid I would hurt her, then she shuddered and stopped.
“Oh, sweetie, I know I said I’d return the favor,” she said when she caught her breath. “But can you fuck me really hard first?” She pulled my underwear off of me, then turned over and stuck her ass in the air.
“That’s returning the favor, in my book,” I said, caressing her ass and running my hands down to cup her breasts as I easily slid into her wet pussy.
“Oh, god, faster and harder. I know, baby, but I know how you like your blow jobs, too. Pretend you’re fucking Anne; you’ve bent her over the side of the hot tub…”
I nearly came on the spot; as it was I had to stop or it would have been all over. “Oh, you do like that idea,” she laughed as she pushed back on me mercilessly. “Oh, fuck her hard, baby, fuck her hard.”
That took me into that plateau where, strange as it sounds, it feels so good you can’t quite come. I took Jill hard and fast for about two minutes after that, our bodies slapping together, Jill cursing and telling me to fuck her harder. She started coming, and then so did I; I wanted to pull out so I could spew it all over her back, but she kept me trapped, receiving my spunk deep up in her pussy as she sighed with satisfaction.
When Anne and Charles came over, her husband wasn’t with them. Anne had the practiced look of a single mom, even though she had no children of her own. Charles and William went outside to practice their dribbling and shooting skills. We sat around on the sofa in our rec room downstairs drinking wine. Jill had grabbed the seat next to Anne on the love seat, which suited me fine. I lay back on the couch and took turns looking at them both. You wouldn’t confuse one for the other, but they really were the same “type” – blonde, toned, and narrow-waisted. Anne was in a sleeveless dress with a skirt that didn’t quite make it to her knees. The main difference was the breasts: Jill’s were larger and looser, while Anne’s were smaller and perkier. I fought back images of taking one of Anne’s entire breasts in my hand, and rubbing on her nipple until it hardened.
We made the inevitable small talk; I was an IT guy, Jill was a lawyer, Anne was – well, she called herself a homemaker and part-time interior designer, but I got the impression that her husband made most of the money and that they had a maid who did most of the work around the house. Charles was her step-son, but she seemed to genuinely adore him. It was a nice conversation, but it served to build that wall of normalcy around the weird fantasies Jill and I had gotten off on. We were all married, upper-middle class people in the suburbs, and that was probably that.
As I was thinking this, Anne’s cell phone rang and she was in a brief conversation with her husband, twisting a finger in her hair. “Okay, see you tomorrow,” she said, and ended the call.
“I guess we’re not waiting dinner on him, then?” Jill asked, taking another sip of wine.
“No, he’s not coming home tonight,” she said as she reached for her glass.
I tried to keep my jaw from dropping with the implications, since we all knew he was gone to take his other son to his ex-wife’s house. Jill tried to give her a chance to cover: “He’s going out of town, then?”
“No, he’s presumably sleeping with Amy tonight.” Anne drank some more wine.
I gave up on trying to keep a straight face. Jill, never one to shy away from the obvious, simply said “Oh my,” sympathetically.
Anne laughed. “I can’t really complain, can I? I started out as the ‘other woman,’ and Amy divorced him because she wanted to be single so she could run around too. Charlie is a great husband and father and takes great care of us; he just works a lot and likes a little variety every now and then. Mostly it happens when she’s going through a bit of a dry spell, as it were, and she calls and asks if she can borrow him back for the evening. C’est la vie, and I’d rather it be this way than dealing with a bitchy ex-wife. She even comes over sometimes.”
I adjusted my legs to avoid my interest in this developing story becoming too obvious through my jeans. Jill asked “How does Charles Jr. take all this? And his brother?”
“Oh, they don’t understand all that’s going on. He grew up with Charles and Amy, so it probably doesn’t occur to him that it’s odd for his father to stay there, and when she’s come over, she’s had her own room. It’s kind of like a sleepover! Sorry, we are way into TMI territory, aren’t we?” Anne said, putting her glass down. “I think his brother Stephen is starting to catch on, though.”
“And to think that Doug felt guilty because I caught him looking at you a few weeks ago,” Jill laughed.
I felt like crawling under the couch, but Anne said “That’s okay; I was looking at him a bit, too.” They were both laughing at that when the boys came down the stairs, hot and sweaty from their play, instantly switching us into parental mode.
“I’ll get some pizza on order; how does that sound, boys?” Jill asked, to enthusiastic cries of joy.
“Why don’t you get into the shower while we’re doing that, sport?” I asked William. “Charles brought his stuff to stay over, right?” I asked Anne.
She nodded and took the cue, which was good; I don’t like telling other people’s kids what to do “Charles, why don’t you take a shower after William does? I’m sure he can show you where the towels are.”
“Okay, Anne,” he said, which sounded strange until I remembered Anne wasn’t his mother. There was a little reluctance in his voice I couldn’t make out, until I remembered how shy I was as a 12 year old to undress around other boys.
“Actually, Charles, there’s a shower in the guest room. I’ll show you where everything is,” I said as William, with the obliviousness typical of his age, had already taken off to his room, which also had a shower in it.
“His stuff is in the car; I’ll go get it and see you up there,” Anne said as we made our way upstairs.
A minute or so later, Anne found us in the guest room. I’d gotten towels for Charles and shown him where more were to be found, and as Anne entered Charles braced himself for the embarrassment of someone unpacking his underwear in front of someone else. She spared him this, simply putting his bag on the bed and saying “It’s all in there, dear,” and retreating. As we went down the bedroom hallway, I stifled a giggle. “What?” Anne asked.
“Poor guy,” I said. “When I was his age I was so easily embarrassed by stuff like this.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. My brother was like that. I guess girls don’t go through that as much. Or rather, so much we get used to it.” We had stopped in the dim hallway, and I could hear the showers start up on both side of us. “Say, how many showers do you have in this house?”
“I had one put in all three rooms over here on this side and there’s another in the master bedroom, which is down the hall.”
“It’s our dream house. Make sure Charles knows he’s welcome anytime.”
“Thanks. We like sleepovers,” she laughed as we descended the stairs to the main living area and the kitchen.
“I’m off to pick up the pizza,” Jill called from the door by the garage. “Make yourself at home, Anne.” The door closed.
“She’s not getting it delivered?”
“We’re just a mile or two outside their delivery area. We like this local pizza place, but one of us has to go get it.” We picked up the wine glasses we had brought up earlier, and I motioned her over to the kitchen table. “Speaking of embarrassing, my wife has a way of prying stuff out of people. I think it’s the lawyer in her.”
Anne laughed. “She didn’t exactly pry it out of me. Wine acts like sodium pentothol on me. Cheers,” she said, and we clinked our glasses.
“More?” I asked, picking up the bottle and smiling at her.
“Why not? You know all my secrets already,” she said, moving her glass over for me to pour. “You haven’t revealed many of yours, though. Your wife and I did most of the talking.”
“Oh, I’m but a humble IT guy. I’m an open book. Like any other kind of engineer, it’s strictly tab A into slot B. Uh, so to speak. God, that was tacky…” I said as she started laughing.
After she stopped: “I bet there’s more to you than that,” she said quietly, looking directly at me. Her legs were crossed, and her skirt was riding up a bit. I tried not to look at her legs. I thought I could feel a little heat coming from her, which wasn’t possible; I wasn’t sitting that close. Perhaps it was a faint scent. “So is Jill’s life with you as complicated as mine?”
“No,” I said, breaking the eye contact by drinking again. “Just one spouse apiece. I will admit, sometimes when we’re trying to get William everywhere he wants to go, with all the hours we work, we’ve joked about needing an extra spouse, and wondered where we could get an ‘ex’.”
“Sometimes two is better than one,” she agreed, whereupon one of those awkward silences ensued. It was either kiss her or start telling her about my job.
“So I mainly do I.T. application security, if you were wondering…”
“I left her alone with you, the boys were upstairs, and you started babbling about your job?” Jill exhaled with a laugh that sounded like a sigh.
I took my mouth off her right nipple long enough to say “Jill! I’ve never cheated on you. We were just talking.”
“I know,” she said. “I wasn’t saying to rape her. I’m just amazed that with all that build-up you didn’t neck with her a little, or something.”
“I don’t neck with every woman I meet, either. She might have slapped me.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t have slapped you. She might have raped you, is what might have happened,” she giggled. “Ohhh, I like that, keep going.”
“I don’t know if she likes me like that.”
“She likes you like that. I saw the way she kept crossing her legs. She told us all about her love life. She didn’t have to do that.”
“It sounds a little complicated.”
“Uhhngh. Shut up and fuck me.”
On the next play date, Anne arrived in jeans and a sweater. “I can actually go to the game tomorrow, guys,” she said as we began to eat our salads, later on. “Big Charlie has Stephen and is picking up Charlie after the game, and I don’t have any clients to meet.”
“Great!” Jill said. “One of these times you should just stay over with us.”
“Oh, I just live up the way.” I began to watch the eye contact between the two of them. The boys were also paying attention to the conversation. “Not much point, really.”
“Well, the boys like staying up late and playing games,” Jill said. I nudged her with a foot. What the hell?
“Yeah, Miss Anne, that would be awesome!” William said, helping himself to a breadstick. He seemed innocent of everything, except maybe of having been coached a little.
“What do you think of that, Doug?” Jill asked me.
I shrugged, trying not to slosh my wine glass as I did so. “Our casa is your casa. Whatever you ladies decide.” I smiled, trying to make sure I was doing so with my entire face. Exciting as I found Anne to be, I felt like we were heading into major mixed signals territory.
Lest you think Jill and I were experienced swingers, we really weren’t. I’d had a brief affair early in our marriage, when we were both stupid kids. Jill hadn’t known; I felt awful about it, ended it, and eventually confessed about a year later. She wasn’t happy about it, but she forgave me and I spent the next year trying to make up for it. During that time, while she was trying to decide whether she was over it, she made it a point to flirt with every man we both knew. As far as I knew, that had been the extent of the extracurricular activities. We weren’t prudes, but we knew the difference between fantasy and reality, and we knew how damaging an affair could be. Or so I thought.
“Why not stay with us, Anne?” Charles Jr. asked. “It’ll be fun – we could all play a game on the Wii.”
“It’s tempting, but to be honest kids, I’m a little sloshed right now. I shouldn’t be going back for clothes and stuff, and when I go later I’ll be tired and just want to crawl into bed.”
This perked me up. I didn’t want anyone to drive drunk, or tired, for that matter. I was about to say something when Jill spoke. “Nonsense, come upstairs and I’ll find you some things and a toothbrush. You’re about my size.” On one level I was glad she said it; on another I wondered where this was going to lead. To be honest, I practically knew where this was going to lead.
We finished dinner and we all wound up playing on the Wii. After the kids beat the grownups on several games and it started to get late, we made them go to bed and we started doing stuff with Wii Fit. Yoga and red wine are an interesting combination.
Anne got up on the balance board and began to do a yoga pose. As she began to fall over to one side, I reached over to steady her,, and she came down into my arms like we were slow dancing.
“Hi,” she said, as Jill laughed and applauded.
“Maybe we can watch a little TV before bedtime,” I suggested.
With what seemed like a little subtle manipulation from Jill as to who sat where, I wound up sitting between the two women on the couch, our stocking feet propped up on the coffee table, watching a romantic comedy. A large bowl of popcorn was placed on my lap by Jill, and both women reached for it mindlessly as we watched. I knew from having watched the movie before that there was a bit of a steamy scene coming up, and I wondered what their reaction would be. They both dropped kernels of popcorn on my shirt and pants leg from time to time and picked them off of me, which can be hotter than it sounds, especially when they turned sideways to me and reached across my chest, their breasts brushing my shoulder and chest.
The expected love scene came on; nothing outright pornographic, just enough to get the movie the obligatory R rating. The man and woman in the movie, who had shown mostly hate for each other up to then, suddenly started tearing each other’s clothes off and having barely-veiled sex on a spiral staircase. Only strategic camera angles, the occasional long shot, and strategically-placed banisters kept it from being completely graphic. Her breasts and his buttocks were repeatedly, although fleetingly, exposed. Both women seemed to get off on it; I could feel their bodies warm up and when I stole a glance at Anne’s chest, I could see her nipples harden. Just then Jill gently grabbed my chin and turned my face her way – I thought to playfully keep me from looking at Anne, but in fact, she began to kiss me deeply.
“Hey, no fair, I don’t have anyone here to kiss,” Anne laughed.
“I never said I wouldn’t share,” Jill said, turning my face back toward Anne, daring her (and me) to kiss. Another nervous laugh escaped her, then she licked her lips and kissed me. I tried to keep it friendly and not like I was going to eat her face, but Anne pushed the envelope. She licked my lips lightly and quickly, then explored my chin and neck. I could feel an erection forming. Jill began to kiss me too, and then Jill and Anne began to kiss each other as well. They both put hands on my chest, for leverage as much as anything else.
It might seem that this should end with us all naked on the basement rug, but after a while we began to look at each other, then up at the stairs. The boys were supposed to have gone to bed, but boys didn’t always do what they were supposed to. Just like grownups.
After the love scene, we backed off and watched the rest of the movie, which was almost over. My erection subsided, though perhaps not my aching balls, but something told me Jill would be more than happy to take care of that once we got to bed.
Jill showed Anne to her guest room, which was the closest one to our bedroom. When she came back into our room and locked the door behind her, the look in her eyes told me she was horny and ready to go. We were naked in a few moments, and she got on top of me with little prelude. I almost came when she pushed herself down on me, but as we got into a fast rhythm I became fascinated with her lustful exuberance, and focused on ways to push her over the top. I rubbed her large breasts and tweaked her nipples with my thumbs, pushing them together as she whispered “harder, harder, harder, harder, harder” in an increasing moan. I wondered if Anne could hear us, and the thought triggered a gushing orgasm on my part, answered by Jill’s barely-stifled grunt of satisfaction a couple of thrusts later.
A moment later, Jill was lying on her back, holding a cloth between her legs, staring up at the ceiling. “What was that all about?” I asked, meaning everything that had happened since dinner. “Are you trying to get me to have another affair?”
“It’s not an affair if we’re honest with each other,” she finally whispered. “Right?”
A nervous jolt ran through my body. An orgasmic after-shock, or because of what she was saying. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t even know if she wants to play with us. Her life may be complicated enough. But she’s so pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “She is. What do we do about it?”
“I don’t want to push anything or make her feel strange. It would kill William if Charles wasn’t his friend anymore.”
“It would kill me if this came between us. I’ve been there before. Nothing is worth that.”
Jill gathered me into her arms at that, and soon we were asleep, exhausted.
I woke up later. I could tell by the darkness it wasn’t morning yet, but I had no idea how long I’d slept until I looked at the clock radio. One a.m. – we’d been in bed maybe an hour at most. Jill wasn’t in bed with me. I could hear a shower running; it wasn’t the one in our room. I put on my underwear and a t-shirt and walked down the hall, curious.
The door to Anne’s bedroom was open halfway. I looked in; the room was dark, but I could tell by the bathroom light that no one was in the bed. I stole into the room, and could see the shower stall reflected in the mirror. Either Jill was down in the kitchen having an insomnia attack and I was about to just spy on Anne taking a shower, with no real way to explain why I was there, or…
But Jill wasn’t in the kitchen. I could see two female figures, shadowy through the steamed up shower door. I saw nipples pressed up against the glass. From the shape of the breasts, I figured they were Anne’s. I knew how Jill got into anal play in the shower. She had a long, thin dildo she liked to use on me, fucking me in the ass with it while she reached around and jacked me off. The flexible, slippery shape would gently stretch my anus and run over my prostate like a finger. It made me come quicker than anything; Jill often did it when she wasn’t much in the mood herself (which wasn’t often), or when she was a little bit mad at me.
Of course, with Anne, she could be using a vibrator in her vagina, which I imagined to be covered with a little tuft of blonde hair, like Jill’s. Or perhaps waxed.
I heard Jill whisper “Do you want it?”
“Oh, yeah, I need it. Slow, slow, I’m so nervous,” Anne moaned.
“Relax. Lean back into me. You have such a sweet little ass.”
Now I knew why Jill was so interested in me being hot for Anne. She wanted her for herself. Not much surprised me about Jill anymore, but this was the first time she’d brought someone else into our sex lives together, and I wondered how much had transpired in an hour to get from not wanting to “make her feel strange” to this. I felt horny, left out, and a bit lonely. I didn’t see any way that me getting in the middle of this would pan out, so I started to pad out of the room and back to our bedroom, not sure what to think. I guess I’d given her permission, or she took it that way. As I started to move, I heard Jill’s voice, a bit strained. “Doug?”
Jill lowered her voice, and I couldn’t hear her until I stepped into the room. The smell of sex was surprisingly strong. I could see the shadow of Jill’s arm, and it seemed she was still keeping the rhythm up, slowly “…to bed with us?” Jill concluded.
“No, Jill, I don’t have to…” Anne said, weakly, obviously finding it hard to concentrate on speaking.
“Can Anne come to bed with us?” Jill said, as if she was a little girl asking permission to have a friend over.
“Okay,” I said, still processing it all, but happy to be included, anyway.
“Be there in a minute,” Jill said, exactly like she did most nights of our married life, as if she were just brushing her teeth.
I went back to our bedroom. Take my clothes off? What to do in the meantime? Read a book? I got under the covers and was staring at the ceiling when Jill came in, surprisingly soon, leading Anne by the hand. They were both wearing different pairs of Jill’s plain flannel PJs, and I laughed in spite of myself as Jill closed and locked the door.
“Hi,” Anne said, as she had when she nearly fell on me playing the Wii, and she climbed into bed on one side of me. She smelled like sex and a shower. Jill got in on my other side, and I turned to her.
“She’s the one who needs some attention,” Jill said, pushing me back to Anne. “You sort of interrupted us, you peeping Tom. I’ve already come once tonight.”
I looked Anne over while she looked nervously back, and finally said “What do you want?”
“Touch my breasts,” she whispered. I unbuttoned her top slowly, and she began to tremble with anticipation. Lying on her back, they were almost flat, but her nipples were small and had rock-hard points. Her toned chest muscles rippled between them. I licked her nipples and gently used my teeth, switching between them and tweaking whichever one I wasn’t licking with my thumb. She began to writhe with pleasure; knowing Jill she’d been on the brink of an orgasm already when I’d appeared.
Jill reached from behind me and began to rub my cock. I started to kiss down to Anne’s navel. “He’s really good with his tongue, Anne. Would you like him to go lower?”
“I would love it.”
“Take off your pants.”
Anne took off the pajama bottoms, leaving her naked except for Jill’s favorite pair of panties – a black silk thong. I immediately got even more excited when I saw it. I went down between Anne’s legs and she put her legs over me as I kissed and licked her thighs. She was moaning and practically humping my face already, so I closed in on her wet, fragrant pussy, first licking around the thong, then moving it to one side, just like I did when Jill wore those same panties. Her clitoris was wet and engorged, and, as it turned out, she had light downy pubic hair, much like Jill’s, but not trimmed as closely.
I couldn’t see much from this position, but when I felt weight shifting on the bed, I looked up to see Jill’s perfect, slim ass settling down around Anne’s face as Anne began to lick and suck on Jill’s pussy – with great effect, from the sound of the stifled moans Jill began to make as she played with her own breasts. Jill had taken off all of her clothes. I bent down to Anne’s pussy again, stroking the clit with my tongue. Both women began to buck and squirm, finding a rhythm.
Anne began to peel off the thong. I was still wearing underwear, which Jill tugged at as we all adjusted positions. Anne suddenly seemed a little shy. “Can I; can he…?”
“You want to fuck him, don’t you?” Jill teased, taking one of Anne’s nipples into her mouth.
“You’re okay with it?”
“Long as I get to watch.”
“Doug, would you?” she asked as I returned to licking her hardening, slick button.
“Would I what?” I asked. That was mean, but I was getting turned by her youthful shyness and unsureness. I felt like Jill and I were partners in seducing her.
Her face was flushing from arousal and shame. “I need it so bad. He hardly ever touches me.” I moved up and placed my cock at the entrance to her pussy. She began to hump against it, working it in. She was tight, still nervous.
“Are you on the pill?” Jill asked, and Anne nodded. I was glad she remembered; it was starting to feel too good to stop. Her pussy was hot and tight and slippery. I was halfway in. Jill was laying to one side, no longer touching Anne, playing with her own nipples and cunt. I was on top of Anne. We were in the missionary position, having married-people sex like Jill and I hardly ever did.
I took her mouth with mine, and we began to kiss, frantically at first then more tenderly as we began to soothe each other’s pent-up lust. My desire to come was building, and it felt like hers was too, but the pleasure we were giving each other made me want to prolong the moment. Her pace slowed under me, and she began to milk my cock with her tight cunt muscles. She lay back on the pillow, her face flushed, her mouth open. Her strong arms ran up and down my back. Her erect nipples brushed my chest hair. I looked to the side – Jill was laying on her back, fingering herself to the same sultry rhythm., her eyes half-closed, drinking in the sight of us.
Jill’s large, dark, nipples were hardened to points. I reached over to stroke one, and began to feel the surging, tingling sensation in my balls. Anne’s eyes opened wider; she could feel my strokes deepening and my breath becoming ragged. “Oh, I’m coming,” I sighed into her ear, still fingering Jill’s breast.
“Come in me,” she moaned, and I pumped hot come into her as her pussy convulsed, squeezing my cock again and again.
The following week, I got off work early and Jill suggested we go to the antique furniture store where Anne worked, to look at some chairs. It was a musty old store in the trendy part of downtown, and when Anne came out to greet us she was elegantly dressed in a sleeveless white silk blouse and plaid skirt. The blouse was a little on the sheer side, and the skirt came to that perfect schoolgirl length, riding the swell of her toned ass and thighs. Any shorter and it would be an obvious come-on, but as it was it undoubtedly got many appreciative looks from the husbands when their wives went shopping.
“Well, hello,” Anne said. “I’m the only one here. It’s a slow Friday afternoon. Kind of warm, don’t you think?”
“This blouse looks cool,” Jill said, touching it on the shoulder in the appraising way women can get away with.
“Yeah, but I picked a bad day to wear wool,” she said, laughing, picking up her skirt and flapping it a bit as if it were a fan. We made our way to the chairs we were here to see, and quickly made our selection. Anne tagged it and took some notes, then we walked back to the sales desk, Anne’s ass twitching ahead of me.
I tried not to look. I’d thought about the other night, and didn’t see how taking on another lover was going to work for either one of us. We’d talked a little about it; Jill seemed reluctant to shut the door on it entirely, but hadn’t talked about it since. When we arrived at the sales desk, Anne was smoothing her skirt with her hands repeatedly, as if to dry them.
I looked up further from the skirt, and saw that Anne’s nipples were visibly hardening through the thin fabric.
“That’s the problem with silk. It shows your nipples every time,” Jill said, moving down to stroke her breast. Anne wasn’t laughing any more. She took a few deep breaths and caught Jill’s hand by the wrist; to stop her, or so I thought. But then she led us further back into the store, into what seemed to be an area for employees, with a plain leather couch
“It’s just the right height,” Anne explained.
“For what?” I asked.
“To bend me over and fuck me.”
And that’s how I found myself with my pants off, Jill sucking me off while fingering herself with her hand in her pants. Anne had already assumed the position and had a finger in her pussy; she’d either stripped off her panties or hadn’t been wearing any to start with, and her skirt was around her waist. The skirt and her heels were the only things she was still wearing. Her blouse and bra were on the couch.
“Is he hard?” Anne sighed.
“I’m getting him hard for you,” Jill said when she came up off my dick. Her blowjobs were usually slow and subtle; this one felt like she was trying to suck the jizz right out of me. It was almost a relief when she guided me to the waiting, gaping, entrance to Anne’s vagina. I was so aroused that I had to go slowly to keep from blowing my wad; Anne was soon pushing back and gasping for me to go harder. My hands were on her sides for support. As I began to pick up the rhythm, I was surprised to feel something cool and slick pushing against my anus. I looked over and saw Jill’s big purse, and realized she’d been carrying a few of her toys and apparently some lube. I sighed and spread my legs a bit more as I continued to slowly push into Anne; I wasn’t in a position, literally to stop Jill, and I figured I might as well make it as comfortable as possible.
With every thrust, the dildo Jill was aiming at my sphincter invaded me a little more. I began to realize it was bigger and firmer than the one she usually used. I was repulsed and entranced, in pain and feeling the pleasure, hoping the pressure wasn’t crushing Anne underneath.
“Help her, Doug. Feel her nipples. You know how I like that,” Jill said, bending over my ear. “It always puts me over the top.”
“I can’t let go. I’ll fall,” I gasped.
“You can’t fall,” Jill said, and I realized she had one arm firmly around my waist while she invaded my ass with the dildo. I reached down for Anne’s breasts, and they were warm and sweaty, with hard nipples dragging across my palms. She was beginning to pant when the little bell on the front door jingled, and it startled me. I came hard, Anne frozen under me with fear that whoever was at the door would come back to the room.
And then Anne was out from under me and desperately grabbing for her bra and blouse. She dressed quickly and went out.I thought I saw semen trickling down the inside of her thigh.
A week later I was back in the shop to pick up the chair. Anne looked up when she saw me coming. I was alone; Jill had to work late, and I was picking up the chair during my lunch hour. “Hello,” she said, looking tense. She looked around to see if anyone else was nearby. “Fine state you left me in last week.” Louder “Will that be by check or a credit card?”
I pulled out a card and gave it to her. “Sorry, the doorbell rang – sorry if we made a mess. We tried to leave things as they were.” She ran the card, not speaking.
“Here’s your receipt,” she said for the benefit of a manager on the other end of the store. Softly: “I didn’t finish.”
“I’m sorry, the doorbell rang.”
“Come upstairs with me.”
“Come upstairs with me. You’ll see.”
“But there are people…”
“They never go up there. Besides, the door locks.”
“I can’t. My wife…” “She called me and said that when you come pick up the chair I should make you fuck me until I come twice. Until I’m raw.”
My cock twitched at this. Without another sound, Anne walked toward the stairs, and I followed her.
It was hot and humid in the third story of the old building. Anne opened a door and closed it behind me, pushing a bolt through the door. She took off her clothes as she walked and was naked when she sank down on a mattress on the floor, covered only with some worn sheets and a couple of pillows. I sat down beside her, taking off my shoes and socks. She reached behind me and started unbuttoning my shirt.
When we were both naked, she put her hand behind my neck and pulled me to her. We began to kiss, groping at each other, no strategy, no direction. Her hand found my cock and began to rub underneath the head, jacking me off. I went down between her legs, mainly to keep her from making me come before we really got started. There was a lot of daylight coming in the window, and I could see her pussy clearly for the first time. Her untrimmed bush was light and downy. I took slow licks between my looks at it, watching it get darker and wetter. I pushed her knees up to her chest and looked at her small, tight little anus. My cock twitched. I began to lick her pussy from the bottom up, tapping the area between her cunt and asshole with my pointed tongue. I looked up to see how she was taking it. She was rubbing her breasts with both hands and staring up at the ceiling, glassy-eyed.
I decided I was ready for more attention to be paid to my cock, and I maneuvered us into a 69 position. I bathed her clit with my tongue as wet warmth began to engulf my member. She briefly took me most of the way in, then she focused on my sensitive glans as the warm, sticky air of the room dried the spit which coated my shaft. I tried to match her rhythm on her clit. I was about to come when she stopped, suddenly transfixed by her own impending orgasm, which made her clamp her thighs around my head. Her ragged moans were muffled as I tasted her musky come. I wanted to climax with her, but wasn’t quite there yet, and knew she wasn’t going to be able to control her mouth and teeth for a few seconds more.
While she recovered, I flipped her over onto her stomach and grabbed her wrists. I tried to push my aching cock into her pussy but she kept twitching away from me. Frustrated, I pushed her down on her haunches, revealing the neat little star of her asshole. With my free hand, I scooped moisture from her wet pussy onto my dick and her anus, then began to probe into her with two fingers.
She tried to squirm away from me, but every move she made seemed to bury my fingers deeper in her ass. When she began to rock rhythmically, moaning “uh, uh, uh” in an increasingly gutteral voice, I pushed the tip of my penis into her tight little opening. It didn’t go in very far at first, and her cries turned to annoyed cries of pain.
It was late at night and the pool was deserted. I set my towel down on an empty chair and did a few stretches to warm myself up. I had been staying at the hotel in Hong Kong for a week now and quickly discovered the joys of a late night swim after a hard days touring. I had checked out the pool when I first got here but it was crowded with kids and families and trying to swim anywhere was out of the question. Noticing that the pool was open everyday until 11pm I decided to head back later when I had a bit more time to myself.
As I dove into the cool waters, I sighed and felt all the tension wash away from me. I loved the soft glide underwater, the sense of being suspended with nothing else around, just for those few seconds. I surfaced silently and breast-stroked to the other end, before bringing my legs up and pushing off the end to head in the other direction.
I had been going for sometime, my sense of time had faded and I enjoyed the gentle push of the water as I swam through it. I was at the far end when my senses became alert and I heard a door open.
I watched as the girl walked down the side of the pool and stopped about halfway to set her things down on the table there. Obviously she hadn’t spotted me or my things so I tried to think of the best way not to startle her. Nothing came to mind. Instead I watched as she sat on the side and tested the water temperature, humming to herself as she summoned the nerve to slip into the cooling water.
From my position I looked and her and enjoyed what I saw; an Asian girl, slim and quite petite in a blue bikini with a swimming cap on her head and goggles in her hand. She was attractive and my eyes travelled to her proud cleavage and legs that ended in the tight crotch of her privates.
Pushing off, I slowly glided down the pool until I was opposite her and splashed softly to get her attention. Her humming stopped abruptly and she looked up with a surprised look on her face. I raised my hand in an apology.
“Sorry,” I said, “Didn’t want to startle you.”
“That’s ok, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here at this time of night” she replied a little hesitantly.
“Me neither” I said as I glided over to her, “do you come here often?”
“Only at night when no one can see me, I hope I didn’t bother you.”
“No it’s ok, I was almost done. Would you like to swim together?”
“Ermmmm….” she responded with a look of fright unsure how to treat the mysterious stranger.
“If I make you feel uncomfortable I’ll leave,” I said gripping the side and hoisting myself up.
I sat beside her for a minute or two.
“My name’s Neil, what’s yours?”
She was momentarily distracted and took her time answering. I noticed her gaze on my smooth chest and slim physique before stuttering.
“Sh… er… Sharon” she finally replied.
“Nice to meet you Sharon” I grinned.
Sharon smiled back politely and steeled herself to get into the water.
I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and wished her an enjoyable swim before collecting my gear and leaving. I didn’t go far, went for a walk in the warm evening air and eventually made my way back to the hotel pool.
Sharon was just getting out of the pool as I walked in and I was treated to a good view of her cleavage her breasts pushed together as she lifted herself out.
“Hello again,” she said as I walked up to her.
“Glad I didn’t surprise you this time” I said cheerfully.
“Not this time, I thought you might come back… in fact I was kinda hoping you would” replied Sharon with a grin on her face.
“Yes, I was hoping to swim with you but I didn’t have the courage to say earlier. It would do me good to have company for a change.”
“Do you come here often then?”
“Only when I’m in town on business, I live in Cheng-Du.”
“Cool, I’m on holiday here and I fly home to the UK in a couple of days… Shall we?” I said motioning to the pool as I set my things down next to Sharon’s.
“Ok,” she replied, smiling.
As we swam and chatted I used the opportunity to take sneaky glances at Sharon and enjoyed what I saw. Occasionally I saw her checking me out to, often taking long looks at my bare chest and the bulge in my swim-shorts. There were other things on our minds apart from enjoying a late night swim together. Eventually we tired and returned to our belongings.
I stared at her rounded ass and tight bottom as she boosted herself out of the water. As I followed suit I caught her glance round and stare at my chest while she waited for me.
Being in a good mood I decided to test the waters.
“Nice to see you enjoying the view” I said smiling.
“I… I find a man with a bare chest makes me… you know…” Sharon blushed and looked down as we dried off. Then she looked up straight into my eyes as if searching for a reason.
“My husband never wants me and I haven’t done it in so long” she continued before adding “I’m in room 2769, 27th floor. Just going to take a shower…”
I was stunned at this sudden turn around from an obviously shy girl. I stood there thinking as I watched her walk out.
I decided to take a shower myself since I didn’t want to stink of chlorine so headed back to my room. As I stood beneath the spray my mind wandered to my new friend, wondering if she was thinking of me. The thought of Sharon soaping her body sent heat to my groin and I felt myself rising rapidly.
“Was she shaven” I thought, “or hairy… maybe just a landing strip? What about those boobs… did she have large areolas, small, pointed?”
These and a hundred other thoughts ran through my mind and I unconsciously dropped my hand to my engorged organ and started stroking it. I stopped myself before the main event. My cock was getting slick with pre-cum and I didn’t want to overdo it until I took Sharon up on her obvious invitation.
I dried off then threw on a t-shirt and shorts. I didn’t bother with underwear because it wasn’t necessary given the situation but felt in my back pocket to check the little packet was there. I love the feel of my cock entering a willing and wet lover, the thrilling sensation as I pushed apart their inner walls and slide my 7 inches into them. At the same time I’m not stupid and would prefer a vacation without the surprise 8 months later.
On the way up in the elevator I was already getting hard and hoped I wasn’t showing too much already. Despite knowing that I’d be fully naked and rock hard soon, I didn’t want to seem too eager. I found Sharon’s room without any problems and was about to knock so as not to surprise her again but noticed the door was very slightly ajar. Speculating whether I should have followed her up earlier, I opened the door further and poked my head in.
“Oh hi,” she spoke with a big smile “I was looking forward to enjoying a steamy hot shower with you but we can save that ’til later.” Sharon’s smile changed to a mischievous grin, all sense of shyness had disappeared and I reckoned it was the location. After all we’re all more confident in familiar territory.
Thinking ahead I hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside before I slipped in and shut the door then walked over to Sharon who was sitting on the bed brushing her short hair. She was wearing a plain t-shirt that just reached the top of her thighs and from my position, nothing else. I stopped next to her and gazed down. I couldn’t see down her top but her medium-sized breasts pushed against her t-shirt with a faint trace of nipple. She was also wearing bikini bottoms that were obviously hidden from view earlier.
Finished with her hair she stood up and leaned in close, taking my hand in hers.
“I’m glad you came up… I’ve been so lonely” she whispered, our heads close, almost touching.
Without answering I raised my hand and pushed back some loose strands of hair from her face then holding the back of her head, drew her into me. Kissing softly, I felt her hand lightly touch my side and I curled my other arm round her pulling her in. Our bodies were tight against each other now and every touch made me tingle, my manhood rising beyond accepted limits. Sharon’s arm copied mine and our kiss grew fiercer, mouths open, tongues clashing as our passion intensified.
I could feel Sharon starting to explore, the hand round my waist slipped under the loose fabric of my t-shirt to stroke my bare skin. Working its way downwards I felt her hand tight between my shorts, going for my ass. To encourage her I gave her own ass a pinch and stretched my hand over one of her cheeks, teasing the edge of her bikini bottoms.
Moaning, her body tightened for a moment and then relaxed. To my surprise I found a hand on the waistband of my shorts, gripping it intently. We parted and looked deeply into each others eyes then pushing me away she gave me a wicked grin and said simply “I want you to tease them off for me.”
“Your wish is my command” I replied, smiling back.
As I stood at the end of the bed, I watch her climb in and prop herself up. Looking at me enquiringly and grasping the hem of her t-shirt she asked innocently, “Shall I take this off?”
I nodded and watch with my mouth agape as she strips off the top in one easy motion and settles back, staring at me fixatedly. I couldn’t do anything for a minute or two but stare back at her exposed chest and was snapped back to our own private reality when she spoke with an urgent need in her voice.
“Do something, or speak to me Neil…”
More nervous now with the unexpected command and not wanting to upset Sharon I move my hips in a circular motion, aware that I’d never done anything like this before. I pulled of my own t-shirt and tossed it to the floor and again I felt her eyes on my chest as I began unbuckling my belt. Running my hands down my chest (and feeling quite silly) I thrust my hips in her direction and continued to gyrate my body.
I popped the button on my shorts and let them drop to the floor. Sharon’s eyes widened as my cock sprang free; her hand disappearing under the covers. With my privates swaying between my legs, I walked over to her and whipped back the sheets. Immediately her other hand wrapped itself around my shaft and began tugging it gently. The sight of Sharon’s hand in her bikini pants rubbing herself and the feel of her other hand gliding slowly up and down made my cock twitch in anticipation.
Leaning forward, Sharon kissed the tip of my dick as her hand drifted down to the base. Curling my hand round the back of her head I encouraged her further needing her now as much as she needed me. Her tongue circled over my foreskin and dipped into the opening. Her fingers danced around my balls as she took me in then pulled back.
I could see my pre-cum juices glistening on her lips as she looked up at me and smiled. I moved in as her lips opened and her eyes closed. There was nothing soft about the kiss; it was a full open-mouthed and tongue clashing affair. Kissing like two frenzied lovers. We half fell back onto the bed, my lips crushing Sharon’s as we writhed together in near ecstasy.
The kiss had pushed us from nervous new partners to a madly passionate couple desperate for a good seeing to. In the melee my hand found hers as she frantically tried to remove her bikini bottoms. Finding the tie at her hip, I pulled the knot open and drew the fabric away. Sharon gave a loud moan as the bikini grazed along her open wet pussy and across her clit on its way to the rest of my clothes.
With one leg raised her pussy was revealed, moist, shaved and open. I was so hard I plunged straight in. No gripping of my cock to manoeuvre into her wet hole, I was in, hard and fast. We moaned together as I sank my full length into her, hands clutching my back as my thick cock pushed apart her soaking folds.
As soon as I was in I was pulling out, leaving an empty void within her only to be filled seconds later as I shoved in a second time. This time Sharon screamed with pleasure and gripped my ass to pull me in more. With every thrust I sped up, my cock pounding her pussy. I felt her leg hook over me, her legs closing and pussy tightening up but by then we were too far gone.
I’m not sure who came first but everything just exploded as we both reached the point of no return. Sharon quaked beneath me as her orgasm washed over her, juices pouring down my shaft and drenching my pubic hair. My balls tingled as I pushed one last time into her as my seed squirted into her womb.
Exhausted and worn out we collapsed into each other as we were, my cock shrinking inside her amidst the mixing pool of juices. We looked deep into each others eyes then kissed gently.
“Thanks…” whispered Sharon, still trying to catch her breath.
Suddenly it hit me and I mentally chastised myself for my sloppiness. I had planned so carefully and been prepared but I’d let my lust get the better of me.
“Condom…” I muttered as the feeling of dread continued to grow in my stomach.
“It ok…” she replied, “I take tablet…”
I smiled with relief and kissed her again, the alarm vanishing in an instant. At least one of us had the foresight to think things through clearly and I was glad Sharon had pre-planned as well so at least no harm had come from our unprotected sex. I just had to make sure it didn’t happen again.
As we drifted off to sleep I wondered where this new adventure might take us…
His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn’t see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I’ve worn this band for fifteen years.
Then her thigh moved insistently against his crotch, pressing and rubbing his swelling flesh through the suddenly tight denim of his jeans. Her teeth were nibbling their way down his arm, little bites of exquisite pressure, until she suddenly paused to rip open his pinpoint oxford shirt with both hands, driven by a hunger that sent the buttons flying in all directions. I’m forty-one; she’s eighteen. His nipple was under assault of an impatient, demanding tongue, and suddenly he jerked involuntarily, driving his crotch against the young, firm thigh that was writhing up and down his denim-imprisoned cock.
He kept his eyes shut tight.
She was kissing them, his cheeks, his lips. Her tongue, warm and restless, slipped into his ear as she shifted her body weight and he felt a hand tugging away at the button and zipper of his jeans. He was trembling, uncertain, but when that little hand closed on his cock, squeezing it tight, he felt blood surge into his shaft, imprisoned by her fingers.
The warm flesh of a firm young breast pressed against his face, and groaning in surrender, his tongue reached out to catch a nipple. His lips followed, closing around it, teeth holding the hot bud as his tongue flicked across her hardened nipple. His cock was aching, still crushed in her relentless grip, straining against her fingers. The her voice, a warm exhalation of need, murmured into his ear: “Fuck me, daddy. I need a real cock in this tight cunt.” He felt warmth and softness and wetness envelop the head of his cock; he knew as his body yielded all control to this teen that his thick shaft was sliding into the tight, hot depths of an eighteen-year-old girl. He knew that in moments her tight cunt would clench his cock and drive him over the edge, to be filled with the heady rush of his thick, hot cum.
“You’re home late,” she greeted him. She had been drinking; there was a familiar combative look in her eye. Does she know? In her hand, the chef’s knife shredded the onion on the cutting board with cool, precise movements.
“Yes. Sorry. I had to interview applicants to take over Sonia’s job. We’re screwed: they are all kids with no experience.” He felt blood rush into his cheeks: “screwed” was the wrong word choice. He was acutely aware that cock felt sticky in his jeans. Julie, his wife, didn’t even look at him. Since she had started her new job—a job that paid her considerably more than he had ever earned—she had grown distant. Their kids were away at boarding school, and now their evenings were filled with dead-end, one-way comments until the alcohol they both drank took hold and both stopped trying to maintain the pretense of conversation.
Watching Julie, he noticed the unmistakable hardness of her nipples pressing against the silk of her top each time the knife sliced down to the board. Her nipples were always hard; what surprised him now was the obvious absence of a bra. She must have come home early and been drinking for quite some time, enough to relax her usual attire to slip off her bra. He felt intensely guilty and awkward as he recalled years earlier watching her remove her bra while wearing a shirt—a release of a clasp, a wriggle of elbows and then the weight of her breasts pressing against her shirt. Then, it had been a prelude to his exploring her body. Now the thought burned in his cheeks as he recalled another’s whispered words: “Fuck me, daddy.” He shivered and opened the fridge, helping himself to a beer with relief.
The chef’s knife stopped, and he heard the sizzle of diced onions in olive oil in the pan on the stove.
His body was shaking now, a movement he struggled to control as he swallowed half a beer in a long, desperate gulp. He was on the other side of the kitchen island now, across from her, and her face was hidden behind the hood over the stove. His eyes were drawn again to her breasts, swaying now as she stirred the onions with a wooden spoon. As he watched, he caught glimpses of the bare sides of her breasts as she stirred. Beside her, on the island, he noticed an open bottle of Shiraz, empty except for the last two inches. Something was on her mind. He realized he was sweating despite the chill of the air-conditioned room and moved away, walking into the adjoining den to steady himself.
“You’ve been keeping long hours all week, Ethan,” she said, her voice carefully controlled. He heard the sizzle of meat in the pan, and realized with detachment that she was making her version of Steak Diane. He thought of her breasts again, those nipples pressing hard against the silk, but the thought was overwhelmed by the sudden memory of a young breast, firm and hard, filling his mouth an hour earlier.
He sat down in a recliner and finished his beer in a long second gulp. “Yes.” He steadied his voice and tried to purge the thought of a young cunt squeezing his cock tight, a cunt that had left the stickiness behind that now coated his cock. “We’ve been slammed, so I’ve had to hold some of the interviews after hours.” His voice was alien, tight, and hollow.
Looking up, he saw her in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. She held a nearly empty wine glass in one hand in a relaxed grip at the side of her leg, while her other hand crossed her body and was tucked under her arm. This had the consequence of causing her shirt to gape in front, but she seemed wholly unaware of the hard, dark nipple that came into view. Despite his fear and the guilt burning in his cheeks, he felt his cock swell again. It tugged against his boxers, caught where the mingled juices of sex had dried onto the cotton. She walked deliberately towards him, dropping her arm and raising the wine glass. He felt her eyes register his erection with no apparent interest, then look intently into his own.
Holding his eyes with hers, she knelt in unhurried fashion in front of him, just as she had used to do years ago as a prelude to taking his cock into her mouth. The difference now was the analytical coldness of her eyes, a coldness lessened only a bit by the glow of wine. Still holding his eyes with hers, she lowered her head to within inches of his cock. His own eyes broke away, unable to withstand the intensity of her gaze, and they fell to the beckoning view of her breasts hanging free and full within the wispy silk of her shirt. He closed his eyes, this time out of fear. Every inch of his body was taut, and he was aware that he was holding his breath. In the silence he heard her inhale, slowly and deeply. He could almost feel the warmth of her face as it hovered about his crotch.
His eyes flickered open and found hers staring at his as before, her head mere inches above his cock, and a curious light now gleaming in her eyes. “I thought so,” she murmured to no one in particular. The she was gone, back to tend to the steaks that she was searing on the stove.
The long, hot shower had done little to relieve either the guilt he felt or the horniness that seemed to burn against or feed off of that guilt. As Ethan washed away the scent of teenage pussy, he relived the image of his wife’s breasts in his mind. His cock was half-hard when he stepped out of the shower, and he was surprised to find his wife waiting for him with two wine glasses in her hands. A newly opened bottle of Shiraz sat on the bathroom counter by a single, lit candle. Julie was wearing only a small, black nightgown, a dark cascade of black ruffles that barely covered her still-shapely bottom. He reached for a towel to cover his now growing erection as she handed him the wine.
There was warmth and desire in her eyes, something he had not seen for months. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of this knowledge that made the Shiraz taste oddly sweet, but after the first sip she was pressing her body against his, and his towel slipped to the floor as she kissed his lips passionately. Dazed, he kissed back, following her when she broke away and led him into the bedroom. Their four-poster bed had been witness to long and exhausting nights of passion before, but none in the last few months. But now she led him there and climbed up, tucking her knees under her.
He sat beside her, balancing his wine glass as he sat down and surprised yet again when she reached her hand over to gently grasp his cock. “You need to catch up to me,” she said, raising her glass before taking a deep draught of the blood-red wine. He needed no second hint, draining his glass in one swig and delighting in her playful bounce as she sprang from the bed and went back into the bathroom to retrieve the bottle. When she returned, though, the nightgown was gone and he was staring for the first time in months at her still splendid body. Her breasts were full and swollen, a sign of her arousal, but he was surprised to see that she had completely shaved her pussy, leaving her pouty pussy lips exposed.
He was still processing this as she kissed him again from where she stood, deep and passionate, and then refilled his glass. “That was impressive, baby. You’d think you were horny or something.” Her voice was low and seductive, an electric murmur. He smiled, feeling blood surge back into his cock. As it jerked in the air, she laughed, the first genuine laugh she had made in months. “Watch this, honey!” he raised the glass to his lips again, draining the second glass in seconds. With a shiver he shrugged off the abrupt power of the wine, and enjoyed her smiling reaction. Her hands were on his cock again, now slowly jerking it.
“You’ve always loved handjobs, haven’t you, baby? Like the one on that Valentine’s date, when we snuck into that art-house screening of Last Tango in Paris. . . . I’ll never forget the feel of your hot cum hitting my face. I was so shocked. Just stunned that any guy could shoot cum that far since that was the first handjob I had ever given.” Her hand was gripping him firmly, not as hard as a recent eighteen-year-old hand, but nevertheless delicious in its sensation. All he could do was moan and close his eyes.
His eyes seemed heavy now, as though a day of unexpected sexual activity had suddenly exhausted them. He tried to open them again, to watch her hand jerk his cock, but the effort seemed too much. He lay down on the bed, his head settling onto a pillow in the middle. Too much wine too fast, he decided, and he tried to form an apology with his lips, but they too seemed suddenly heavy. He lifted his hand from his chest, intending to place the wine glass on the side stand by the bed, but his arm just flopped in that direction and the glass was lost, spilling its contents on the white sheets.
“I’ll help you, honey,” came Julie’s voice as if from a dream. He was vaguely aware of her hand on his wrist, then of something soft closing about the wrist. He tried to lift his arm, but something was holding it secure. Julie was atop him now, and despite his thick thoughts he was aware of the burning warmth of her exposed, wet pussy pressing against his cock. She was rubbing herself against him. Then he felt her kiss and her hands on his other wrist as darkness overwhelmed him.
He awoke to the soft glow of candles, countless candles everywhere in the room. But what room was it? He lifted his head to see, starting to roll over onto his side to get up, but then he realized something held him in place. Or rather, several things. His wrists strained against some sort of soft cord, and as he jerked his arms in rising panic, he realized that a broad strap was holding his chest to the bed. Like his wrists, his ankles struggled against similar bonds. The sleepiness drained away instantly as adrenaline rushed into his system. Should he call out? His head throbbed awfully, but despite the anguish he realized that not only was he bound hand and foot, he was also completely naked.
He heard a beep nearby and turned his head to find its source. There, sitting in a chair, sat his naked wife Julie, flipping through something on his phone. A cold chill seeped into his bones as he thought of the pictures on his phone, pictures a certain eighteen year-old had taken of herself when he had cum on her pussy and breasts and belly. There she was, naked and smiling, her pussy lips swollen, her cunt soaked, and the curving arcs of his pearly cum sprayed across her firm breasts and pooling in her belly button. He dropped his head back to the pillow, defeated. “Fuck,” he muttered, his mind reeling.
“She has a nice body, honey,” Julie said. Her voice was not angry or agitated, a fact that chilled him more. “You must have enjoyed fucking her. Did you hire her, or did you just use the promise of a job to get into her tight cunt?” She was smiling at him, and then she stood and came over to him, lying down beside him on the bed. She lay her head against one of his outstretched arms, snuggling her naked body against his. Her weight tightened the strap that bound his chest to the bed. “You know, baby, seeing her like this I think I might almost have made a move on her, especially with your cum all over her sweet little pussy. I never really thought about making love to a girl, but why not?”
Her idle hand toyed with his nipples, rubbing them to hardness in a way that made his cock pulse, too. “I think it might even have been hot to watch your thick cock stretch her tight little cunt. Did she cry out when it was all the way in?” He was silent. Then he noticed that she had his phone still, and she swiped the screen to a shot of the eighteen-year-old’s pussy in close-up. “Mmmm, baby. How did it feel to slide your cock into this? She is so pretty, too, rather like me when I was younger, don’t you think?”
“Julie, I . . . I . . . “. His face was red, burning with humiliation and anger. Julie put her hand over his mouth. “Hush, baby. You don’t have to explain. I know her pussy smells amazing, baby, because I smelled her juices and your cum earlier. Did you lick her little tight pussy too, baby?” Despite his predicament, Ethan felt his cock swelling, continuing what her nipple play had started. “Julie,” he began again, but this time she as she shushed him she got up and picked a terry cloth robe up from a chair. She pulled the belt free of its loops and returned to him, smiling, climbing over his chest until her pussy was pressed into his chest and her breasts dangling seductively in front of his eyes.
“You don’t have to explain anything, baby. In fact, I don’t want you to.” When she raised the belt, he realized her intention, but he was to sluggish to avoid the inevitable: she looped the belt about his head, tying it off as a gag despite his abrupt struggle to escape it. She leaned forward, letting her breasts brush against his gagged face. “I haven’t been very kind to you of late, baby—busy working and all that. And you’ve been pissed off at me because I was working outside of the home, making more money than you. I get that, baby. And you had to find someone to take Sonia’s place, and then a young teen interviewed. I know how the vision of a young tight teenage body must have made your cock swell and your mind go stupid because my own body did that to you when we were in high school, convincing you that kisses and tits and pussy meant more than promises you made to your parents. But baby, you made promises to me after that, promises you broke this afternoon when you fucked this pretty girl.”
Beneath her Ethan had frozen, afraid to move. He had never seen Julie like this, and he had no clue what was on her mind. She slid off of him, nestling beside him on the bed as she reached down with one hand to find his cock. His body was tense, his heart pounding, and his thoughts filled with uncertainty and fear, yet still the touch of her hand on his cock was electrifying.
“Poor little cock needed some attention, didn’t it?” She was stroking it now, tenderly, almost lovingly. The suddenly the grip tightened, tighter even than the urgent clutch of the girl that afternoon. It was a suddenly cruel grip. Irrationally came a sudden vision of the chef’s knife, razor sharp and gleaming, that she had used so effortlessly as she prepared dinner. From head to toe he felt his hair rise as goose bumps prickled his flesh. But Julie was reaching under her pillow, pulling out some warming gel that she flipped open and squeezed onto his cock. Closing her fingers slowly around it, she milked his cock up and down, flooding it with overwhelming sensations of pleasure. He strained again against his bonds, wanting to hold her, but his efforts only drew the ropes tighter. He could do nothing but submit. Torn between desire and fear and recognizing his complete helplessness, Ethan stopped resisting and closed his eyes. Please, God, not the knife.
She had stopped playing with his cock, and he opened his eyes when she gently lifted his head to prop a folded pillow beneath it. Then she straddled his chest again and teased his nipples with fingers warm from the gel she had used on his cock. She was smiling that new, curious smile, and when their eyes met, she moved herself up his chest, slipping her thighs on either side of his head and pulling herself up on the headboard until her shaved pussy was an inch above his face. The fresh, warm scent of her cunt teased his nostrils. She leaned forward, her thighs closing slowly but firmly about his head, and she ground her pussy into his face, over his gagged mouth. “Don’t you want to taste my shaved cunt, baby? I shaved it just for you.” Her voice was low, breathless. His mouth watered behind the gag, and when part of his tongue managed to touch a part of her pussy lips, the taste overwhelmed his senses.
She moved back, sitting on one leg on his chest, but rising the other to expose her cunt to him as she positioned her foot on the other side of his head. His eyes were glued to her pussy, to the swollen lips, and to the pearl of liquid oozing from between her lips. Her right hand reached forward to tousle his hair, an affectionate gesture from their early days of dating, but the nostalgia was swiftly ended when her fingers closed around his hair and held his head in a firm grip. “You always asked me to get off while you watched, baby, but I was always too shy for that. I don’t know why. But when I shaved my cunt bald, I lost some of those inhibitions. So baby, I’m going to cum for you right now.”
Her left hand slid down over her clit, her fingers spreading her pussy lips apart. As the hand started to rub its way up and down, he watched, mesmerized, as her ringer finger slipped gently into her pussy as her other fingers splayed apart. She added her middle finger in her pussy, and then she began to fingerfuck her cunt, slowly at first and then with greater speed and abandonment. Her fingers glistening from her pussy juices, and the sight of her pussy lips tugging at them as she withdrew reminded Ethan of his own cock slipping into her warm wetness. His cock twitched as blood surged into it.
Julie did not seem aware of him. Her hand in his hair was just a handhold, an occasionally painful one for him when pleasure wracked her body and made her move suddenly in response to the tingling. Her eyes were closed now, too, and when she pulled her fingers out and began teasing her swollen clit directly, he knew she was close to cumming. Moans were escaping her parted lips, her breasts were full and seductive, jiggling gently as her hand teased her clit. Ethan longed for one of her hardened nipples to be between his teeth. The smell of her pussy was driving him crazy; he wanted to make her cum, but all he could do as watch.
Fat Tuesday Flirt III: Flashback
All through dinner her brother kept asking if everything was all right, but Katy told him she was fine. It wasn’t true, but the truth wasn’t the sort of thing you told your brother. Instead she put on a smile and drank more and more wine. It seemed that anesthetizing herself with beer or wine was the only thing that took the edge off these days. Katy had a good relationship with her brother and she could tell him almost anything, but her problem was well into the “almost” territory.
In the parking lot he asked if she was okay to drive and Katy assured him she was, but in truth she was feeling wobbly on her feet and knew she didn’t belong behind the wheel. It wasn’t lost on her that lying was becoming a way of life anymore and falsehoods rolled off her tongue as easily as the truth. She got into her car and started the engine, but as soon as her brother was out of sight she shut the car off. Staring out the windshield, Katy realized that her not wanting to drive home wasn’t entirely about being drunk. She just didn’t want to be alone. Her husband was away at a baseball tournament with his team and that was what worried her. It wasn’t that she feared what he was up to, but what he might find out.
It had been a month since Katy came home to find four of her husband’s friends, guys he played baseball with on an amateur team, playing poker in their living room. Brian had been playing too, but he’d had an emergency call for work and left his friends there. Katy was buzzed and rather than just go up to bed she’d joined the boys for poker. She’d always had fun hanging out and flirting with Brian’s friends in the past. Unfortunately, she had too much fun that night. After Katy ran out of money, the boys started asking her questions every time she lost a hand and things progressed from there. Before they’d left, Katy had fucked every one of the guys at least once and one of them, Max, again when they were alone.
Yes, even while she was busy with those four men Katy knew what she was doing was wrong, but at the time she did not care. All she cared about was the next orgasm and pleasing the four men who seemed to control her. Their lust for her was like a powerful drug and Katy could not resist. It was something she hadn’t felt in so many years. Afterward she was ashamed and humiliated. Katy came close to confessing to Brian so many times, but couldn’t do it. Not only would it ruin their lives together, how would her husband feel knowing that his closest friends had fucked his wife like paid whore? That was how Katy convinced herself to stay silent. She would make it up to Brian by being the best wife should could going forward.
Once Katy decided to stay silent about her impromptu orgy, she became petrified that one of the guys was going to spill the secret. Three of the guys were married, which Katy knew gave them incentive to stay quiet, but the one who wasn’t, Jeff, was also the biggest asshole of the group. Every time Brian went to a game, or spent time with his friends, Katy was frightened that her husband was going to come home and tell her what a slut she was and that he was leaving. But it hadn’t happened yet. This weekend, however, was the guys’ first tournament away from home and Katy knew a lot of beer would be consumed and maybe Jeff’s lips would be loosened. She could only hope peer pressure would keep Jeff’s mouth shut.
Mind churning with negative thoughts, Katy took the keys from the ignition and walked back into the restaurant, taking a seat at the bar. She ordered a glass of wine and found her cell phone in her purse.
“Hey girlfriend, what’s up?” Mo said, answering on the last ring before the call went to voicemail.
“Nothing. I was just wondering if you have the kids this weekend. I’m out and thought maybe you could meet me for a drink.”
“I don’t have the kids, but I sort of have plans. What’s going on? You sound strange.”
“Do I even need to ask what those plans are?” Katy asked. If Mo didn’t have her kids, Katy knew that her old friend would be meeting her two young lovers. Mo had been seeing the guys for several months now, since meeting them on Fat Tuesday. It was strange, but out of all her friends, Katy would have never picked the recently separated Mo to be out on the edge of sexual behavior, but then would anyone who knew Katy have thought she was capable of the things she’d done?
“I’m supposed to meet up with Tai and Andy, but I can put them off.”
“I don’t want to ruin your night, but I really do need someone to talk to.”
“You won’t be ruining my night, there will be plenty of time for the boys later.”
“I’m at McGinty’s.”
It took Mo about twenty minutes to arrive and in that time Katy finished her glass of wine and ordered a second. As soon as Katy saw her friend she knew she’d interrupted an evening of planned debauchery. It was amazing how just a couple months had changed Mo. Before she’d met the boys, she’d been a very typical single mom in her early thirties coming to grips with the fact that her husband left her for a younger woman. She’d put on a little weight after two children and didn’t pay much attention to her appearance. Now she walked into the bar with a confident stride. Katy thought her friend had lost at least ten pounds and it showed in her sexy outfit. Mo was wearing a pink top with a low-cut scoop neck to show off her voluminous cleavage and a black bra underneath that showed through. A black leather skirt, fishnets and heels completed the vampy look. Mo’s cute, round freckled face was at odds with the outfit, but she looked good. With her auburn hair and freckles, Mo had always been mistaken for Katy’s sister, something both women found amusing.
“Look at you,” Katy commented as her friend ordered a beer. “I’m sure the boys will be very pleased.”
“I hope so. I’m still not quite used to going in public like this.”
“You look great.”
“So tell me what’s going on. Are you having problems with Brian?” Mo studied Katy’s face. “You didn’t tell him about Fat Tuesday, did you?”
“No, I would never. That was just one night. I shouldn’t have been with Mike, but it’s not I am ever going to see him again and telling Brian would just hurt him.”
“I agree. All of you married gals were up to no good that night. If it’s not that, what is it?”
Katy sighed deeply and said, “God, I don’t know where to begin. Over the past couple months I swear everything has changed. I don’t know who I am anymore. I know it all started with Fat Tuesday and screwing Mike. It’s like it unlocked something.”
“What are you getting at, hon? What’s changed?”
Katy couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes, but then if anyone could understand what happened that night with Brian’s friends wouldn’t it Mo, who was having threesomes on a regular basis? She leaned in close to Mo and in hushed tones told her all about the night she fucked her husband’s poker buddies. Katy didn’t leave out any details, even sharing that she fucked Max again after the others had left. Although she tried to keep her face neutral, Mo’s shock still showed. When Katy finished her story she sat silently, waiting to hear what her friend had to say. Her pale, freckled face was bright red and not just from the wine.
“Ahhhh…okay. Wow, I’m not sure what to say. I guess I understand how things can get out of control, but with Brian’s friends? Aren’t you afraid he’s going to find out?”
“That’s why I’m so freaked out, aside from actually doing it, I mean. He’s away with all those guys this weekend.”
“I can see why you’re so panicked. Are things bad with Brian? You guys have been together so long I didn’t think anything could break you up.”
“I don’t want to be broken up. At least, I don’t think I do. But we have been together for a long time and while things aren’t bad, they’re kind of stagnant. I’ve been with him since I was nineteen. But you know before him I wasn’t always so good. That night when we met the guys and they were hitting on us, the attention felt really good. And the way they looked at us when we flashed them. It’s been a long time since I let a man look at me like that and I’d forgotten how much I liked it. And now I can’t forget. Brian’s friends looked at me like that and I just lost control. I wanted them to want me. It was like a drug.”
“I know when we were kids you liked the attention and you were with your fair share of guys before Brian, but you must be hitting your sexual peak, because it didn’t make you do crazy things back then.”
Katy just stared at Mo.
“Did it? You never told me you did any crazy shit before.”
“Oh God, now it all comes out doesn’t it? Like I said, it’s been a long time, but right before I met Brian I found out I had this wild streak.”
“Spill it, Katy.”
“I guess I’ve been holding onto this secret long enough. If you know about Brian’s friends you may as well know this story too.”
It was the summer before I met Brian, when I was eighteen. It was the last summer I was a lifeguard at that pool. I’d been there for three summers with the mostly the same people, but that season a bunch of them moved on so we got some new blood in. We girls were excited to see who would be working with us that summer because cute guys around the pool were a fringe benefit of the job. So much hooking up went on among the lifeguards I swear by the end of every summer it was like an incestuous mess. At our orientation meeting at the start of the season was the first time I saw Zack.
I don’t think any boy had ever affected me like that. As soon as I saw Zack my heart just about stopped. I remember my palms got all sweaty and I wanted to go up and introduce myself, but I didn’t know what to say. He was so gorgeous. He had that shaggy blonde hair and those blue eyes, like the ocean. Zack looked like he just stepped off the beach in California. If you can remember that far back I probably told you I had a crush on him, but I know I didn’t tell you what happened. I never told anybody.
We went around the room and introduced ourselves and when it was my turn Zack looked at me and I melted right on the spot. I hoped he’d come over to me after the meeting, but he left with this other new guy, Barry. In the first three weeks we only shared one shift and although we chatted a little he didn’t show any interest at all. I know it’s a cliché, but yeah, that made me want him more and I’ll admit that once I decided I had to have him I was pretty shameless about it. If you’d seen the way Zack filled out those red swim trunks, it would’ve made you crazy too.
Anyway, after that I made sure I dropped by the pool whenever I knew he was working and I made sure I always looked good. He was always cool, but he never made a pass or did anything to show I was getting through to him. I didn’t think any guy was that dense. I was beginning to think I was just going to have to strip in front of him. Just as I reached the boiling point Zack finally made a move.
I traded shifts so I could work a Friday night with him. There were always two guards on at any time. The pool closed at ten and it usually took another hour or so to close things up. Although it was getting chilly and I normally would have put on shorts and a sweatshirt, I stayed in my bathing suit the whole night hoping Zack would take notice. Our one-piece suits weren’t cut like Baywatch swimsuits, but I did mine justice. My nipples were rock hard from the chill and there was no way Zack couldn’t see that, but I didn’t so much as catch him sneak a peek. But then right before I went into the changing room to slip into my clothes he asked what I was doing after work.
“Nothing special. I was just going to meet friends,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant was possible. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, y’know. I was just going to hang. You wanna hang? We could grab something to drink.”
“Yeah, that might be cool. Just let me get changed.” I felt like such a dork trying to act so cool.
Knowing I was working with Zack I remember I packed my favorite stonewashed jeans, the kind with the button fly, and this green bodysuit that buttoned up the front. God, that outfit was so 80′s, but I loved the way my ass looked in those jeans and that bodysuit was so tight. I walked out of that changing room ready to spring my trap.
I usually bussed it to work or caught a ride, so it was easy enough to just ride with Zack. He had one of those big Ford Broncos. We tried to go to a bar, but I got carded. He was twenty-one, so he just went in, bought a couple of six packs, and we went to the park and sat on his tailgate with the radio playing. It was almost midnight and there wasn’t anyone around, except for a few other people parking.
I don’t remember what we talked about, but it was boring small talk. I was working my way through a six-pack because I was determined to make a move if he didn’t. I remember thinking that as soon as I finished that beer I was going to do something and I edged closer to Zack. I gripped the tailgate tightly and he put his hand over mine.
“You think I haven’t been paying any attention to you, don’t you?” Zack said, his blue eyes cutting right through me. He’d never looked at me like that, no one had ever looked at me like that, and my stomach got tight. I was tongue tied when I tried to answer so he went on.
“Thing is, Katy, I noticed you that first day at the meeting, but I knew you wanted me to notice you, so I stayed cool.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?” I asked and immediately regretted it. I realized he was probably letting me down easy.
“Because that’s no fun.”
I know I got all red, because I always flush when I get angry. “You’ve been playing games with me?”
“It’s all games, Katy. If you wanted to go out with me, you could have just said something, but you didn’t. You tried to make me come to you.”
He was right, but I was still angry. I hopped off the tailgate and whirled to face him. “I don’t chase guys.”
“You can’t always have all the power, Katy.” Zack said with a cocky smile.
I jabbed a finger at him and was about to tell him off when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into him, between his legs. He muffled my curses by mashing his lips over mine. At first I fought the kiss, but he was so strong and his lips were so soft. Besides, he was right about everything and he was doing what I wanted. Or right about everything except me not having all the power, or so I believed.
Zack moved forward and squeezing my ass, pulled he against him. I could feel him, hard in his jeans, and he felt huge. He didn’t have to pull anymore, because I ground into him. My hair was up in a ponytail and Zack used it to pull my head back so he could nibble on my neck. That sent chills down my spine, which heated me up between my legs. My arms were around him and I ruffled his thick hair, but then I pushed a hand between us so I could get a good feel for him. He let me grab him through his jeans in my grip he felt even bigger. My breath caught in my throat.
“You like what you feel, don’t you?” He was groping my breasts, but the padding in my bra kept him from feeling just how hard my nipples were. I didn’t know what it was, but I was getting so excited so quickly. He’d really barely touched me and I was already wet. I felt like putty in Zack’s hands and it was so weird because usually guys were so eager to get into my pants that I was in the driver’s seat. I tried to pull his mouth back to mine, but instead of a full kiss he kept giving me little pecks on the lips. I wanted to kiss him, to attack him, and it was so frustrating that he seemed to be holding back. But oddly, the more he held back, the more I wanted him. I didn’t realize it, but he was taking complete control.
Plucking open the buttons, Zack pushed his hand inside my bodysuit and grasped my breast. He pinched hard enough that I could feel it through the padding and I moaned, pushing into his hand. I still tried to kiss him, more desperately now, and with a chuckle he finally met my lips, fluidly sliding his tongue into my mouth while I sucked on it. Zack wrested his hand inside my bra and his touch on my bare skin was scorching. He dragged his fingers across my nipple and it felt so good I shook. Of course Zack picked up on that and he teased my nipple mercilessly until I had to tear my mouth from his to gasp for air. I laid my forehead against his and bit my lip, but it didn’t quiet my moans. Just playing with that sensitive little nub he had control of my whole body. He kissed down my throat and chest and nuzzled my cleavage. I was aching for him and reached back and unsnapped my bra through my bodysuit.
Taking full control, Zack had me on my back in the Bronco with my legs dangling from the tailgate and the bodysuit around my waist. My bra was gone and the rug in the cargo area was rough on my back. He was moving back and forth, licking and sucking my breasts, nibbling on my nipples, and I was just rolling my head back and forth and moaning. I wanted to get my hands on him again, but his crotch was out of reach. I grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it over his head so at least I wasn’t the only one topless and that boy did look good without a shirt on.
“Scooch up,” Zack directed and I moved backward so I was all the way inside the truck. The backseats were already down, so there was plenty of room. Zack crawled into the back of the truck beside me and fell on me like a starving man. He was all over my chest again and now I could reach his package. I rubbed him through his jeans and felt it twitch and decided I just had to see it. At that point I don’t think I planned on fucking him, I’d never had a one night stand, but I wanted to see and feel his cock. But Zack sidetracked me by gripping me hard through my jeans. It almost hurt, but he forced the seam into my pussy and I cried out, arching my back it felt so good. He worked the heel of his hand against me and had me humping like crazy.
“Wait,” I said when he started unbuttoning my jeans. I wanted him like crazy, but I also didn’t want to be a slut. My hand was over his, but I didn’t stop him from slipping into my jeans and rubbing me. I’d soaked through both my panties and bodysuit.
“You don’t want me to stop. I know you want me.” He was so serious, like there wasn’t an argument.
“But…” I couldn’t deny it, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t stop him.
“You’ve wanted this for a long time now and I’m going to make you cum. And then I’m going to fuck you.”
No guy ever talked to me like that before. It might sound silly out of context, but it cut right through me. He was looking at me like I was the hottest girl on the planet and I knew that I would do anything to make him want me like that. My brain was buzzing and I answered, “Yeah.”
He put my hand over his cock and said, “Feel how hard you make me? I’ve been waiting to fuck you for weeks, Katy. It was so hard to wait, but you had to be ready. Take it out and touch it.”
In my hands his bare cock was hot and rock hard and the head was all dark. I could only just get my fingers around it and both hands together didn’t cover it. It was easily the biggest one I’d seen and I was mesmerized. He just lie on his back and let me play with it, his hands behind his head. Liquid dripped from the slit and I used that to help me jerk him off. Zack was grunting and moaning, telling me what a good job I was doing and how sexy I was. It was playing right into my need, like he knew what I wanted to hear. My jeans were off and my bodysuit unsnapped at the crotch. My flimsy panties were no impediment and he pushed a finger inside me. I moaned and gripped his cock harder. I could hear just how wet I was while he fucked me with that finger. While his finger was busy his thumb found my clit and pinned it down. To that point guys hadn’t paid too much attention to my clit and I didn’t know how it could feel if a guy really knew what he was doing.
“God, Zack!” I wailed. He pushed a second finger into me, but I was so clamped down it took effort. My pussy was trying to pull those fingers all the way in. His thumb rubbed my clit and I held onto his cock, but I was too distracted to do anything with it. I babbled his name and thrust onto his fingers and everything in my world was compressing down between my thighs.
“You’re so fucking hot, Katy,” Zack murmured. “So fucking hot. Cum for me, show me how hot you are. Show me how fucking hot you really are. You’re a little sexpot.”
“Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah,” I moaned. God, how did he know what to say? I screamed so loud when I came. I’d never cum like that before. I didn’t know I could. I held right onto his big cock and I don’t know how it didn’t hurt because my whole body tensed. After my universe compressed down into my clit it exploded outward, demolishing any sense I had. That orgasm was the only thing I felt and it was all because of Zack. He had me completely then.
Zack pulled me on top of him and I felt his cock pressed between us, scorching my stomach. He kissed me and then pulled both breasts to his mouth. My nails were raking through his hair and I held him against me while I ground into his cock.
“Grab it,” he ordered and I reached back and did it. “Put it in.” I hesitated. I wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been for a while, but the guy was always on top or behind me. I liked it a lot when he was behind me. I wasn’t ready to be on top, but Zack said it again, “Put it in, Katy. Fuck me.”
I lifted him up and pushed back. That big head open my lips and touched my clit and I whimpered, thinking I might cum again just from that. He lifted his hips, slipped deeper and I gasped. He felt even bigger than he looked. For a second I thought maybe he was too big. But then I found that by being on top I could control it and I could ease my way into it. It helped that he made me cum because I was soaked. In that second I felt him filling me I forgot about every other guy I’d been with until then. I felt him throbbing inside of me and I just lay on top of him like that for a while, adjusting to his size and letting it stoke my fires. Also, no guy had ever made me cum more than once before then, but I knew I was going to have another orgasm fucking Zack.
Slowly at first, I started moving on him, still not sure how to do it. Zack thoughtfully put his hands on my hips and guided me, helping me find a rhythm and once I found it he reached for my breasts, massaging them and pulling on my nipples, which made my pussy clench around him. I flattened my hands on his chest and pushed up, which let me take him deeper. I moved faster and felt the Bronco bucking beneath us, the springs squeaking. I thrust harder and harder onto him and when I tried to push all the way up I banged my head on the ceiling, giving Zack a chuckle, but I didn’t break stride. I was sliding up and down on his thick pole and that was all I cared about. I’d completely forgotten the back of the truck was open and I was so loud I’m sure I could be heard for blocks. Zack was grunting and saying the sexiest things, like how hot I looked fucking him and how good I felt.
Zack hammered up into me and I felt him release and shoot deep inside me, but he didn’t go soft. I rode him for another minute or so and came right after him. My hips were still moving as I slowly sank down and rested on his chest.
“Okay,” Mo interrupted, after ordering another drink. “It sounds like it was amazing sex and I vaguely remember meeting Zack at the pool once, but I don’t see how a night of fucking in the back of his Bronco was life changing. And why didn’t you ever mention that you were dating him at the time?”
“It isn’t really about the sex in the truck and I never mentioned I was dating Zack because I honestly wouldn’t call it dating. Are you dating Tai and Andy?”
“Point taken, you were just fuck buddies. Obviously I understand that, so tell me the rest. What happened that summer?”
“It started with the way Zack made me feel. I was like the hottest woman on earth when I was with him. And because he made me feel that way I was willing to do anything for him. I’d do anything to make him want me like that and I did start doing things, things I wasn’t too proud of.”
It was simple stuff at first and I didn’t realize how much Zack was controlling me. He told me out great my legs were and mentioned that he liked skirts, so I started wearing skirts all the time. You’ll remember that’s the summer I started dressing a lot girlier. That was the summer of a thousand sundresses. Those things were all the rage back then. He told me how nice my legs looked when I wore heels too and I’ve never gone back. I don’t think I own a pair of shoes to this day that has less than a three-inch heel. When I dressed up the way he liked Zack gave me the attention I craved, guaranteeing I’d keep doing it. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was creating a monster.
The sex was crazy. Zack and I were fucking at the drop of a hat, no matter where we were. A lot of the time it was at work, in the supply shed or the pump room. The pump room was my favorite because the equipment was so loud I could scream as much as I wanted. God, I remember the feel of his hands on me, peeling down my bathing suit, just like it was yesterday. Even when we hung out with his friend Barry we could barely keep our hands off each other. Actually, Zack seemed to be even more touchy feely when Barry was around, which was so frustrating. I just wanted to rip Zack’s clothes off, but I had to wait until we got rid of the third wheel. Barry was a nice guy, but I wanted to be alone with Zack. And the way I caught Barry looking at me I think he wanted to be alone with me.
Barry had plenty of opportunity to see me dressed up sexy for his friend since he was around so much. Whenever I would climb in or out of the Bronco Barry always seemed to be in position to catch my skirt ride up or to see me lean forward when I stepped to the ground. I’ll admit, with the newfound confidence Zack gave me I liked the way Barry looked at me. It was just like the way Zack did, pure hunger, and it made me tingle, just not quite in the way Zack did, but only because I wasn’t as attracted to Barry.
Things started to get strange one night we were hanging around at Barry’s house watching a movie. Barry was lying on the couch and I was sitting in Zack’s lap on the recliner. The only light was coming from the TV and my back was to Barry, so Zack was taking more liberties than I usually let him when Barry was around. Zack had several buttons on my top open as well as the zipper up the front of my denim skirt. You remember that cute one I had that zipped up the front? I wore that thing all the time in high school. Anyway, Zack’s hand was busy up my skirt while he was kissing my neck and I was so aroused I was out of my mind. I remember feeling Zack’s cock pressing into me and wanting to release it. It was getting harder and harder to keep quiet too.
“Let’s go, baby,” I whispered to Zack while nibbling on his ear. “We don’t even have to go far. Let’s just park around the corner or something.” I wiggled my ass into his lap for extra incentive.
“Mmm, I want you too, Katy. I know you feel how much I want you, but we don’t have to go anywhere.” As he said it, he flicked my clit with his thumb and I gasped, biting his neck to keep quiet. I didn’t understand what he meant. Was he going to kick Barry out of his own house? Barry’s parents were out, so it was just the three of us in the house.
“Dude, we’re going to go down to your room, ‘kay?” Zack said, spilling me from his lap as he stood. I scrambled to hold my skirt and shirt closed so Barry didn’t get too much of a show.
“Yeah, whatever, just don’t stain my sheets, man.” Barry said, eyes briefly flicking away from the TV to catch a glimpse of my breasts when my shirt gapped open.
Zack led me down the hallway to Barry’s room and kicked the door closed behind us. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me while pulling at my shirt. It felt so good and I didn’t want him to stop, but at the same time I felt weird fucking in Barry’s bedroom while he was right down the hall. Like I said, we’d been doing it everywhere all summer, but when we snuck off no one knew what we were doing. I wasn’t sure I was going to want to face Barry when we came out of the room.
“Come, on, can’t we go someplace else?” I whined, though I didn’t stop Zack from throwing my shirt on the floor. My skirt was very easy to remove too and in my bra and panties I was hardly going to run from the room.
“We don’t need to go anywhere else. There’s a perfectly good bed right here.” As if to prove his point, Zack pushed me backward on it and stood over me while he pulled off his own clothes. That wonderful cock was standing straight out and I couldn’t help reaching for it. He stared down at me with lust-clouded eyes and I took him in my mouth. God, I couldn’t resist him. I sank down, relaxing my throat and my eyes never left his.
Over the time we’d been together I’d gotten really good at sucking Zack, even though he was so large and I beamed with pride every time he told me how no other girl had been able to suck him like I could. My hair was so long back then, it hung halfway down my back, and he wrapped it around both hands and thrust into my mouth as I greedily sucked him in. Zack was the first guy I really wanted to cum in my mouth.
Zack pulled his dripping cock from my mouth and I gave it a last kiss before he pushed me onto my back again and laid on top of me. He pulled my bra straps from my shoulders and then folded it down so he could attack my breasts with his mouth. He caught my nipples in his teeth and drew on them until I wanted to scream. It hurt a bit, but then his tongue was there, all soothing and slick. I was biting my lip hard and hoping that Barry had the TV too loud to hear anything. But then Zack kissed his way down between my legs and pulled off my panties and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet.
Lifting my legs over his shoulders, Zack spread me open and flicked his tongue inside me. I arched my back and pushed at him while pressing my hand over my mouth. Even so, my cries sounded so loud to me. He kept busy in my pussy, lapping with wide strokes and then focusing all his attention on my clit until it pulsed, ready to explode. That boy’s silver tongue was even better in my pussy than it was with words. My whole body was convulsing as my orgasm was just about there. Zack stared up at me, between my legs, his eyes willing me to cum for him.
“Come on, Katy, let loose. I want to hear you scream,” he said, his fingers now assisting in driving me crazy. He lapped at my clit between words.
“I…I…I…can’t. Barry…” I gasped.
“Yes, you can. Let him hear you. Let him hear you scream. I know you like the attention. I know you love to be sexy, so let him hear how fucking sexy you are. Let him hear it, Katy!”
“I…I…” Who was I kidding? The train was too far down the track and I needed to cum so badly and there was no way I was going to do it quietly. Especially after what Zack said. I thought about Barry out in the living room and the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t aware. I could just imagine him with a hard on in his pants thinking about his friend fucking me right down the hallway. Yes, I wanted him hard when he thought of me. I wanted him to hear me scream and cum in his pants.
“Oh fuck yes!” I screamed, grabbing Zack’s head and forcing his face between my legs. His mouth was locked over me and I didn’t care if he passed out. “GOD! Yeahyeahyeahyeah…oh Zack! Oh fuck! Right there! Right there, baby!” Not only am I sure Barry heard me, but everyone on his block must have too.
After I came, Zack got me on my hands and knees and fucked me hard. I screamed just as loud as before, maybe louder, knowing I was doing it for Barry’s benefit. When we left his bedroom I held my head high and Barry had a pillow over his lap. The way that boy looked at me made me feel dirty and sexy all at the same time and I wanted to jump him for it. I wasn’t suddenly attracted to him, it was just that look he gave me.
Over the next few weeks, things got weirder and I can’t believe I didn’t realize Zack had a plan. I was probably just too caught up in things to care. There’s a night in particular that seemed to be another big turning point.
Zack, Barry and I went out to a bar downtown, one of those wild, Coyote Ugly-type places and things did get crazy. I had no problem getting served and the beers kept coming. You know how I get when I’ve had a few too many and that night was no exception. I danced on the bar with the bartenders without a thought to how short my sundress really was. The guys were clapping and shouting things and I knew how sexy they all thought I was and I was in the zone. When they asked for my bra to hang up behind the bar I didn’t even hesitate, despite the fact that my sundress was so thin it was almost sheer. Do you remember the blue one I had with the spaghetti straps and little white polka dots? Zack loved the way it clinged to me so I wore it for him all the time. I was wearing a fancy strapless bra underneath, which was good since everyone in the bar saw it. I got a standing ovation when I whipped it out from under my dress and hopped down from the bar. God, I remember how tight everything was back then. My nipples poked right through that thin dress, but my breasts bounced so perkily. Zack was smiling with great satisfaction and Barry looked like he wanted to just bend me over the bar. I was so damn horny.
We stumbled out of the bar sometime around last call and Zack tossed his keys to Barry, telling him to drive. I don’t know that Barry was anymore sober than either one of us, but that wasn’t what was on Zack’s mind anyway. I was surprised, but pleased when Zack joined me in the backseat. We were barely out of the parking when I jumped all over Zack. My one hand was under his shirt, I loved feeling his hard chest, while my other gripped his neck to bring his lips to mine. I shoved my tongue in his mouth and Zack moved his hand from my ass up to my breast. By that point I was used to light fooling around in front of Barry so I didn’t pay him any mind.
“Damn, that got you all fired up, didn’t it?” Zack whispered while kissing my neck. I just nodded, too busy moaning to answer verbally. I also wasn’t paying attention to the fact that Barry wasn’t driving anywhere in particular. “You were the hottest fucking girl in there. Every guy in that bar wanted to fuck you, Katy.”
“Mmm, Zack,” I groaned, my pussy throbbing. I took his hand and moved it down below, pushing my dress back down to cover it. My panties were stuck to my pussy and Zack pushed them between my swollen lips, scrapping my clit. I moved my hips at him, but Zack took his hand away, returning to tease my breasts. He left my dress hiked up and I had to pull it down.
Zack flicked open a couple buttons on my dress and slipped the strap from my shoulder. I protested, now concerned that Barry was up front, but Zack kissed me and persisted. His hand nudged against mine and as my resolve melted away my dress inched lower. “He’s driving, he’s not even paying attention. And even if he was, you’ve got a sexy body, why do you care if he sees it? You love to show off.” God help me, but he was right. Zack pulled down the other side of my sundress too and it fell around my waist. I felt so exposed. My eyes flicked to the front and I saw Barry was barely paying attention to the road. He’d tilted the rearview mirror so he could watch the action in the backseat. A thrill ran through me knowing he was watching.
I threw my head back and moaned when Zack lowered his mouth to my breasts, licking and sucking both puffy nipples. It felt like he was trying to kiss every one of the freckles dusting my breasts. I only made a token effort to keep silent and my eyes kept flicking to Barry, who was watching our every move.
In no time I was on my back on the seat with my sundress around my waist and my panties tossed into the front seat. The last part I thought was excessive on Zack’s part. My high-heeled sandals dug into the headliner and Zack pounded his cock into me while I screamed in ecstasy. In the mirror I could see Barry only had one hand on the steering wheel while his other was quite busy elsewhere. It was awkward in the backseat, but that didn’t stop us from going at it like animals. When I was just about to cum, Zack changed positions and I couldn’t help my groan of frustration. He pulled me on top, allowing me to straddle his lap and ride him as hard as I liked, which pleased me greatly. I don’t know how Barry didn’t drive off the road that night, but then I was cumming so hard I don’t know that I would’ve noticed. When we finished I took my time getting dressed.
The weird thing was, Barry never made any mention of the things he witnessed. Not hearing me screaming from his bedroom or watching me fuck Zack. From that day in his house, Barry looked at me like all he could think about was doing me, but he never came on to me or said a word. It was a relief, in a way, because I didn’t know what I would have done if he cornered me when we were alone.
Something did happen with Barry that summer, but it wasn’t when Zack wasn’t around. Actually there were several people around. Every summer at the end of the season the lifeguards held a party at the pool after hours. Since we all had keys, it was sort of unofficial. The owners let it go as long as we stayed out of any real trouble. People got wasted and passions that had been simmering all summer boiled over and that party was no exception. There were seven of us there and although we started the evening all drinking together, when it got later we broke into smaller groups.
I’ve got to admit I was looking forward to getting around that pool and not be in my red one-piece. It was a normal lifeguard bathing suit. I knew my bikini would be a lot more flattering. I started the evening in my bikini top and cut-offs, but when I went for my first swim I dumped the shorts and never put them back on. I was wearing this awesome flame bikini I had. It was so 80′s, but I looked hot in it! As I stretched out on a lounge with a beer in my hand I noticed my stiff nipples had the full attention of the three guys around me. Hanging out with Barry, Zack and I was this other seventeen-year-old kid named Seth. He was tall and skinny, with a thick mop of curly hair and I new he’d been nursing a crush on me all summer, but it just wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t have been less my type. At the other end of the pool were Suzie and Ron, who’d been crushing on each other all summer long, and Nicole a sweet girl who was the third wheel in that group. After a while Nicole took the hint and told Seth she was ready to go. Since she was his ride and no one else was offering Seth was forced to go too, so he took one last wistful look at me and said his goodbyes.
Once Suzie and Ron were alone at the other end of the pool they were all over each other. It was like the three of us weren’t there and as we watched them Zack came closer, sitting on the side of my lounge. Suzie was a cute little thing, barely over five feet with a tiny figure and long blonde hair she looked like a china doll. I have no idea how she stayed so pale working at the pool all summer. I had a deep tan by the end of August myself. Suzie was on her back on a lounge and Ron was gradually moving on top of her while pulling her pink bikini top down so he could grope her. It was different to watch than to be watched, but I still found it a turn on and reached over and started caressing Zack’s chest. Ron moved down from kissing Suzie and I could hear him slurping her small breasts over the quiet sounds of the pool. Barry was watching them closely, which I guess meant that he was an equal opportunity voyeur. As he watched Ron work his hand into Suzie’s bikini panties I felt a little jealous that someone else had Barry’s attention. I had a way better body that Suzie!
Letter from the author: This is a story of an older unfaithful promiscuous woman who loves sex and is not ashamed of it. If you don’t like this or have a moral issue with this, please move on to another story.
Addison returned home to her boring sex life after her trip to Arizona, and was not too happy about it. Brett was all over her at the office but it was a small firm and finding a place to do those kinds of things was virtually impossible. Brett kept hounding her to go for drinks after work, or to lunch, but Addie kept refusing. Truth was, she wanted him badly, but doing things with him on a business trip where no one knew them was one thing, but doing things at home or in the office was another. She had a career and a family to think about. However, it only took Brett a week to break her. Friday, she finally agreed to go for a drink after work.
5:00 finally rolled around and the two of them hopped into Brett’s car and headed toward a small little bar near their office. They only made it two blocks when Brett turned down an alley and parked the car. He unbuckled his seat belt and his pants and pulled out his growing cock.
“Suck it!” he demanded
Addie needed no more instruction. She unbuckled her belt and dove down onto his manhood. She slid her lips up and down on it while sucking in hard. Brett’s cock responded and soon he was at full attention. Addie loved the feel of his cock as it slid in and out of her mouth. Her pussy became wet, staining her white cotton granny panties, and her nipples strained against her old fashioned full coverage bra. She was so hot, she never thought about the fact that she could be seen by anyone who happened down the alley.
Brett didn’t say a word; he just grabbed her head and directed it up and down his excited pole. Addie had already grown to love the feeling of his hand forcing her onto his cock She had missed that this week. She just performed as she was coached, getting hotter the whole time.
After a few minutes, Brett grunted and exploded into Addison’s accepting mouth. She didn’t skip a beat, swallowing the entire load while still sliding up and down his shaft until Brett pulled her up. He zipped up, exited the alley and returned Addie to her car in the office parking lot without uttering another word. Addison got out and Brett drove off, leaving her horny and unsatisfied. That is until the next day.
Addie’s husband always golfed on Saturday, and everyone knew it because she complained of being a golf widow. She wasn’t doing anything in particular when the phone rang.
“Meet me at Red Lobster in the mall.” Brett told her. Then he hung up.
Addie asked the housekeeper to watch the kids for a while. She was sitting in the restaurant only minutes later. Brett entered the restaurant, grabbed her hand and walked her to his car. She wasn’t sure what was next. Brett drove her to his apartment and the two of them went in.
“Strip!” her ordered her.
Addison was naked in moments. As she undressed, Brett didn’t even watch. He sat on the couch, grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. There was a Sun Devils’ football game on and he watched it as she removed her clothes. He had always wanted to combine his two favorite things, sex and ASU Football.
“Suck my cock!” he demanded, never taking his eyes off the game.
Addie knelt between his legs and pulled out his dick. She sucked it to life and Brett just watched the game. Addison was doing an excellent job pleasing his cock. She stroked it with her hand as her lips slid up and down its hardness. She licked the tip and even deep throated the entire length. However, Brett was totally ignoring her. His attention was on the game. The only attention she got was when he wanted her to do something else.
“Lick my balls.” He told her, still watching the game.
Addison lowered her face to his big hairy ball sack and began to lick and suck his balls while stroking the shaft with her hand. She took great care to stimulate his full, heavy nuts. After a few minutes of that, Brett finally took his eyes off the TV. He pushed her off his lap and stood up.
“Get over the back of the couch.” He told her.
Addie walked around the back of the couch, bent over it and placed her hands on the cushions. Her ass was high in the air and ready for him. She was sure to get his attention now. Brett walked behind her and mounted her. His cock slid into her soft, wet, velvety cunt, and Addie moaned appreciatively. Brett grabbed her hips and began to fuck her hard and deep. Addison was enjoying the feelings and was anticipating Brett talking to her the way he always did. However, the nasty talk never came. After a short time, Addison looked behind her and Brett’s eyes were glued to the game. He was rock hard, pounding her pussy and not even paying any attention to her. She was just a hole to put his dick in so he could get off.
Even knowing that, Addie still came twice before Brett pulled out and shot his hot cum all over her ass and back. After recovering, he fucked her two more times before taking her back to the mall and her car.
Addie got home only minutes before her husband did. She was in the shower when he got home, and he never had a clue. Addison loved this, she was getting laid and it was all so exciting making sure she didn’t get caught.
Over the next few months, this became a pattern, blow jobs in the car either after work or at lunch as he ordered food at the drive-thru, and Saturdays at his apartment while her husband played golf and the housekeeper watched the kids. It was very exciting, sneaking around, being nasty, being dominated, and Addie was really enjoying all the new things Brett was introducing her to.
Things got even better when Addison was offered a promotion. This position would require some travel. She and her husband agreed that since they had the housekeeper and her husband didn’t travel in his job, Addison would accept. Sometimes Brett would travel with her, but there were usually others with them, and it was hard to be alone. Addison was always worried about someone finding out. That all changed one night while the two of them had drinks in the hotel bar after the others had all gone to their rooms.
Brett and Addie were sitting at a booth in the bar. The table cloths were long and Brett took advantage. He keenly slid his hand up Addie’s thigh and under her skirt until he reached her uncovered love button. Addie was not allowed to wear any underwear when the two of them traveled together. He began fiddling her clit with no regard for where they were, even as people walked by. Addie was horrified and turned on at the same time. It was all very erotic, but she was worried what others in the bar would think of her.
Neither of them said a word, they just sat there as Brett fingered her clit harder and faster. Addison tried her hardest not to let on what was happening, but the harder she tried, the more turned on she got, the more difficult it was to hide her pleasure. A couple walked by and the woman noticed the look on Addie’s face. Addie’s breathing was labored, and her eyelids were half closed. Then she looked at Brett and could see his arm moving under the table. She knew exactly what was happening. She threw a knowing glare at both of them, and hurried her husband away.
“That woman thinks I am a total whore.” Addie thought to herself.
That turned her on more. She looked around the room trying to see if anyone else was watching. Brett’s hand was vigorously diddling her clit now and she could feel her orgasm rushing to the surface. She was terrified. She was not sure she could keep quiet. The situation was so stimulating, she knew that her orgasm was going to be big. She wanted to feel it, but she feared its arrival at the same time. Just then a man sitting near them with his wife caught Addie’s eye and he raised his eyebrows to let her know he knew. Addie loved the attention, but she didn’t want to cause a scene. However, she knew Brett would not stop, so she just tried to contain herself.
A moment later, her climax was reached and it hit her inside like a nuclear bomb blast. She didn’t know she could orgasm like that from just being masturbated. It was not so much the manual stimulation, as it was the dirty, nastiness of it all that caused her erotic explosion. Addie bit her lip and squeezed her legs together as her entire body tensed up and try as she did, she could not keep quiet.
A muffled scream escaped her lips and most everybody in the bar turned to see what the disturbance was. They watched, some in horror, and some in ah, as the 38 year old lady experienced her orgasm publicly. Her body stiffened, then shook. Her eyes were clenched tight and her face was pursed like a she had just bit into a lemon, and her breathing was shallow and rapid. When Addie had finally recovered enough to open her eyes, so could see all the eyes on her. She turned beet red and wanted to hide her face. However, as she perused the daggers from some of the patron’s eyes, she also noticed there were some fans. She was humiliated and turned on at the same time, not just turned on, more turned on that she could ever remember.
That was the last time she ever let the worry of being caught get in the way of being satisfied by Brett. This young man was a genius sexually, and everything he did to her resulted in new wonderful sensations. She never again slept alone on any business trip that Brett was on. She could never get enough of him and his expert tricks.
Not too long after the public orgasm, Addison and her team were on another trip trying to sell a project to a client, when Brett took her to the next level. The client, Bill, was a gentleman in his late fifties. He was your typical company executive, a bit overweight, balding and a sexual pervert. He continually leered at Addison the whole time she was presenting their proposal. Addison was a bit repulsed by him, and did nothing to encourage his behavior.
Brett noticed Bill’s behavior and that night while he and Addie were getting ready for bed, he sparked up a conversation.
“Ole Bill has an eye for you, doesn’t he?” Brett teased.
“Yea, I guess.” Addie replied.
“I’ll bet if you were nicer to him, it would help us get the account.”
“What are you suggesting?” Addie said with a bit of disgust in her voice.
“You know exactly what I am saying.” Brett returned. “Treat him the way you treat me.”
“Are you kidding me?” she snapped. “Not a chance in hell. He is disgusting.”
“Come on, I know you have it in you. You are a whore already, what’s wrong with using it to get the account.”
“Brett! I am not a whore for anybody, just you.” She said as she walked up to him and began to fondle his body.
“You do realize how big this account is right?” he reminded her.
“You are serious, aren’t you?” she said with surprise in her voice. She stopped playing with his body. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.” He assured her. “It would be the edge we need to land him.
“No Brett! I won’t do that.” Addison said sternly.
“Ok, well if you won’t do this for me, then maybe I need to leave.” He said as he began to put his pants on.
Addie sat on the bed feeling hurt. How could he think I would prostitute myself for an account? She sat there as Brett finished dressing and left, returning to his room for the evening. Addison crawled into bed and tried to go to sleep. Her anger toward Brett soon faded, and it was not long before she was wanting him next to her. She dialed his room, but he did not answer. She quietly knocked on his door, not wanting to attract attention from the other team members whose rooms were all together, but he did not answer.
Brett knew what a slave she was to his cock, and that just ignoring her would be enough to change her mind. Addison returned to her room and spent a sleepless night contemplating her next move. She decided she would try to make him understand her position in the morning.
“Good morning all” Brett said joyfully to all in attendance as he sat down for breakfast.
Everyone replied including Addie, not wanting to attract any notice of her hurt feelings. Today was the last day of their proposal, and the whole team set strategy for the day. There was nothing abnormal between Addie and Brett until after breakfast.
“Brett?” Addie said quietly to him when she finally got him alone. “I need to talk to you about our conversation last night.”
“There is nothing to talk about.” He snapped. “You do this for me, or I will not do anything else for you.” Then he walked away, not allowing her to argue her case further.
Addie didn’t know what to do. On the other hand, she really didn’t know if she had a choice. The whole day, Bill gave her suggestive glances and Addie just tried to ignore him.
Bill offered to take the team to dinner after they finished their proposal. As they approached the table, Bill figured out a way to sit next to Addison and Brett made sure to sit on her other side. During dinner, Addie felt a hand on her thigh. Without looking she knew it was Bill’s. She looked at Brett and saw that he could see it too. Brett gave her a stare as if to say, “Go with it.”
So Addie complied. She opened her legs a bit and soon Bill had her skirt bunched up in her lap and was slowly massaging her inner thigh. One time he even brushed her uncovered pussy with his pinky. Addie couldn’t believe it, but she was getting turned on. Brett demands could make her even get wet with this old, bald, fat guy playing with her.
After dinner the other team members went to pack for the early trip home. Brett, Bill and Addie moved to the bar for a night cap. The three of them talked and drank. Then Brett leaned over and kissed Addie right in front of Bill. Bill just watched as the two of them played tonsil hockey for quite a while. After they broke from the kiss, Brett whispered in Addie’s ear.
Addie leaned in and laid a long wet kiss on Bill.
“Invite him to your room.”
“Would you boys like to finish your drinks in my room?” Addie said.
The three of them were soon sitting in the lounge area of Addie’s room. They were all just chatting when the phone rang.
“That’s my husband.” Addie quipped as she went to answer it.
As she stood next to the bed talking to her husband, Jake walked up behind her and began to unbutton her blouse. Like many times before, He fondled her body as she carried on a conversation with her husband.
Bill watched as Brett took off her blouse, unhooked her bra, fondled her nice round tits, pinched her nipples, undid her skirt, pulled it down, and played with her pussy. His cock was rock hard in his pants as he witnessed the whole thing.
“OK honey, I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you too.” Addison said as she hung up the phone.
Moments later she was sitting on her bed naked with Brett’s cock pistoning in and out of her mouth.
“Come join us Bill.” Brett told the client.
Bill walked to her and pulled his pants down. His rock hard cock came into view and Addie reached out to grab it. She alternated her mouth back and forth between the two stiff dicks as she stroked the other one with her hand. Addie got a naughty idea. She instructed the men to stand real close together. They did. She grabbed both cocks and touched the heads together, then opened her mouth wide and shoved them both in her mouth at the same time.
Her lips stretched around the thick rigid shafts and she took them as deep as she could. Both men placed a hand on the back of her head and shoved their cock in as far as her mouth would stretch. Two cocks were forced into Addie’s mouth and she did an excellent job of pleasuring them. Her head bobbed back and forth as the men jammed their cocks in. Bill’s balls tightened first and he pushed her back, pulling both cocks from her mouth, then grabbed his cock with his hand and sprayed his cum all over her face. Brett was stroking his cock now too, and soon he was depositing his load all over Addie’s pretty little face too.
The cum dripped off her face and onto her tits. Addie scooped up the cum from her face and tits with her hands and cleaned the combined juices of the men with her mouth. As the men watched, Addie devoured their cum. Brett asked Bill if they had the contract.
“Sure.” Bill replied.
“Great, as long as we work with you Bill, Addie’s body is yours, her mouth, her pussy, her ass, what ever you want.” Brett informed him.
A little later after Bill had recovered, Brett made Addison get Bill hard again. Addie sucked him to hardness and then Brett told her to get on top of Bill, who was lying on his back. Addie straddled Bill and slid his cock deep in her. She began to ride his cock slowly and deeply.
“I think you should call your husband about the good news.” Brett suggested.
Addison had done this many times, so she knew how much Brett liked that. She picked up the phone and dialed home. When her husband answered, she informed him of the good news. While she was chatting up her husband about how big this was, Brett leaned her forward and pushed his raging hard cock into her asshole. Addison did a great job of carrying on the conversation as both men slide their cocks in and out of her at the same time. She hung up a few minutes later.
“You asshole.” She scolded Brett playfully. “That was not fair.”
Brett just ignored her and continued his anal penetrations. The feeling of two cocks stretching both of her holes at once was another new and exhilarating experience. Addison rocked back and forth on Bill fat cock, rubbing her swollen clit on his pubic area, and Brett’s cock rocked her rear. She got so turned on that she began rocking so hard and fast, that neither of the men had to move a muscle. Addie was moving like a wild woman. She came once, slowed a bit, and then sped up again until she came once more. With both Addie and Brett on him, Bill had no choice but to unload into Addie when his orgasm hit just after Addison’s second one. Brett did the same when he reached his climax, filling her other hole, as Addie lie limply on top of Bill from exhaustion and satisfaction.
Bill left a short time after and as Brett and Addie lay in bed falling asleep, Addie got a nasty satisfaction feeling their cum spilled from her holes and over her leg until she fell asleep.
Addison’s team returned home triumphantly with the sole source client in hand (also in mouth, ass and pussy in Addie’s case). The firm partners were ecstatic. Addison was given a huge bonus and another promotion.
Addie used the money to take a trip to Los Angeles, where she spent a week at a Beverly Hills spa. She learned many things, mainly how to look like she belonged in Beverly Hills. They taught her how to dress, both on the outside and underneath. They showed her how to do her hair, make up, and everything else she would need to be the sexiest woman possible. She flew directly to New York and spent the rest of her bonus on clothes, shoe and intimates.
When she finally returned to work two weeks later, it was a totally different Addison. She was hot, short skirts, low cut tops, high heels. She no longer hid her attributes, she showed them off. Her attitude changed too.
Brett left the firm not long after to accept a much better job. No problem, Addie was a new woman. She flirted with clients as well as the firm partners. She was living a double life, mom at home and firm slut at work. She did the mom stuff at home, girl scouts, and little league, then she would fly off to “Take care of” clients. As long as she was in her room when the call from her husband came, she had no problems. Things went like this for quite a few years until a life altering visit to the plastic surgeon when she was 45.
to be continued…
I’ve never submitted a story in the Loving Wives category, and I’m doing so now with great trepidation. Frankly, the commentators in this section are brutal. Many, though, are very insightful and offer genuinely thoughtful comments about writing style, character development, and the like. My only complaint with this category is that much of the basic plot lines appeared to have been thoroughly explored. Moreover, many of the themes are beyond cliche. Though it may be true, I long ago tired of every poor cuckolded bastard bemoan that his “slut” of a wife had violated their marital vows to foresake all others. No, I wanted to write something different. I don’t really think I’ve succeeded, and I’d appreciate the readers’ thoughts on this.
Finally, much of this is a courtroom drama, and quite a bit of law is present. For those of you who watch too much Law & Order, I should tell you up front that the vast majority of the law as set forth in this story is an accurate depiction of the law in the State of Illinois and under the Federal Constitution, particularly the final bit at the end. I am an experienced attorney, and I have tried to keep as faithful to the law as possible.
Finally, I fully realize that almost no lawyers act as depicted in here, but enough do act like this to make the story believable. (Remember the sleazy prosecutor in the Duke LaCross Team Rape Case? Or how about all the mob lawyers serving time in prison for conspiring with their own despicable clients?)
Though I realize this is a very long story, I didn’t want to drag it out so you’re getting it all in one fell swoop. Please take some time to comment and let me know what you think.
“That was nice,” she said, regaining her breath.
Alain Broussard only grunted, too winded to speak. Instead, his fingertips traced over her distended nipples. He loved her nipples. They were tiny, surrounded by small, light pink areolae, but they got hard as pebbles when she was excited and stayed that way.
“You remember what we talked about this afternoon?” she said after finally settling her breathing. “Over lunch?”
“Uh huh,” he said, not really remembering.
“Well,” she said, rolling onto her side and facing him, “I think I’ve got an idea.”
Broussard was alert now and flipped onto his side to face her. “Let’s hear it.”
Her eyes blazed with excitement as she began.
“All right, here’s the deal.” She sat up, sitting Indian style. He looked at her pussy, the bare mound and lips now slick with sweat, semen, and arousal. He focused back on her eyes and caught the sly smile.
She gets me going more than any of them, he thought. So comfortable in her body, flaunting it and knowing how to get him aroused.
“Concentrate, Alain,” she said. “This is important, and it’ll make us a bundle.”
He shot his eyes back to hers and nodded.
“Good boy,” she taunted. “So, everyday we calculate interest. Every day. On all deposits, investments, mortgage loans, short-term and long-term commercial paper. On all of it, and we do it every . . . single . . . day.”
He nodded. “Yeah. So what?”
“Right down to the ten thousandth of a cent, right?”
“Well, let me ask you something. When you get your savings account statement, does it show the fractions of a cent? Or does it just show the actual cent?”
“Just the cents.”
She nodded. “Exactly. Your statement says, like, twelve dollars thirty-four cents, right?” He nodded. “Not twelve point three four two nine six three, right?” He nodded again, not seeing where this was going.
Her grin got bigger. She enjoyed playing him along like this, but he was getting impatient, wanting to look back between her legs. “You’d never know if someone took the fractions off of the cents, would you?” He opened his eyes, realizing the import of what she was saying.
“So we set up a dummy account, funnel all of those fractions of a cent from every single account–every single day–into the dummy account. Then we automatically funnel the dummy account balance to a numbered account, maybe Switzerland or the Caymans. It’s only fractions, but–”
He finished the thought for her, unable to contain his excitement. “But on millions of accounts every single day, it’s. . . . Jesus Christ, it’s a goddamned fortune.”
She nodded, pleased with herself. “Actually, it’s about nine hundred grand a month, give or take,” she said. “Some months the fractions will average lower, some months higher. But on average, we’re looking at nine hundred grand a month.”
He nodded, all thoughts now on the treasure about to be amassed rather than the treasure between her legs. “But can it be done? I mean, I’m sure it can be done somehow. But won’t we get caught? Who checks this shit? And, frankly, I don’t know shit about computers.”
She nodded and bit her lip.
“Out with it,” he said.
“Well, we’ve got you to cover our ass from on high. You’re a senior vice president in commercial paper, so you routinely sign off on overseas transfers.”
“Yeah,” he said. “And that raises the first problem. We’ll have to create a whole mess of new accounts, not just one. The system will trigger IRS flags on any daily transfers from one account in excess of ten grand. So we’ll have to set up, what, four or five accounts just to be safe.”
“Good,” she agreed. “And we’ve got me. I’m in audits. Not a big wig, mind you, but I can keep an eye on things there. So we’ve got two out of three bases covered. We’ve got the money out covered, and we’ve got hiding the trails covered. Now we need someone to break the computer security and program the system to do what we need.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Any ideas?”
For the first time, he felt a smile coming over his face. “I think I do,” he said. “And we’re going right to the top.”
“Richards?” she said.
Broussard nodded. “It’s perfect. He’s the best, that’s why he runs electronic security. He’s a fuckin’ genius to hear Jensen go on about him.”
“But will he do it? I was thinking someone a bit more . . . I don’t know . . . vulnerable.”
Broussard rubbed his hands together. “Oh yeah, given the right amount of enticement he’ll do it. Just got divorced. I heard him talking in the executive dining room, and he’s getting clobbered on child support and alimony. He needs the money.”
She frowned. “Yeah, but will he get in on this? I mean, we get caught we go to prison. And we’re ruined, professionally and financially.”
“You chickening out already?”
“Hell no,” she said. “I know the risks, but I’m willing to take them. And you know them, but it won’t stop you. Our chances of getting caught are slim–especially with all bases covered–but there’s still a chance. And he’s a mousy little shit. He’ll be scared off by the down side, no matter how small the chances of getting caught.”
“That’s where you come in,” Broussard said. “You see, he’s also lonely. And I’ve seen him look at you. We play this right, you’ll have him wrapped around your finger in a matter of weeks.”
She frowned, mulling over what this meant. Broussard laughed, getting hard at the thought.
“Think about it,” he said, “it’ll be like banging a high school virgin. You’ll have your own little sex slave to keep you pleased. Train him to do what you want.”
She laughed back. “I’ve already got one of those,” she said. “He’s called my husband.”
“Then what’s another sex slave?” He reached his hands to her head and jerked her head–and that wonderful mouth–to his now throbbing erection. “I’ll make sure your other needs are met,” he said, then groaned as his cock sank to the back of her throat.
Alain was right: Jeff Richards was a lost puppy dog. His divorce had caused a crushing financial burden that required him to give up half of his net income in child support and alimony, he was displaced from his five-bedroom home on the North Shore to a one-bedroom apartment further from the city, and he hadn’t been laid in over a year.
At first, she was subtle. A smile, light touches on the arm, leaning into him for his answers to her innocuous questions. After two weeks, she sat with him in the executive dining room and chatted gaily about work, music, movies, and art. Soon, she was sitting with him every day, and the conversations got more personal. When he told her how crushed he was by his divorce, she even managed a tear as she stroked his arm.
The seduction was complete a month after it began. They were leaving the office together, and she invited him for a drive along the lakefront. Thirty minutes later, after stroking his thigh and murmuring her sympathies at his continued tales of woe, they were parked in the far corner of a forest preserve parking lot, away from other cars and prying eyes.
“Jeff,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “I want to do something for you.”
“What?” he replied, confused.
She was enjoying this. He hadn’t made a move, and she knew he would do nothing even if she was stark naked beside him.
“I want to help ease your pain,” she said, her fingertips now running over the growing bulge in his pants.
He yelped, almost a squeak. “But . . . but . . . you’re married,” he stammered.
She lowered her head, closing her eyes. Her voice went lower. “I know,” she said. “But this isn’t about that. I want to help you, and no one ever needs to know. I’m . . . well . . . these past few weeks, the pain you’re under, I feel myself. . . .”
She pressed into him, hugging with one hand and tracing his bulge lightly with the other. After a minute, he hugged her back, running his lips lightly through her soft blonde hair.
“I can’t explain,” she said. “I just have to do this. You’ve become . . . someone special to me. Please?”
She unbuckled his belt and slacks, then drew his zipper down. Reaching her hand in, she pulled his cock from the fly of his boxers and stared at it. She smiled. It was enormous. Experience taught her that, unless it was really small, size made little difference in actual sex. No, technique was far more important. Still, it was one hell of a visual turn on, and she was happy to see that Jeff Richards was certainly well above average in the endowment department.
“I don’t know,” he said, his breath coming shorter.
But his body knew, she realized. His cock was throbbing with the pulsing blood, and his hips were rising toward her lowering mouth.
She took him into her mouth, sliding her lips slowly up and down, sucking in as she did so. With her hand, she firmly grasped the base of his cock and began stroking him up and down in time with her mouth, feeling his pulse quickening and hearing his breath shortening to sharp gasps.
“I’m getting real close,” he warned after little more than a minute.
In response, she picked up the speed of her hand and mouth, taking him in deeper and sucking harder.
“Oh my God,” he groaned, shooting torrents into the back of her throat.
In response, she pushed her mouth down as far as she could, feeling his release on the back of her throat and around the head of his cock. She tried to swallow as quickly as she could, but his buildup was too much, and she felt the fluid escaping from her lips and onto her cheeks and chin.
“Thank you,” he whispered as she released him and looked up. He reached into his pants pocket, withdrew a handkerchief, and licked the end. Then, as she sat up and looked at him, he dabbed the semen from her face.
“No,” she said when he was done, leaning in to kiss him, “thank you.”
Three weeks later, they lay together in the bed in his cramped apartment. She had spent the previous weeks giving him the rides of his life and planting the seeds of their plan in his mind. She knew he was now addicted to her, and he had reached the point where he’d kill for her if she asked. The time to strike was now, and she warmed him up with a blowjob.
Promising him they could use the money to run away together and never be found, she told him the plan and what he needed to do. Richards was reluctant at first, but she poured it on.
“You’re right,” she said. “Really, we don’t need that much to be together.” She stroked his softened cock. “All we really need is a bedroom and a good strong bed.”
She saw his eyes light up at the thought.
“But unless you want to pay child support and alimony for the rest of your life to that cheating whore who ruined you, we’re going to need to get far away, set up new identities, and have enough money to live on until we’re all set in our new lives.”
“What about your husband?” he responded.
“I can’t stay with him any more,” she replied, trying to bring a tear to her eyes and getting close. “He’s a bastard, cheating on me with everything that moves. Now I’ve got you, though.” She feathered her fingers over his chest, teasing his nipples. “I just want to be happy, and I need you for that.”
She looked deep into his eyes. “Please, Jeff, please tell me you’ll do it. When we’ve got enough, we can go away together.” She kissed his chest. “Forever.”
He sighed, and she knew she had him.
“Okay,” he said. “But first. . . .”
He pushed her onto her back and leaned in, beginning a trail of kisses and darting licks from her neck, over and around her breasts, then to her stomach, concentrating there.
“Don’t tease,” she whimpered, pushing his head lower.
He obliged, and she groaned long and low when his tongue started circling her clit. My God, she thought, Alain was right. He was getting very good at pleasuring her. Maybe she’d dump Alain when all of this was over and concentrate on making Jeff Richards the ultimate walking dildo.
She had seen his car when she pulled into the garage, but she didn’t want to see him just now. No need for any confrontation.
“Hello, Deborah,” he said from behind, startling her.
She froze. “Alain,” she responded, turning to see him leaning against the breakfast bar.
“Where’ve you been?”
Now unable to avoid talking with him, she put her purse on the counter and walked to the refrigerator, retrieving a bottled water and unscrewing the top.
“I asked where you were,” he insisted.
She took a drink from the bottle before fixing her eyes on his and responding. “What do you care?”
“You’re my wife.”
She snorted. “What, no girlfriends free tonight?”
His expression went from cold to hot in a flash. “I’ve told you, there are no girlfriends. Jesus Christ, there’s been no one for seven years, since you caught me and–”
“And your whore of the month?”
He said nothing, just clenched his jaws and tried to stare her down.
“Really, Alain, please don’t play me for the fool.”
“If you think I’m still having an affair–”
“Affairs, honey,” she said, smiling. “Plural.”
“Fine,” he snapped, “affairzzz. If you think I’m still having affairs, then why are you still here? Why don’t you just dump me and move on.”
She sipped her water and held his gaze. They’d had this conversation before, too many times to count.
“I’m Catholic,” she said. “Very Catholic. You know that. And what’s worse, Daddy’s even more Catholic. So I’m supposed to be the good little wife and overlook your transgressions and stay by your side.”
“He’ll never cut you off,” Broussard said. “You know that. You’re his little princess.”
He emphasized princess, and Deborah felt her blood rising. “No sense in taking that chance, though, is there? Not when the pre-nup cuts you off at the knees. So you just keep having your own life and I’ll keep having mine, and ne’er the twain shall meet.”
She took another swig from the water bottle before continuing. “But rest assured,” she said, “the second he’s gone, so are you.”
“So you’re fucking someone else?” he said. A sinister smile curled his lips. Combined with the mane of dark hair streaked with gray, he looked feral. For a moment, she remembered the intense attraction that had originally drawn her to him twenty years before. Then she thought about what a true bastard he’d turned out to be, and the pleasant memories evaporated.
“I asked if you’re fucking someone else,” he repeated.
She only smiled in response.
He laughed. “You frigid bitch, you probably haven’t been laid in years.”
Her smile only broadened. “Wanna bet?”
A look of fury came over his face and he was around the corner and on her before she could flee.
“Is that what you’re doing?” he said, tearing her blouse open and squeezing her breast roughly. “You’ve been fucking someone else? Giving it away to tennis pros and plumbers?”
She tried to push him away, but he was too strong for her.
“Maybe I’ll show you who the king is around here,” he continued, now gripping her forearm tightly with one hand and fumbling to get his belt undone and pants down with the other. “Maybe a good fucking will keep you in your place.”
He ignored her slaps and scratches as he reached under her skirt and tore her panties away before pushing her to the floor and getting on top of her, stabbing his cock toward her center.
“Get the fuck off of me,” she yelled, struggling in vain against his weight and feeling his cock pressing against her and into her. She was dry, but the loads still seeping from her afternoon of fun minimized the pain as he began thrusting.
“You’re pretty goddamned wet for someone who doesn’t want this,” he said, picking up the pace of his thrusting.
Stopping her struggles, she started laughing.
“What’s so fucking funny,” he growled.
“I’m not wet from you, you pathetic pig,” she said, glaring into his eyes and now meeting his thrusts with her rising hips.
The look of recognition came across his eyes.
“Oh yes, darling,” she said, now bucking into him. “How does it feel to be sloppy fourths. Not seconds, dear. Fourths. To be sliding around in another man’s loads?” She felt him going soft. “What’s wrong? Not enough friction? Did he stretch me out too much for you to feel anything? Because I’m telling you, it was like being fucked by a baseball bat.”
With a roar, he pushed himself off of her and pulled up his pants. For a moment, she thought she’d gone too far. Then she saw his features slackening and a dead look come into his eyes.
“You fucking whore,” he said, and stalked from the room, leaving her on the floor with her panties around her ankles and her skirt bunched up under her ass.
She bellowed laughter at his retreating back.
An hour later, Broussard was in his locked den, gazing at the images on the screen in front of him.
Why am I so mad? he thought as he watched the action on the screen. His thoughts drowned out the dialogue from the images, but he knew the dialogue by heart.
She’s cheating on me, but so what? I’ve been cheating on her for years–haven’t had any interest in screwing her for years–and God knows that even the ice queen needed to get laid once in awhile.
His mind switched back to the screen. This was his favorite part.
“No,” the slim blonde pleaded with him. “Please, not that.”
“Yes,” he said on the screen, his lips moving silently along with the dialogue. “That.”
He watched himself on the screen, his mind reliving the moments as he slowly pushed his cock into the woman’s clenching anus. His cock got harder as he heard her wailing intensify on the screen.
I know why, his thoughts resumed as he watched his screen image continue the journey deep into the woman’s tight ass. It’s because she’s mine. Deborah is mine, and it’s my job to fuck other men’s wives, not my wife’s job to fuck other men.
“Don’t worry, Karen,” he said on the screen, “the pain will go away in awhile.”
And she had to point out it was a bigger cock, he thought, trying now to banish the thoughts from his mind. He felt a twinge, worried that she was getting better somewhere else than she’d gotten from him. He felt his erection subsiding, and tried to focus again on the screen, concentrating on the dialogue.
“Please,” the blonde begged. “I’ve never . . . he’s never been there . . . it hurts too much.”
“Karen,” he snapped, “this is what it’s going to take to keep your job. Got it?”
She cried in response, and at that his flagging erection was rejuvenated.
This was his favorite. Of all of them, even Susan Flowers in auditing, this was definitely his favorite.
Benjamin Bradford was uncomfortable. Sure, he’d been to these soirees before, but he never fit in. Even with Jennifer at his side, introducing him to the bigwigs of Jensen National Bank and proudly proclaiming the success of his business and what a wonderful, sexy, smart man he was, he still never felt comfortable.
They were surrounded by junior and senior vice presidents, more than a hundred of them, and their spouses. All were dressed straight from Preppies R Us in their designer chinos , tailor- made blue Oxford button down shirts, and thousand dollar Italian loafers without socks. The women were similarly attired in breezy cotton blouses, pleated shorts or capris, tasteful leather sandals, and tastefully expensive jewelry. And here was Brad, in a pair of dockers and a golf shirt, Citizen EcoDrive watch rather than Rolex.
Jennifer neither noticed nor cared, though. She still proudly showed him off to her fellow workers, hand in hand with Ben, and chatted easily with all of them.
“Ben,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Susan Flowers and her husband Clark.”
Ben turned his head, and his eyes went wide.
“Hello, Ben,” Clark Flowers said, extending his perfectly manicured hand and giving a firm handshake. “Clark Flowers.”
Ben shook the proffered hand, but his eyes stayed riveted to Susan Flowers.
“Ben, honey,” Jennifer giggled, “you’re staring.”
He cleared his throat and tried to laugh, but it came out as a choking gurgle.
“I know,” Clark said, “uncanny, isn’t it?”
Ben nodded. Susan Flowers and Jennifer could’ve been twins. Nearly the same height, about five six, both slim and blue eyed with short blonde hair.
“See anything you like?” Susan laughed, offering her hand and shaking Ben’s.
His eyes traveled the length of her body, then turned and looked Jennifer up and down. “Wow,” he said. “Were you two separated at birth?”
They all laughed. “Makes it hard around the office sometimes,” Susan said. “People are constantly mistaking us for each other. And I think Jennifer here sometimes takes advantage of it, don’t you darling?” She placed a hand on Jennifer’s forearm.
Jennifer grinned in response. “If they want to think it’s the Senior Vice President in charge of Auditing instead of lowly little Junior Vice President me, then who am I to embarrass them?”
“You go girl,” Clark said.
“Oh honey, look,” Susan said, pointing over Ben’s shoulder. Ben turned to follow her finger as she spoke, “It’s Alain, from Commercial Paper. I wanted to introduce the two of you, remember?”
“Of course,” Clark said, turning to Ben and nodding before following his wife.
“Who’s Alain?” Ben said, turning back to Jennifer.
She hesitated before answering. “He’s bad news,” she whispered.
Ben’s eyes traveled back to Broussard. “How so?”
“Just bad news. Stay away from him.”
“Who’s bad news?” a loud voice said.
“Oh Ben,” Jennifer said, tugging his hand to get his attention, “it’s Mr. Jensen.”
“Please, Jennifer, it’s Horace,” he said.
Ben looked at the man before him, the President and Chief Executive Officer of Jensen National Bank. He was short, an inch or so shorter than Jennifer, and built like a block. He had a full head of silver hair, craggy face with a deep tan, square jaw line to match the square frame, and twinkling eyes of hazel. Ben guessed his age as sixty, but he could’ve been ten years either side of that. Either way, he looked to be in good shape, solid and strong for so short a man. And unlike every other person there, he was dressed in a pair of faded Levis and Chicago Bulls t-shirt.
“Horace,” Jennifer said, “this is my husband, Benjamin Bradford.”
“Benjamin,” Jensen said, an iron grip shaking Ben’s hand, “I’m Horace Jensen. Pleased to finally meet the man behind our little Jennifer’s constant happiness.”
“Please, sir,” Ben said, “it’s Ben. And I’m pleased to finally meet the only other man who has apparently recognized what a special woman Jennifer is.”
Jensen raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yessir,” Ben continued. “I’ve known since I first met her that she was special, but you have thousands of employees, and you’ve still managed to move her up the ranks faster than most, so I know you’ve seen it, too.”
Jensen grinned, and Jennifer tapped his arm with a fist. “Quit it, Ben,” she said, though the delight in her eyes said otherwise.
“What do you do for a living, Ben,” Jensen said, taking a sip of his drink.
“I’m a systems security analyst.”
Jensen’s eyebrows rose. “And what’s a systems security analyst do?”
Ben cleared his throat. “Well, sir, we break into secure computer systems.”
“So you’re a professional hacker?”
“Something like that,” Ben said, taking a pull on his beer before continuing. “We’re hired by companies–banks, mostly, but other companies, too–to try and break into their mainframe systems. We come at them from all different angles to see how secure their systems are. The theory is that if we can’t do it, you’re probably safe from others. If we can break in, though, we work with the company to create protocols and security features.”
Jensen nodded, thinking for a minute before speaking. “Can you wait here a minute?”
“Sure,” Ben said.
“Honey,” Jennifer whispered in his ear, “I think you’ve got his attention.”
“It would be nice,” Ben said, turning back and seeing the look on her face. It was hard to read. Was she excited? Nervous? “I promise,” he said, “I won’t embarrass you, okay?”
She nodded. “I know, baby.”
“Ben,” Jensen said, returning with a tall, thin, dark-haired man in his late thirties. “Ben, this is Jeff Richards, Chief of Electronic Security.”
Ben and Richards shook hands. He looks nervous, Ben thought. Richards’s eyes dated to Jennifer.
“Hi, Jennifer,” he stuttered.
“Hello, Jeff,” she said.
“Ben’s a systems analyst,” Jensen said. “You ever hear of that?”
“Sure,” Richards replied. “They’re hired to evaluate the integrity of system security.”
“We have one of those?”
Richards shook his head. “Just me and our people,” he said, looking back at Ben with annoyance.
He thinks his people are enough, Ben thought.
“You think that’s enough?” Jensen prodded, reading Ben’s mind.
Before Jensen could respond, Ben cut in. “No,” he said, “it’s never enough.” Seeing the flash of anger on Richards’s face, Ben continued. “Look, I’m sure you’re more than qualified. Hell, you’re probably better at my job than I am. The problem is, you’re only looking at it from your angle, from how to keep the system secure. No doubt you keep up on all the new tricks. You read the manuals and the publications, and you adjust as necessary. But there’s a problem with that.”
Richards glared at him, but Jensen was intrigued, mulling over what Ben had said. Ben knew he had him, and he waited a minute before continuing.
“The problem,” Ben said, “is that the new break-in technique has already happened before anyone could publish anything about it.”
Jensen nodded, agreeing with the conclusion. “Makes sense, don’t you think?” He nudged Richards, who now looked like a spring about to uncoil.
“Yes,” he squeaked, clearing his throat before continuing. “Yes, it does make sense. But how do we know when you’ve done it? And that you won’t mess anything up if you manage to get in.”
Ben laughed. “Because I give you a complete audit report,” he said. “And because if I screw anything up or get caught doing anything illegal, I lose my business and wind up in jail. That’s why.”
“Your business?” Jensen said. “You work for yourself?”
Ben nodded. “I’ve got employees, of course. Four of ‘em. All specialists, all highly trained, and all as honest as the day is long. Mr. Jensen, we’re good at what we do, and I recommend you give us a try.”
Ben looked at Jennifer, who smiled at him before he continued. “If you don’t want to use us, or if you thinks our costs are out of line, I still recommend you hire someone to audit your system. I’ll be glad to recommend some very good firms.”
Jensen beamed at him. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, son,” he said. He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Ben. “You call me first think Monday and we’ll schedule a time to meet and go over the specifics. But I like what I’m hearing, and I’d prefer to keep this in house. Right, Jennifer?”
She hugged Jensen, who was at first embarrassed by the sudden show of emotion. “Thank you, Horace. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”
What was that look Ben saw on Richard’s face when Jennifer hugged Jensen? Was it anger? Jealousy? Lust? He couldn’t tell, but it made him nervous.
He watched Richards stalk across the lawn toward Broussard and Susan Flowers. When the three were together, Richards started talking, and Ben saw three pairs of eyes turn and stare at him. He looked away, embarrassed at being caught.
Jennifer walked in the front door and laid her purse on the stand beside the closet.
“I’m home,” she called, hearing voices in the back of the house.
“Family room,” Ben called.
“Mommy,” the twins shrieked in unison, and she heard their clumsy thuds as they ran to find her.
“Hey, babies,” she said, stooping and scooping a twin in each arm.
“Ashley and me are reading,” Allison said.
“Oh really,” Jennifer replied, turning to Ashley. “That true?”
Ashley nodded solemnly. “The Horton book.”
“Horton Hears A Who?”
Ashley nodded again and whispered, “It’s my favorite.”
“Not me,” Allison shrieked. “I like Sam I am.”
“Well I like them both,” Jennifer mediated.
“Good,” Ben said, smiling as he walked up and took Ashley from her arms. “Then you can read Green Eggs and Ham to them at bedtime.”
Jennifer smiled as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. They walked into the kitchen for supper.
“How was work, sweetie?” he asked behind her.
“Long.” She glanced at the clock on the stove. Eight ten.
“You knew being a veep would bring longer hours,” he said. He put Ashley into her high chair and pushed it to the table before turning and giving her a soft look. “You don’t have to keep doing this you know.”
She shot a weary smile at him. “I know, Ben. I want to be with you.” She squeezed Allison tighter to her. “And with you, you little monster.” Allison giggled, wiggling as she was placed into her high chair. “But it’ll only be six or eight more months. Then I’ll have the systems down, the job down, and everyone else taken care of. Then I’ll have my life back; we’ll have our lives back.”
He only nodded before turning to pull down plates and serving the food. They’d been having this conversation for the past year, and she knew Ben was losing his patience. Still, if he could just be patient for a while longer, ten months at the outside, things would settle down and they could get back to normal.
“What did Theresa make for us today?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Tamale pie,” he said, scooping the casserole onto the plates.
Jennifer laughed. “You really need to ask her to make some plain food once in awhile. All of this Mexican cooking is giving me an ulcer.”
Ben put plates in front of the girls, both of whom started shoveling the food into their mouths. He turned and hugged Jennifer and said, “They don’t seem to mind. Besides, that’s what you get for hiring a Hispanic nanny. Mexican food and bilingual children.”
“Next time I’m hiring a French nanny,” she murmured into his ear as she hugged him back, enjoying the feeling of his arms and body enveloping her.
“No problem,” he said, leaning in and brushing his lips and tongue over her ear. “French is good,” she heard him chuckle as electric shocks from his lips went into her brain.
“You men are all pigs,” she laughed, pushing him away and taking their plates to the table.
When she sat, she winced with pain.
Ben noticed her grimace and raised his eyebrows.
“Fell at work,” she explained. “Wet spot on the floor. I landed hard, and I think I bruised my tail bone.”
She heard the tone, and saw the sympathy spread across his face. “I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Just give me a few days before our next . . . workout.”
He flashed a grin. “Okay. But just a few days.”
She smiled back and started eating.
“So did you meet with Mr. Jensen today?” she asked.
He nodded, grinning.
His grin got bigger. “I’ve got it. I’ll be starting soon, after I get done with some things and get the team together and briefed.”
“How soon?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not telling. Don’t want you accidentally tipping anyone off.”
“Fair enough,” she said, pushing her mostly uneaten plate aside. “Did you get a good deal, though?”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh yeah, we got a good deal all right. A real good deal.”
“Well don’t be too greedy, dear,” she warned. “Remember, I work there.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “Jensen must’ve spent the whole weekend on the phone. He had rates from everyone else, knew what they all charged. When he found out I was less, he insisted on a higher rate. I tried to argue with him, but he insisted. Says so long as I do a good job, he’d pay me a fair price. If he’s not pleased, he’ll pay the lower rate–the standard–but he’ll pay top dollar if he thinks the work is top dollar. Kind of a bonus, I guess.”
Her eyes went wide. “And you think you can give him top notch?”
He nodded. “I guarantee.”
Jeff Richards watched the monitor as Benjamin Bradford walked out of the elevator and toward his wife’s desk. He followed the screen as she smiled up at him while Ben leaned down and kissed her cheek. She stroked his hair and murmured something to him. He laughed, and Richards wished he had audio to go with the visual.
“Keep an eye on him,” Richards directed the man and woman sitting in front of the monitors. “Take notes. Wherever he goes in this building, I want to know it. He takes a leak, I want to know the size of his pecker, got it?”
They nodded and started taking notes.
“He’s the security specialist,” Richards continued. “He gets into this system, we may all be out of a job. Got it?”
They nodded, scribbling faster and peering more intently at the screen. They watched Ben’s eyes scan over the room while saying something to Jennifer, who was logging out of her computer and reaching for her purse. Then they followed Ben from monitor to monitor as he left Jennifer at her desk to finish logging out while he walked toward the men’s room. They watched him in the men’s room–relieving himself before washing his hands and combing his light brown hair–and watched him leave the men’s room. Then they followed him intently as Jennifer gave him a tour of her department before leading him back to the elevator from whence he came. Finally, they noted Ben and Jennifer leave the elevator on the first floor and exit the building.
None of the three paid attention to the short African-American janitor shuffle his cart into a supply closet and disappear for twelve minutes before reappearing and shuffling back down the hallway toward other offices.
Ben sat in his office workshop, staring intently at the computer screen before him. Ron Washington had hooked a palm-sized computer into the systems lines running through the supply closet, and that little miracle of modern technology was now transmitting to Jeff’s office computer. He was at the portal to the system, trying to decide how best to begin.
First, he had to select a target. Whose password should he seek in infiltrating the system? He smiled. Broussard, the arrogant, smirking shit Jennifer had told him was bad news. Well, Ben thought, let’s see if there’s any truth to that rumor. In Username, he typed Broussard. The computer told him it didn’t recognize the username. He typed in ABroussard. Again, no recognition. He nodded. This was standard. In a company as large as Jensen National, there would be any number of Smiths, and nearly as large a number of Smiths with the same first initial. It was just a matter of how many initials to use for the first name. System security rarely worried about username security; they almost always concentrated on password security. After four more tries, he finally got in on the full name: AlainBroussard.
Now came the more tedious part: cracking Broussard’s password. He thought of the most obvious method, merely calling the IT help desk and requesting a password verification. Such calls were received dozens of times a day, and help desks routinely gave them out over the phone. Still, if he was unsuccessful–or if they had an extra layer of security at the help desk, such as insisting on going to Broussard’s actual terminal and typing in the password themselves in front of him before confirming his password–Ben would be tipping his hand and letting Richards know he was already in the system.
Ben thus decided to start easy with a hybrid attack on the password. The easiest password attack was a dictionary attack, which battered the login screen with nearly every word in the dictionary until the password was found and entry to the system gained. Dictionary attacks worked well on invading home systems, where users are rarely security conscious and needed easier passwords so they would remember them in the future. Unfortunately, dictionary attacks almost never worked in corporate systems because corporations are far more security conscious. Still, the user had to be able to remember the password, so corporate passwords usually consisted of words joined with numbers or keypad symbols. Hybrid attack software is designed to deal with just such passwords by bombarding the system with millions of combinations of letters, numbers, and symbols until entry is gained. Depending on the complexity of the password, such hybrid attacks could take days to gain entry.
Ben decided to wait until after 6:00 p.m., the end of the work day, before starting the hybrid attack. Otherwise, there was a high likelihood Broussard could still be logged into his computer, and the system would be alerted that a double entry was being attempted. Though double entries are not uncommon–people frequently stay logged in over lunch and log in from a remote laptop while eating–Ben guessed Richards would be tracking such double entries, particularly at times when they would be uncommon.
Ben slipped the disk into his computer and fired up the hybrid attack software. He typed in Broussard’s username, typed the time parameters, and left his office, locking the door behind.
Time to wait.
Ben and Jennifer walked hand in hand into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. The girls had been put to sleep, and Jennifer was no longer sore. She was horny.
“How about a little gymnastics?” she suggested, nibbling the back of Ben’s neck as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“You ready?” he said, his hands unworking the buttons faster.
“Oh yeah,” she said, her tongue darting into his ear before sucking on his earlobe. She felt the shiver run through his body.
His shirt unbuttoned, he turned and pulled her close, kissing her with longing. Without conscious thought, her body responded, her tongue seeking his while her hips ground into him.
“I’ve missed this,” she mumbled in his ear as he worked down the buttons of her blouse. Done, he tugged her blouse off and reached behind her, unclasping her lacy bra while pulling her to the bed with him.
“Me, too,” he said, leaning in to lick and kiss her bare neck as he sat on the bed and pulled her onto his lap.
Their hands each went to the other’s pants, getting in the way, and she felt his hands move away and to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them while she zipped his pants down and reached in to grasp his hard cock.
Without warning, his hands went to her ass and squeezed her cheeks, lifting her off his lap while his mouth zeroed in on her breasts. Standing, he sucked her nipple in, grating his teeth over the tightening nubbin before switching to her other breast and repeating the process.
Jennifer groaned her approval from deep in her chest while arching her back and thrusting her nipples further into his greedy mouth. Ben was the best, she thought. She’d been apprehensive about marriage, worried that their sex lives would wind down into the monotonous routine of twice a week missionary fucks. But that had never happened. Rather, Ben was always hungry for her, and he was constantly inventing new ways to drive her to greater heights. Making love with Ben was never slow and tender, though he could be patient and certainly lavished her body with more than enough attention. No, making love with Ben was all about need and desire and hunger, all about trusting each other to satisfy their mutual needs. She suspected some of his time on the computer was spent surfing internet porn, but she didn’t care so long as he continued to surprise and amaze her. Ben had long ago broken all of her inhibitions about the ways two people could please each other, and she never wanted to give this up.
Ben lowered her, and Jennifer’s feet touched the floor. She stood there as his mouth trailed lower while his hands undid her pants and pulled them down, leaving her standing in only a pair of lacy white thong panties. He started kissing her mound through the panties, simultaneously lifting her left leg. In response, Jennifer put her left foot on the bed over Ben’s shoulder and leaned into him, supporting herself with her hands on his broad shoulders.
“Please, baby,” she pleaded, wanting him to quit teasing and just ravish her.
In response, she felt the thong pushed aside as a finger pushed into her to the hilt. She gasped at the invasion, then rolled her hips into his face as he took her clit into his mouth, his tongue circling the throbbing nerve ends insistently.
“Oh God,” she groaned after a minute of the attack as she felt a second finger join the first and begin sawing in and out, stretching her lips open. “Keep going.”
He did, and her first orgasm jolted through her body seconds later, her bucking hips doing nothing to remove his mouth from her soaking pussy.
The orgasm over, her legs sagged with the relief, and she felt his lips leaving her and his hands again picking her up by the ass. He turned her and laid her back on the bed.
“What’s next,” she grinned, her eyes still half closed in post orgasmic bliss.
Ben only flashed a wolfish smile in response, pushing his pants down his slim hips and exposing his smooth, throbbing erection.
“My turn,” he said, pushing her back on the bed before leaning in and again attacking her with his lips, tongue, and fingers. She was still sensitive, but his touch was lighter this time, and he spent time away from her clit, concentrating instead on her soaking, swollen labia. Jennifer watched him for a minute before she saw his body swiveling on the bed, his cock getting nearer her mouth.
When he was above her, she reached up and squeezed his tight ass with one hand while grasping the base of his cock with the other. Her tongue licked around the ridge of his head, teasing him. She felt him lightly flicker her clit with his own tongue, then move away as her hips jutted off the bed. They teased each other like this until Jennifer was sure her sensitivity had vanished, then, without warning, she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth and started pumping him while her other hand sought his clenched rosebud.
In response, Ben’s hands each grabbed an ass cheek as he started tracing his tongue the length of her opening, concentrating feathery flicks of her clit before resuming the tortuous journey back down and up. As she sucked him in deeper with each bob of her head, Jennifer felt a finger circling her juices over her rosebud before, satisfied she was ready, pressing into her.
Jennifer’s sucking increasing at the invasion. Her hand went still at the base and, with her other hand, she pulled him deeper and deeper into her mouth and throat while pressing against Ben’s clenched anus. Somewhere in the distance of her building pleasure, she heard Ben gasp–felt the rush of hot breath against her pussy–when she broke through the knot of his anus and pushed in. In response, his finger pushed further into Jennifer and his attention remained centered on her clit.
Groaning around the cock now rising and falling into her throat, Jennifer felt the rapid expulsions of hot breath increase and knew Ben was getting close. She started moving her finger in and out of his ass, circling as she did so. The throbbing increased in his cock, and she saw his sac tighten. She was nearing her own orgasm and strove to join what she knew was only seconds away. When she felt the second finger push into her ass and his tongue circle her clit with blinding speed, she exploded in a bucking frenzy. Holding him deep in her mouth, she felt him explode into her throat and fill her mouth with his salty sweet release. She tried to swallow quickly, but the sensations racking her body overrode all commands from her brain, and somewhere in the back of her mind she felt his cum flowing around his cock and down her chin and cheeks.
Pulling himself from her mouth, Ben said, “Round one over.”
She smiled. God, she really had to cut back on her schedule.
More than an hour, and another orgasm for Ben and countless for Jennifer later, they lay in bed together. Ben was stroking his right hand over Jennifer’s sweaty breasts and stomach, enjoying the look of contentment on her face.
“I was surprised at the end there,” he murmured.
“Excuse the pun,” Jennifer giggled, her eyes closed.
“I was just worried it was too soon,” he continued. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?”
She opened her eyes and rolled to her side, facing him and stroking his cheek with her left hand. “I’m never worried about you hurting me,” she said, leaning in and brushing her lips lightly over hers. “And you were very gentle–the way you always are when we do that–so I wasn’t worried this time either, okay?” He nodded, leaning forward to kiss her.
“Besides,” Jennifer said, pushing his shoulder over toward the bed and rolling with him until she was straddling his hips, “I was really in the mood for that tonight.”
He watched her face draw near to his and felt her hips rock gently against him. He lifted his head to kiss her while lazily stroking her back and haunches.
Breaking the kiss, Jennifer placed an arm on each side of his head and looked into his eyes.
“How’s the work for Jensen going?” she said, worry on her face.
He hesitated before answering, his mind on the hybrid attack that was, a mere fifty feet away, trying to get into the system. Still, he had to keep her out of this; she couldn’t know anything or she may inadvertently tip someone off.
He smiled. “Haven’t really started yet,” he replied.
“Please get going on it, baby,” she said, leaning down and pecking his lips. “This could be really good for you–for us. And I want Mr. Jensen to love you as much as I do.”
“And how much is that?” he whispered, feeling himself, against all odds, begin to harden against her grinding pelvis.
“Let me show you,” she said, slinking down his body and taking him back into her mouth, getting him ready for their first round three in several years.
The next morning, after breakfast with Jennifer and the girls, Ben went to his office as Jennifer went to her car for another day at the grindstone. Turning on his media library before starting, he smiled when he heard Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Bank start the mournful opening of “Thunder Road.” A good sign, he thought, starting the day with one of his all-time favorites.
Sitting at the main terminal, he sipped his coffee while shaking the mouse with is left hand to bring the screen from screensaver mode. He looked at the flashing display on the screen. That goddamned simpleton, Ben thought. He used his name with the addition of 123 as his password. The program probably cracked this an hour after starting.
Ben started typing notes on another computer, the notes that would be the basis of his ultimate report. These people definitely needed a primer on password security in addition to their internal security measures.
Next, Ben started navigating the system, seeing how far he could get. He started with interoffice memoranda and communications, all of which he easily hacked into. He scanned the e-mails back and forth, clicking back and forth.
Feeling mischievous, he decided to send Jennifer an e-mail from Broussard. “Hey Baby, Guess Who?” he typed.
Little more than a minute later, he saw a response. “I told you not to e-mail me. J.”
This raised Ben’s hackles. Was this bastard harassing her? He decided to take some time and investigate, but first he needed to cover his tracks; he didn’t want anyone to suspect he was in yet, including Jennifer. “Sorry. Wrong addressee. A.”
Jennifer didn’t respond, so Ben went back to Broussard’s e-mails and started delving into the history. Eight months back, Ben saw a series of e-mails that raised question marks in his mind. Investigating further, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he searched through the system, he concentrated on finding the clues. Three hours later, he had uncovered the whole trail and was astounded at the clever simplicity of the scheme. He downloaded copies of the strings of code into his external hard drive, along with the few e-mails obliquely referencing the deception.
Still not satisfied he had the whole picture, Ben next returned to the trail of e-mails back and forth that had originally tipped him off. The e-mails ended abruptly, but Ben was well aware that the massive theft was still an ongoing enterprise. Maybe he’s running it from a different account, Ben guessed, and scoured the e-mails for other addresses to search through.
An hour later, Ben was logged into Broussard’s home e-mail account. The moron had used the same password at home as at work, which left Ben breathless. How could someone so diabolically clever and, to date, untouched be so incredibly careless? Didn’t he realize how easy it was to get at this shit?
Through Broussard’s home e-mail account, Ben hacked into Broussard’s home computer and started searching. He hit the goldmine on the file marked Banking. In that file were thousands of transactions over the past eight months transferring, to date, nearly six million dollars into offshore accounts. In another folder, Ben found the passwords for all of the offshore accounts, which made Ben laugh out loud. Is there no limit to this fucking idiot’s ignorance about computer security? Given who he was working with–Ben had by now identified Jeff Richards as one of the two remaining co-conspirators–you’d think someone would have clued him in.
Ben heard a knock on his door.
“Come in,” he called, turning the screens off from the prying eyes outside the door.
Theresa breezed in with a small plate holding a sandwich and an apple. “I thought you’d be hungry, Mr. Bradford,” she said, placing the plate on the desk in front of him. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
He looked at the clock. It was four ten, more than nine hours since he’d had a piece of toast with strawberry jam. Bouncing from the caffeine high running through is veins along with the excitement of what he’d uncovered, Ben hadn’t realized how late it was or how hungry he’d become.
“Thanks, Theresa,” he said, reaching for the sandwich as his stomach growled in anticipation.
“Mrs. Bradford phoned,” Theresa continued. “She’s running late tonight and probably won’t be home until after the girls’s bedtime.”
With a mouth full of food, Ben only nodded. Finally swallowing, he said, “Okay. I’ll be down in a little while and we’ll get them fed.”
Theresa nodded and left, closing the door behind her.
Finishing the sandwich, Ben took a munch from the apple while turning the computer screens back on. Searching through the file folders for anything that caught his fancy, Ben double clicked on videos. Let’s see what kind of shit he’s got here.
The folder had individual folders broken down under the first names of various women with a number after each name. Karen 1, Julie 13, Becky 3, Susan 2, and so on. Ben scanned the list and clicked on Becky 3.
A video started playing, the camera stationary on Broussard and a pretty, mid-twenties blonde seated on a couch. They were talking, and Ben turned up the volume.
Becky: I don’t want to do this again.
Broussard: You don’t really have much choice now, do you?
Becky, a tear running down her face: Please, Mr. Broussard, I–
Broussard: Call me Alain. It’s easier–and more enjoyable for both of us–that way.
Becky: But it’s not enjoyable, Alain. No matter what I call you. I’m . . . this is . . . my husband–
Broussard, unbuckling his pants while leaning over to kiss the woman: He’ll never know as long as you play along.
Ben watched in disgust as Broussard yanked the blonde’s short hair, pulling her face to his now exposed cock. Scrolling through the video, he saw enough to know it got no better.
Going back to the list, Ben clicked on other videos. Some of the women were more than willing, but most were being forced. There was little indication what Broussard held over their heads to force them into these degrading situations, but it was something that caused most of them to give up all resistance by the third or fourth video. Only a few, Susan, Julie, and Patricia, were in more than ten videos, and all three of them were more than willing to shag Broussard in any deviant manner he wished. The others all ended after six or seven videos, by which time all inhibitions had been forcibly shed. Broussard must’ve simply gotten bored once he’d made them run the gamut, Ben surmised.
Ben recognized a few of the women from the various bank parties he’d attended with Jennifer. He knew Susan was the woman he’d met at the last party, the woman in charge of the auditing department. He couldn’t remember her last name, and the videos didn’t give it up. Still, she’d be a perfect third co-conspirator, and Ben made a note to hack into her systems and see what he could find.
Scrolling back to the videos from more than eight months ago, he looked at the list of names. Though he didn’t want to watch any more of these videos, something could be there to give him an idea about the identity of the third co-conspirator Richards and Broussard repeatedly referred to in their e-mails. He knew the third party was a female–they always referred to her in the feminine–but there was no clue about her identity.
About to give up, Ben scrolled over a named file from nearly eleven months before. His eyes got wide and he froze, afraid to click on the file. Jennifer 5. He stared at the screen for what seemed like forever but was, in reality, little more than a minute. Then, focusing on the screen, he held his breath and clicked on the file.
Rebecca Lyons pulled into the underground garage of her condo complex. Shutting off the car, she opened the door and checked her hair and make up in the rear view mirror. Brushing her hair back with her fingers, she took a deep breath, grabbed her briefcase, and got out of the car. She looked around the well lit garage, seeing no one, before striding to the elevator. She listened for footsteps and her eyes kept sweeping over the parking facility while she waited for the doors to open.
Once the doors opened, she scurried into the elevator, hit Close Doors, then pressed 12. Her body remained taut waiting for the doors to close, and she was only able to breathe normally again when the doors finally closed and the elevator began its ascent.
Nine years later, she thought for the millionth time, and I’m still nervous. Then a tight smile played over her lips. Good, she thought, because if she’d been this cautious in the first place it would never have happened.
When the doors opened on the top floor, Rebecca walked from the elevator, turned the corner, and collided with someone.
“Sorry,” she said, instinctively pulling her briefcase tight to her body.
“Rebecca,” the man said, and she almost fainted. After eight years, she still recognized the soft lilt he had every time he spoke her name.
“Ben?” She looked at him. Sure enough, Benjamin Bradford in the flesh. Same trim figure, same short cut hair parted on the side, same deep brown eyes, same faded jeans, worn tennis shoes, and t-shirt apparel sense. If not for a few streaks of gray, which she realized seemed premature for a man in his early thirties, and the look on his face, he hadn’t changed a bit in eight years.
“Rebecca,” he said, “I need your help.”
Her face tightened. “How did you get in here?” she demanded. “This building’s secure.”
He cleared his throat, the look on his face getting more desperate. “I know someone who lives here. An old client. They got me in.”
“What do you want?”
“Help,” he repeated. “I need your help.”
She studied his face. She’d never seen him look like this. All those years they’d dated, four of the best years of her life followed by one of the worst, she’d never seen him . . . afraid. She realized that that’s what he looked now. Afraid. And lost. This made her angry.
“Sure, you need my help,” she said, brushing against him as she walked toward her door. “Where were you when I needed your help? Huh? Can you answer me that? And now you want my help?”
She heard him following as she unlocked her door.
“That’s not fair, Rebecca,” he pleaded. “You know that’s not the way it happened. I was there for you. I tried my best, you know I did.”
She slumped against the door. He was right, he had gone well beyond the call of duty. And he’d have continued if she hadn’t forced his hand and broken it off herself. That night had broken her, and after eight months of Ben trying to patiently get her better she knew she wasn’t going to get better. Therapy, love, none of it was going to get that night of terror out of her mind for as long as she lived. So she’d done the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, harder even than enduring that night and the aftermath: She’d forced the only man she’d ever loved to leave her.
“Come in,” she whispered, opening the door and going into her condo. She flipped on the lights and walked toward her bedroom. “Have a seat and relax while I get out of this monkey suit.”
Five minutes later, Rebecca walked back into the living room, feeling far more comfortable in a sweatshirt and a pair of loose fitting jeans. She walked past Ben, who was sitting on the couch, and into the kitchen. “You want something to eat or drink?” she called. Hearing no answer, she grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi, popped it open, and walked back into the living room.
Ben was hunched on the couch now, his head between his hands.
“Ben,” she said, curling into the chair opposite him, “what’s wrong?”
“I need your help.”
He coughed, a phlegmy rattle rife with angst. “You’ll understand once you know what’s going on. What he’s doing to them.” He looked up from his hands and at her, the anger now flashing from his eyes and the twist of his mouth.
“Who? Who’s doing what to whom?”
His face went back to his hands before he answered. “I want to hire you. Only after you’ve agreed can I tell you.” His voice was broken and he sounded on the verge of tears.
Rebecca felt her composure, her cold exterior begin to thaw at the sight and sound of him. She lowered her voice. “Ben, c’mon, is it Jennifer? The girls?”
She heard a gulping sob, but couldn’t tell whether it was for Jennifer or the girls. Putting her soda on the coffee table, she got out of her chair and went over to the couch, unsure whether to risk sitting next to him.
It had been like that ever since that night, especially since Ben left. She’d had to force herself to endure human contact, to avoid flinching at the most casual of touches. Still, he was crumbling before her eyes, and she couldn’t think of anything else to do. Sitting on the couch beside him, she placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Ben,” she encouraged, “you’ve got to tell me what you want. I can’t help you unless you tell me.” When he said nothing, she added, “Fine, consider me hired. We’ll work out the details later.”
He looked up, saw she was serious, and began talking. Low and with emotion at the beginning, but by the end in a dulled monotone.
An hour later, Rebecca could only stare slack jawed as Ben finished telling about all of the deception. Yet, little more than a minute after he went silent, signaling the end of the tale, the lawyer in her kicked in. She flipped the latches on her briefcase, pulled out pen and legal pad, and began writing a plan.
“Okay, Ben,” she said, “you wanted my help, and now you’re going to get it.” The pace of her writing picked up as her anger rose. “And I’m not going to give you much of a choice. We’re going to burn their asses, and we’re going to burn them but good.”
Two weeks later, Richards sat across from Broussard in the executive dining room.
“We may have a problem,” he said, looking around to make sure no one was listening.
Broussard put his fork down and his chewing slowed.
“He may be in the system,” Richards continued. “There’s some strange log ins. Weird times, unaccounted for double log ins, snooping around in mundane folders.”
Broussard speared a piece of carrot and put it in his mouth, chewing methodically while staring at Richards. When he swallowed, he spoke. “Any indications he’s accessed any of the files related to the venture?”
Richards shrugged. “No real way to tell. He could’ve. The chances are slim. Hell, there are millions of files throughout the system, and the chances of just running across that one are slim to none. Still, are you sure there are no trails anywhere else?”
“Trails?” Broussard asked. “What kind of trails?”
Richards leaned into him. “You know, any communications with . . . anyone else . . . about the . . . umm . . . .”
Broussard’s eyes narrowed as he pondered the question. “No,” he finally intoned. “We’ve never written it down. Hell, we haven’t even spoken in months, in any way, shape, or form.”
Richards sighed, feeling the tension leave his body. “And you don’t keep any traces of this anywhere else?”
Broussard hesitated before answering. “No, of course not.”
Richards knew he was lying. For the first time since this had all started, he felt a wrenching emptiness in the pit of his stomach. “Just make sure you don’t,” he said.
Across town, Rebecca picked up her office phone.
“Rebecca Lyons,” she said.
“It’s done,” Ben said.
She smiled. This was going to be fun.
Two days later, Jeff Richards was surprised to hear a knocking on his door. It was only six, and she wasn’t due for another half hour. She couldn’t usually stay too late on Fridays, but he knew this wouldn’t take long anyway.
“What’s so important you had to see me tonight?” she said breezily, walking past him as he closed the door.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said, for the first time immune to her quiet sexuality.
She spun and he saw anger flash over her face. “What kind of problem?”
“Broussard,” Richards said. “He didn’t listen to everything I told him. About security.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
Richards smiled. “Because I hacked into his accounts,” he said. “Both at the office and at home.”
“And he’s got enough there to put us all in jail for a very fucking long time,” Richards said, his voice breaking with the anger welling up inside of him.
She slammed her purse on the table. “That fucking idiot,” she hissed.
“And there’s more,” Richards said, walking closer to her.
“Such as videos,” Richards said, grabbing her arm and gripping her tightly. Her eyes went wide. “Didn’t know he liked videotaping his sessions with you, did you?” He saw the look of realization flash across her face, and the grip on her arm tightened.
“Let go of me,” she said, trying to jerk her arm from his steely grasp.
“Oh, he videotapes his sessions with all of them. All twenty-four of you, to be exact. But the ones with you were the ones I really liked seeing.” She was struggling now, trying to jerk away from him, but he held on as he continued talking.
“I particularly liked the last one,” he continued. “The one where you and he plot to fuck me into helping you.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she pleaded.
“It was exactly like that,” he thundered. “I watched the fucking video. I heard you, laughing at me.” He pushed her onto the sofa now. “Is that all I was to you? Just another fucking patsy? Did I ever mean anything to you?”
She had tears now, streaming down her face. “Not at the beginning you didn’t. But you do now. I don’t see him anymore. Just you. You’re all I want, and you know that.”
Richards paused in his anger. She was convincing, and he wanted to believe her. And she was right: There had been no more videos of her and Broussard since that last one. They’d never again been together, of that he was sure. Given Broussard’s predilections for recording his conquests, he was sure there’d have been more if she’d have continued.
“You know it’s true,” she wailed. “Look at me, Jeff. You know it’s true, don’t you? Maybe not at the beginning, but now it’s true. Right?”
Against his will, he felt his head nodding in agreement. It was true. It had to be true. Because if it wasn’t, there was no use in continuing. With anything.
“There’s more,” he said.
Her crying subsided to sniffles, and she was brushing the tears from her cheeks. “What do you mean?”
“The money,” he said. “It’s gone.”
“That fucking bastard,” she screeched, grabbing her purse and flying out the door.
Richards watched her go, again unsure whether she was in it for him or the money.
Ben turned over and looked at the alarm clock. A little after six, time to get up. He rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom, relieving himself before brushing his teeth and shaving. Returning to the bedroom, he nudged the sleeping mound under the covers. She had gotten in late the night before, well after he’d already gone to bed, though he’d feigned sleep as she had snuck under the covers..
“Honey,” he whispered, “wanna take a shower together?”
She murmured in response and clutched the blankets tighter to her body.
He decided to let her sleep and went to shower.
Freshly showered and cleaned up, he was buttoning his shirt when the doorbell rang. Six thirty on Saturday morning, who the hell could that be?
He trotted down the stairs and to the door. Opening it, he was greeted by a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit, his face a mask of fatigue. He was holding a badge up for Ben to see, and behind him were three uniformed police officers.
“Mr. Bradford?” the suit said. Ben nodded. “Is Mrs. Bradford home?”
Ben paused. “Why?”
“Because we’d like to speak with her,” he said.
“And you are?”
“Detective Dale Robertson.”
“And what do you want to talk with Jennifer about, Detective?”
“Ben, honey, who is it?” he heard from behind him. He turned as Jennifer descended the stairs.
“It’s the police,” he said. “They want to . . . . Jesus H. Christ, what the hell happened to you?”
Jennifer flinched, but it did little to hide her battered face. Her lips were split and puffy, one eye beginning to blacken, and her left cheek was swollen and bruised.
“Jennifer,” he insisted, “what happened to your face?”
From behind him, Ben heard gasps as the officers apparently saw the signs of her beating.
“Did your husband do this to you, ma’am?” Detective Robinson said.
Jennifer fled back up the stairs without another word.
Ben started following her when the detective’s command to stop froze him.
“Did you do that to her?” Robinson asked.
Ben shook his head. “Of course not. Jesus Christ, you think I could hit my wife? What kind of fuckin’–”
“When did you last see her before just now?” Robinson continued.
Ben thought for a moment before speaking. “Why are you here, Detective?”
“Please answer my question,” Robinson said.
Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He looked back over his shoulders toward the stairs, then turned back to Robinson. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Robinson grinned. “Doesn’t work that way. We need to speak with your wife, and we need to speak with her right now.”
“You got a warrant?” Ben shot at him.
Robinson’s lips tightened. “We don’t need a warrant.”
“Wrong, Detective. This is my house–and her house–and we’re in it. You can’t come in without a warrant, and you can’t take her out without a warrant. You know it and I know it.”
“Okay,” Robinson said, “we’ll get your warrant. And we’ll keep someone here to make sure you don’t take off. But Mr. Bradford?” He glared at Ben, who glared right back at him. “I won’t forget how difficult you made this, okay?”
In response, Ben swung the door shut.
Robinson returned to the Broussard residence and strode into the den, noticing that the coroner’s office was jotting down body temperatures on a chart and the crime techs were just finishing packing their equipment.
“Anything since I’ve been gone?” he asked no one in particular.
“Probable cause of death,” the coroner said, still jotting notes. “Knife to the chest, bled out.”
“No shit,” Robinson smirked, taking in the puddle of blood spread out all around the body.
“Got this, though,” said one of the techs. “Thought you’d find it interesting.”
Robinson walked over behind the desk and looked at the computer screen.
“We were dusting the desktop and mouse for prints and bumped the mouse. The screen came up and showed us this.”
With that, the tech bumped the mouse and the screen lit up. Robinson saw the coroner rise from the body, then looked up and saw the same thing. Looked down, then back up.
“He’s got this place set for video?”
“Yep,” the tech said, grinning.
“Was it set last night? When this happened?”
The tech shrugged. “Dunno, didn’t check. Not my field. Just thought you’d find it interesting.”
“Oh, I find it interesting all right,” Robinson said, pulling out his cell and phoning in for computer services technicians to get their asses over to the scene.
“What’s going on?” Rebecca asked as she walked in the front door.
“I’ll give you the whole story later,” Ben said. “But for now, the cops were here and want to question Jennifer.”
“They wouldn’t say. But probably about that thing we talked about last night.”
Rebecca’s face tightened as she tossed her jacket over the couch. “Where’s Jennifer?”
“Upstairs.” Ben pointed up the stairwell. “Last door on the right.”
“You spoken to her since they left?”
He shook his head. “She locked the door and won’t let me in.”
Rebecca nodded. “Stay here,” she ordered. “Maybe she’ll be more comfortable just talking to me.”
Ben bit his bottom lip and nodded.
“Jennifer,” Rebecca said, knocking on the door. “Jennifer, I’m Rebecca Lyons. I’m an attorney, and I need to speak with you.” She heard no response. “Jennifer, please let me in. Ben’s not here, he’s downstairs. It’ll be just you and me, okay? Please, Jennifer, we don’t have much time.”
She heard padded footsteps, then the door handle clicked and the door opened.
“Can I come in?” Rebecca asked.
Jennifer walked back and sat on the bed, saying nothing. She just stared at Rebecca, who gasped when she saw Jennifer’s battered face.
“Jennifer, the police were here.” Jennifer said nothing. “Do you know what they want?” After a moment, Jennifer nodded slowly, as if in a trance. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
Jennifer turned to face Rebecca and again nodded. Then a tear started to trickle down her cheek, and she leaned over into Rebecca and squeezed her in a tight hug.
“Settle down,” Rebecca whispered, rubbing Jennifer’s back as she felt the damp tears penetrate her blouse at the shoulder. “Jennifer, you’ve got to be strong now. The police will be back any minute, and I need to know what happened. Okay?”
She felt Jennifer nod against her shoulder, then the hug loosened. After a moment, Jennifer sat back and started to speak.
Thirty minutes later, Jennifer finished her story. Rebecca could only sit there stunned, her mind a whirl of feverish activity. Before she could fully form a plan, she heard the doorbell ring and knew that decision time had arrived.
Robinson waited patiently while the dark haired attorney read the warrant. She’s beautiful, he thought, but wounded. There was something about her, a skittishness around people, a hesitation to touch. She only seemed comfortable around Bradford, he realized. Best file that away to look into down the road.
“All right, Detective,” she said, handing back the warrant. “Please proceed.”
“But Rebecca,” Ben said behind her.
“There’s nothing we can do, Ben,” she said. “It’s all in order.”
Robinson smiled. “Told you I’d be back, hotshot.” He tapped Ben on the shoulder with the warrant as he walked past, leading five uniformed officers and three crime scene technicians into the heart of the house.
The officers and technicians spread out, each going into different areas of the home. Robinson followed their progress before turning and facing Rebecca and Ben.
“Where’s Mrs. Bradford?” he asked.
“Upstairs,” Ben said.
“Will she be joining us?” He directed this question at Rebecca.
“No, she won’t be joining us,” Rebecca said. “She’s had a very traumatic time, and she’s better off resting.”
“You know,” Robinson said, knowing he was wasting his breath, “if she’d just answer a few questions, we’d be able to leave these people alone.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No go, Detective. You should be advised right now that Mrs. Bradford is represented by counsel–me–and she won’t be answering any questions unless I’m there. Okay?”
Robinson nodded while willing his blood pressure to go back down. Goddamned lawyers.
“Detective,” he heard from his right. Glancing that way, he saw a technician striding in from the garage with a camera held up.
“Right here,” he said, showing Robinson the picture on the digital camera. “Just like we thought.”
Robinson looked at the picture and, sure enough, there it was. Along the driver’s side door was a long scratch through the paint and to the metal running for nearly the length of the door. He smiled. Gotcha, Mrs. Bradford.
“Alfaro,” he called out.
“Yeah,” a uniformed sergeant replied from the other room.
“You’re in charge here ’til I get back, okay?”
“And Sergeant,” he called, turning to look at Rebecca and Ben, “don’t let Mrs. Bradford leave. She steps a foot out this door, you cuff her and take her in. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Sgt. Alfaro, walking into the room.
“We’ll play it your way, Ms. Lyons,” Robinson said, not bothering to contain his glee. “You just wait here until I get back with the arrest warrant, okay?”
Rebecca only yawned in response. “Please don’t take too long, Detective,” she said.
His blood pressure went back up at her mocking tone. Then he had two thoughts back-to-back. First, I’ll wipe that smirk off your face, counselor. Then second, what does she know that I don’t? She’s playing this awful cool, even for a lawyer.
The second thought ate away at Robinson even as he drove back to the Bradford residence with the warrant on the seat beside him.
What does she know that I don’t?
Lake County State’s Attorney Robert Knight was turned out in his best suit and tie for this appearance. He was in the middle of a tight race for State’s Attorney, and he needed a very public show of law and order to help him along to his third term. People of the State of Illinois v. Jennifer Bradford was going to be just that vehicle, he’d decided when the file had been brought into the office. To that end, he’d made the decision to personally see this case through from beginning to end.
The courtroom was abuzz with spectators and press, and Knight smiled. This was perfect, he knew. The more of this, the better his chances looked. Now he just had to make sure he secured a quick conviction. He nodded in thought at that. Murder trials could easily take as much as two years to get to trial, and that would be far too late for his purposes. He had to do his best to speed this one along as quickly as possible. The primaries were four months away, and the election thirteen months away. If he could get this to trial by the end of summer, he’d build a wave of momentum that would carry him back into office.
“All rise,” the bailiff commanded, and the courtroom fell silent save the shuffling of a hundred bodies coming to their feet. “The Circuit Court for the Nineteenth Judicial Circuit is now in session, the Honorable Judge Gerald Feldman presiding.”
Knight smiled as the judge strode through the door from chambers to the bench, taking a seat as the bailiff told everyone they could take their seats, too. Knight was delighted Judge Feldman had been assigned to the case. In his seventeenth year on the bench, he was known as a no nonsense, law and order judge. Sure, Knight knew, he could raise hell with the attorneys if they slipped up, but he’d do his best to get this show on the road.
“Is the defendant here?” Feldman asked the bailiff.
“I’ll bring her out, your Honor.”
Feldman nodded, and all eyes followed the bailiff to a side door. A minute later, Jennifer shuffled through the door in an orange jail jumpsuit stenciled with Lake County Jail, orange laceless tennis shoes on her feet, and manacles holding her hands to the chain around her waist.
Knight felt himself get aroused at the sight. She was a beautiful woman, someone he’d love to bed if given the chance. Then the smile turned predatory as he realized she would guarantee front page coverage for the duration of the case.
“We’re calling People v. Bradford, Case Number 09 CF 2311,” Feldman said in a bored voice, shuffling through the file folder in front of him. “Counsel for the State, please identify yourself.”
“Robert Knight for the People of the State of Illinois,” Knight said, his deep voice booming through the courtroom.
“Counsel for Defendant?”
“Rebecca Lyons of Schwartz, Gillman, your Honor.”
Feldman turned to the dark haired wisp of a woman next to him. He noticed for the first time that she was as beautiful as her client, but in a diametrically opposed way. While Jennifer was medium height, blonde haired, blue eyed, with a slim, athletic build, Rebecca Lyons was shorter by several inches, brown haired and brown eyed, with a petite built. And whereas Jennifer, even in her current state, exuded an air of relaxed sexuality, Rebecca Lyons burned with an obvious intensity.
“Ms. Lyons,” Feldman intoned, looking over the top of his glasses, “does your client waive the reading of the charges?”
“She does, your Honor.”
“Fine. How does she plead to the sole count at this time, murder in the first degree?”
“Not guilty, your Honor.”
A murmur arose in the courtroom, and reporter’s pens scribbled over their notepads.
“Quiet,” the bailiff called out, and the murmur died.
Feldman smiled at the bailiff before continuing.
“What’s the State’s position on bail?”
Knight cleared his throat, needing to make sure he was heard throughout the room. “Given the gravity of the charge, the State requests that Defendant be remanded to custody pending trial.”
The murmur arose again, and Feldman shot a look at the crowd, who quieted down.
“Your Honor, Mrs. Bradford has strong ties to this community. She has a family, very young twin girls, and a husband who also has ties to the community. She poses no risk of flight. We request that bail be set at a reasonable amount.”
Feldman nodded, then scribbled something on the form in front of him. “Bail will be set at ten million dollars, ten percent to apply. If she can post that, she’ll have to surrender her passport.”
Knight smiled, pleased with such a high bail. Then he heard a thud and turned to his right. Jennifer Bradford had fainted, and the courtroom erupted in noise.
Knight’s smile got broader. Oh yeah, he knew, this was going to give him that third term sure as hell.
Five months later, Ben was nervous, his right knee pumping up and down as he sat in the front row five feet behind Jennifer and Rebecca. They had spent the past four days picking a jury, and Rebecca had assured Jennifer and him that it was a good one. Five men and seven women; only one of the men unmarried, but he was engaged; and three of the women unmarried, but that didn’t matter with a self-defense claim based on attempted rape.
Ben noticed that Jennifer didn’t look well. She was dressed simply in a white blouse and gray skirt, no make up, hair dull with cheap jail shampoo. Most noticeably, she was pale, gaunt, and had dark circles under her eyes. Jail definitely didn’t agree with her, he knew. But then again, who does it agree with except psychos and career criminals?
Rebecca, on the other hand, was a model of intense self assurance. She wore a black skirt and jacket over a white blouse, simple cross necklace visible at the base of her slender throat, hair neatly coiffed, eyes blazing intently as Knight finished his opening statement and retook his seat at counsel table, turning to look at Rebecca with raised eyebrows.
“Does the defense wish to offer an opening statement at this time?” Judge Feldman asked from the bench.
Rebecca rose. “No, your Honor,” she said. “If the Court will permit, we wish to defer until the commencement of our case in chief.”
“The Court will so permit, Ms. Lyons,” he responded. Turning to Knight, he said, “Will the State please call their first witness.”
“Your Honor,” Knight said, standing at the podium and turning toward the door at the back of the courtroom, “the State wishes to call Deborah Broussard.”
Ben was expecting this. Rebecca had explained how trials in the real world–those not skewed in made-for-television movies–really worked. The first witness was almost always the life-and-death witness. That was the witness called to testify she had seen the victim just before death and he was alive. Then, she’d seen him after the death, and he was dead. It seemed ridiculous, but to prove a murder you actually had to have testimony that a live person was now dead; then you had to have the coroner testify that the death was by foul means; then you had the remaining array of witnesses to testify that the defendant was the person responsible for that death by foul means. Moreover, Rebecca had told Ben that surviving spouses were inevitably called as the life-and-death witness because they immediately created sympathy with the jury, contempt for the scoundrel charged with ruining this poor witness’s life by killing the spouse, and an appreciation that a real person was now dead, struck down in the prime of their happy, idyllic life.
The door was held open by a bailiff, and Deborah Broussard strode down the aisle between the seats and toward the bench. Knight went rigid at her appearance, and Ben turned to look.
Deborah Broussard was dressed in a glittering array of expensive gold and diamond jewelry, attired in a flowing white pantsuit that accentuated her long legs and the glitter of her jewelry. She didn’t look anything like the grieving widow, Ben realized, and he turned to catch Rebecca’s reaction. Rebecca’s lips were pressed, but there was a glint of humor in her eyes.
The witness was sworn in, and Deborah took the witness stand. The first few questions were introductory. Name, address, occupation, how long have you lived there, were you married, to whom, when were you married, did you have any children. Then the fireworks began.
“Mrs. Broussard, prior to the late evening hours of September twenty-third, when was the last time you saw your husband?” Knight asked, setting up the he-was-alive line of questioning.
“On September twenty-first,” she answered, the hint of a smile playing over her lips. Ben saw Rebecca focus in on the witness, as curious as he was about the strange reaction of the grieving widow.
“You mean on the twenty-second, don’t you?” Knight said, flipping through a stack of police reports in front of him.
“Objection,” Rebecca said. “Asked and answered.”
“Overruled,” Feldman said. “The witness may answer to clarify any confusion.”
Deborah smiled at the judge, then turned back to Knight. “No, Mr. Knight, I mean the twenty-first.”
“But you previously told Detective Robinson, the lead detective on the case, that you last saw him on the twenty-second, didn’t you?”
“Objection,” Rebecca said. “He’s impeaching his own witness.”
Knight paused, glared at Rebecca then back at his notes, flipped the page of his question list, then continued. “Okay, the twenty-first. Where were you when you saw him?”
“At my house.”
“You mean you and your husband’s house, right Mrs. Broussard?” Knight corrected.
“No, Mr. Knight. I mean my house. The house is, and always has been, solely in my name.”
Ben was smiling now, noticing that members of the jury were mesmerized by her demeanor and at least one of the men on the jury was smiling and nodding his head. She certainly wasn’t playing the grieving widow part very well.
“Okay, Mrs. Broussard, you last saw your husband at your house on the twenty-first. Was he alive at that point?”
She snorted. “You could say that, Mr. Knight. But if you want clarification, you may want to ask the floozie he was busy undressing.”
Ben almost laughed aloud, and several members of the jury were choking back laughs while several others turned to Knight to catch his reaction.
“Silence,” Judge Feldman thundered, quieting the loud murmuring from the gallery. Silence achieved, he turned to Knight and, suppressing a grin, said, “Please continue, Mr. Knight.”
Knight swallowed, then flicked off a series of questions with his pen. Finally reaching one he liked, he asked, “Okay, after the twenty-first, when you last saw your husband . . . uh . . . with another . . . when was the next time you saw him?”
“At about ten thirty on the twenty-third, lying in the middle of the floor of his den about five feet from where I’d last seen him two days before.”
“And what was his condition at that time?”
Deborah raised her eyebrows. “Why, he was dead, of course.”
Knight looked at the witness, unsure whether to continue. After a moment, he said, “No further questions of this witness, your Honor.”
With that, Knight flipped the 3-ring binder holding his questions shut, tucked it under his arm, and strode back to counsel’s table.
“Ms. Lyons,” Judge Feldman said, finishing his notes as he spoke, “does the defense have any questions of Mrs. Broussard?”
“We do, your Honor,” Rebecca said, rising to her feet and walking to the jury box. Unlike Knight, who’d remained locked to the podium in the middle of the court well, Rebecca leaned against the jury box. Ben saw every juror’s eyes turn to her, waiting for her first question.
“Ms. Broussard,” Rebecca said once every eye had settled on her, “I’d like to take this opportunity to express my condolences at the loss of your husband.” Deborah nodded. “I’m sure this is very difficult for you,” Rebecca continued.
Deborah snorted. “I’m getting through it pretty well, actually.”
Several of the women jurors, including all three single women, smiled at the comment. Good riddance to Alain Broussard, Ben knew they were thinking.
“Ms. Broussard, I just have a few questions if you don’t mind.” Deborah nodded. “You said the last time you saw your husband, he was with another woman?”
“Yes, another in a long line of them.”
Ben looked at Knight, who was glaring at the witness. His first witness was already a disaster for the State; she’d turned the entire jury against the victim and painted him as a slimeball of the first order.
“Did you know this woman?”
“No, I hadn’t seen this one before.”
“What did she look like?”
Deborah pondered this for a moment. “Like most of the rest, I suppose.”
“Most of the rest in his ‘long line of women?’”
“Yes,” Deborah said. “Mid-twenties to mid-thirties, slim, blonde hair. Pretty.”
Rebecca swept her arm at Jennifer, and Ben saw his wife tense at the attention of every juror’s eyes upon her.
“Like Mrs. Bradford?”
“Oh yes,” Deborah said, “a lot like Mrs. Bradford.”
“And what was this woman he was with, on the twenty-first, what was her demeanor?”
“Objection,” Knight said, rising to his feet. “Relevance.”
“They opened the door on direct, your Honor. I think we’re allowed to explore this avenue more fully, particularly given the full extent of the testimony so far and the nature of the affirmative defense we’ve raised in our pleadings.”
Judge Feldman nodded. “Overruled. The witness will please answer the question.”
“What was the woman’s demeanor?” asked Deborah. Rebecca nodded. “She was crying.”
“Your husband was undressing her and she was crying?”
“Objection,” Knight thundered.
“Overruled,” Judge Feldman shot back.
“Yes. She appeared very reluctant. She was crying, telling him this wasn’t right, . . . .”
“Doesn’t go to the truth of the matter asserted,” Rebecca shot back. “Only goes to indicate demeanor of the woman.”
“Correct. The objection is overruled,” Judge Feldman said. Turning to Deborah, he said, “She was crying and telling him it wasn’t right. Anything else?”
“Yes, your Honor, she was just limp. You know, like she was a zombie. She wasn’t helping him, just arms at her side, crying him and asking him to stop.”
“And what did you do, Mrs. Broussard?” Rebecca asked.
“I told her to come with me.”
“She wouldn’t. I told her she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, but she just sat there. I told Alain to leave her be, but he just smirked and told me she was more than willing. That this was a little game they played from time to time. He said I should hang around to see how fun it could be.”
“Did you call the police?”
Deborah dropped her eyes. “No. I offered to, but the woman begged me not to. She said she’d be fine.”
Rebecca tapped her knuckles on the jury rail. “Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Broussard.” Turning to the bench, she said, “I have no further questions of this witness, your Honor.”
Judge Feldman nodded and turned to Knight. “Mr. Knight? Any re-direct?”
Knight cleared his throat and stood. “No, your Honor.”
“Then the witness is excused. Mrs. Broussard, please do not discuss your testimony with any of the other witnesses who are in the hallway. Do you understand?”
Deborah nodded. “I won’t, your Honor.”
“Thank you.” Turning to Knight, Judge Feldman said, “The State may call its next witness.”
Knight called Dr. Anthony Iatrolla, the Lake County Coroner. Ben nearly fell asleep during the dry testimony about causes of death, penetrating force, and so on and so on. Even the pictures weren’t very interesting. They showed Broussard curled face down in a pool of blood, some photos of scratch marks on his neck and penis, and a few showed close-ups of the fatal stab wound, a tiny slice an inch or so long into his rib cage just to the right of his sternum.
On cross-examination, Rebecca focused first on the time of death. Dr. Iatrolla had estimated death at between seven and ten that evening. Sure, he’d admitted, it could have been earlier, and it certainly could have been later. The home was equipped with a computerized thermostat that automatically changed temperatures in the house, lowering the temperature when people would normally be absent and raising it when they would be home. Given the fluctuations attendant with such temperature changes, most notably how long the home took to heat up or cool down, could skew the time either way. In any event, rigor mortis had not yet set in when the coroner arrived, so he was comfortable with the time frame.
Just as she returned to counsel table, her cross-examination apparently concluded, Rebecca stopped and turned.
“By the way,” she said, “this was an artery that was severed I believe you said?”
“Yes,” Dr. Iatrolla said. “The aorta, as a matter of fact.”
“And those bleed a lot, right?”
“And that blood flow is instant and spastic, right? I mean, once it’s pierced, the blood flow is immediate and in great quantity, right?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Thanks, Doctor,” she said, sitting. “No further questions.”
Next to the stand was Detective Robinson, who had been seated throughout the trial at counsel table with Knight. He talked about arriving at the scene at midnight, securing the crime scene, questioning Deborah Broussard, and learning about the home’s surveillance capabilities.
“Surveillance capabilities?” Knight asked.
Robinson cleared his throat. “Yes sir. The home has perimeter fencing and an electronic gate. There are cameras on the gate that record every entry and exit every time the gate is either touched–something to do with interference in the electrical signal–or when the gate is activated.”
“And did you view the footage?”
Robinson nodded. “It showed a dark BMW 325 entering at seven twenty-three and exiting at seven fifty-two.”
“Could you tell the color of the BMW?” Knight asked.
“No, sir, the camera only shoots black and white.”
“Did you get a license plate?”
“No,” Robinson said, clearing his throat. “The plates were covered, front and back, with what appeared to be mud or dirt. We couldn’t make out a number.”
“Your Honor,” Rebecca said, standing. “At this point, we’re going to object under the best evidence rule. If they have the tape, they should produce it and let us all draw our own conclusions rather than let the witness merely describe his observations.”
Judge Feldman turned to Knight. “Mr. Knight, do you have the tape?”
Knight glared at Rebecca. “We do, your Honor. But it would be a waste of time–of everyone’s time–to have to sit and watch the whole thing.”
“Ms. Lyons?” Judge Feldman asked.
She shrugged. “My client’s facing life in prison, your Honor. Surely Mr. Knight, or any members of the jury, for that matter, will not begrudge thirty minutes of their time to watch the tape on which the witness’s entire investigation seems to have turned.”
Ben saw several members of the jury nod with appreciation.
Judge Feldman directed Knight to lay the foundation for the tape, which he did through Detective Robinson’s testimony. Then, everyone spent the next thirty minutes watching the tape.
After recessing for lunch, Knight resumed his questioning of Detective Robinson.
“What did this tape signify to you?” Knight asked Robinson.
“Well, it looked like someone in a dark BMW, license plate unknown, entered the gates at about seven thirty and left about a half hour later. It also looked like that person was a blonde female. And finally, it looked like the driver’s side car door made contact with the gate as it pulled out.”
Knight nodded. He then led Robinson to further details of the investigation that night. Robinson had a conversation with Deborah about any friends of theirs with BMW 325s, particularly those with blonde hair. The only names she could come up with were Susan Flowers and Jennifer Bradford, two of Alain’s co-workers she had met at company parties in the past. When he couldn’t reach either by phone, he drove to the Flowers residence. No one was present, and there was no BMW in the driveway. Next, he drove to the Bradford residence, where he eventually located Jennifer’s red BMW 325 with a long scratch on the driver’s side door.
“Was there any residue on the car door from whatever it struck?”
Robinson shook his head. “No sir. The scratch appeared to have been buffed out.”
“Did the scratch appear to be recent?”
“Objection,” Rebecca said. “He’s not qualified as an auto expert, so he can’t testify to the age of the damage to the auto.”
“I’ll re-phrase the question,” Knight said before the judge could rule.
“Detective,” he said, “could you describe the scratch in more detail?”
“Sure. It was about two feet long and to the metal.” Turning to Jennifer at her table, he continued. “The metal was shiny without a spot of rust.”
“And Detective, did your search of the Bradford residence turn up any other evidence?”
“It did,” he said. “We found a blouse with blood stains on it.”
Knight turned and picked up a clear plastic bag holding a white cotton blouse. “Is this that blouse?”
He handed the bag to Detective Robinson, who made a great show of carefully inspecting the bag.
“It is,” Robinson finally confirmed, handing the bag back to Knight.
“Your Honor, I’d like to have what has previously been marked as State’s Exhibit Number thirty-four for identification be admitted into evidence as State’s Exhibit Number Thirty-Four.”
“No objection,” Rebecca said.
“There being no objection, State’s Exhibit Number Thirty-Four will be admitted.”
“I have no further questions of the witness at this time,” Knight said.
Rebecca stood and strode to the table holding the exhibits thus far admitted. She picked up the blouse and walked back to Detective Robinson.
“You testified there was blood on this blouse, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, taking the blouse.
“You were present when the coroner, Dr. Iatrolla, testified, right?”
“And you heard him testify that the victim was killed when his aorta was severed, right?”
“And you heard him say that arterial punctures bleed fast and furious, right?”
Rebecca jerked her head at the blouse in Robinson’s hands. “What color is that blouse?”
“Show me the blood on this blouse,” she said, folding her arms and leaning back against the jury box.
The jurors leaned forward and watched Robinson pull the blouse from he bag, unfolding it after he had done so.
“It’s right her, ma’am,” he said, pointing to a spot on the lower right section of the front of the blouse. The judge set the record about the location of the spot to which Robinson was pointing, then Rebecca continued.
“That’s it?” she said. “She’s charged with stabbing someone and piercing the aorta, and you’re showing me a spot of blood that’s, what, maybe the size of my thumb?”
“That’s all there is, ma’am. Maybe Mrs. Bradford got out of the way before it started spurting.”
“Your Honor,” Rebecca said, wheeling to face the judge.
“The witness will please refrain from such comments, understood?” Robinson nodded. “And the jury will disregard that statement.”
“All right, Detective, let me ask you, how many homicides have you investigated in your career?”
“Thirty-four,” he said.
“And how many cases of any kind–homicides, car accidents, suicides, and so on–have had with arterial punctures?”
Robinson thought for a minute. “Couple of dozen, I suppose.”
“Have you ever seen anything in all of your experience with arterial punctures that indicated someone could just jump out of the way of arterial spray?”
Rebecca nodded. “And this was the only bloody clothing you found in the Bradford residence? No bloody shoes? Or did she manage to float fifteen feet over the floor to make her escape?”
“No,” he agreed, “this was it.”
“What about the car? If she was leaving the scene of such a messy murder, surely you must have found blood stains in the car, right?”
“No, ma’am, no blood in the car, either.”
Judge Feldman chose this point to adjourn until the following morning.
“We’ve got some serious problems here,” Robinson observed to Knight as they walked down the hallway toward Knight’s office.
“You fucking think?” Knight said. “She’s filed a notice of intent to use the affirmative defense of self defense to rape. Then, right from the starting gate, the grieving fucking widow takes the stand and all but makes their case for them. How the fuck could you let that happen?”
Robinson’s lips tightened and he struggled to control his rising anger. “You knew from the get go that she has that defense. You saw the goddamned videos that sick bastard kept. You thought his wife knew nothing about him?”
Knight stopped and spun on Robinson. “Not a word,” he hissed. “You hear me? Not a fucking word about any goddamned videos. Those come out and we’re fucked.”
“Well maybe we should be fucked,” Robinson said. “I’m not the one who’s withholding evidence here; you are. I turned it all over to you, and what you did with it is none of my fucking business. I mean, what if they ask me about them? You expect me to lie?”
“They don’t know anything about any videos,” Knight said. Seeing Robinson was clearly uncomfortable with this confirmation of withholding evidence, he continued. “I’ll say it again, those videos come to light, we’re–both of us–fucked.”
“But what if there’s something to it? Maybe that sick fucker did try to rape her. She wasn’t on any of the videos, so we know if she was there it was for the first time. Maybe she stood up to him and he didn’t like it. Jesus Christ, you saw the booking photos. Somebody nearly knocked her head off she was beaten up so bad. You think Lyons isn’t going to come after me with that tomorrow?”
Knight nodded. “I know she’s going to go after you about that. But still, how do we know it wasn’t hubby. Notice he’s not on their witness list. That’s why he’s sitting in the courtroom. He can’t offer an alibi, so they didn’t even bother listing him.”
“Yeah,” Robinson said, “but I don’t think so. And I don’t like how close hubby seems to be with Lyons, either.”
Knight’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You see her body language?”
Knight nodded. “She’s got some kind of phobia about being touched.”
“Yeah,” Robinson said. “It’s the first thing I noticed about her the morning of the arrest. But guess who she doesn’t mind touching?”
Knight waited for the answer.
“That’s right,” Robinson continued. “She doesn’t get all freaky around hubby.”
“You think he’s banging her?”
Robinson shook his head. “No. I looked it up. Seems they used to be an item back when she was in law school. Engaged to be married.”
“She was raped is what happened. Three black dudes from the projects pulled her into a warehouse and raped her repeatedly for a couple of hours. She freaked, was never the same. They called it quits a few months later.”
A wave of anger swept over Knight’s face. “And I’m just hearing about this for the first time? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“And what would you have done about it? If you’d known, what the hell difference would it have made.”
“Would’ve been nice, that’s all.”
“Well,” Robinson said, “at least now you know why she’s fighting her ass off for Jennifer Bradford. She empathizes with a fellow rape victim.”
“But there’s no evidence she was raped,” Knight insisted.
Robinson laughed. “You know, you gotta show she killed him before they can even raise that defense. And at this point there’s damned little evidence she was even in the fucking house.”
They sat in Rebecca’s office, sipping sodas while Rebecca went over the questions lined up for the next day.
“So how you going to play it?”
Rebecca looked up and saw that Ben was nervous. She smiled before answering.
“Well,” she said, “we’re doing pretty good so far. Your little session with Deborah Broussard paid off in spades. How’d you get her to play along?”
Ben grinned. “Wasn’t hard. I just showed her a few of the videos and she spilled the beans on the whole story. Just like she did in court.”
“So you think she was telling the truth? I mean, did she lie to us or to the cops?”
Ben shrugged. “Not a clue. But once she really saw dear sweet Alain for what he really was–and I don’t think she was too surprised–she just grinned and told me not to worry, she wouldn’t be a problem. Said she was tired of playing the grieving widow for poor Daddy, and this would finally get him off her back. Whatever all that means.”
Rebecca smiled. “Well, she did one hell of a job planting the seeds. And the rest of them,” she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands behind her head. “Well, let’s just say that we’ve already got reasonable doubt about whether Jennifer was even there.”
“Tomorrow, my dear, we’re going to blow this case wide open,” Jennifer assured him.
Ben nibbled on a fingernail. “You sure we’re playing this right this time?”
Jennifer nodded. “Oh yeah, I think we’ve got ‘em all where we want ‘em.”
After the previous day’s fireworks, the courtroom was more packed to the maximum. Spectators were squeezed into the seats, and nearly two dozen more lined the walls.
“So Detective,” Rebecca started, “you testified you were first on the scene?”
“Before the plainclothes officers?”
“Yes. I was only a few blocks away on a residential burglary when the call came in. I left a few officers there and headed right over. I was there within minutes of the call coming in.”
“And Mr. Broussard was face down on the floor in a pool of blood?”
Robinson nodded. “That’s correct.”
“Did you subsequently roll him over?”
Robinson hesitated, knowing where this was going. “Yes.”
“Did you notice anything unusual when you did?”
“Yes,” Robinson said, trying to deflect. “There was a knife sticking out of his ribs and blood covered the front of his body.”
Rebecca smiled. “Anything else unusual?”
Robinson took a breath. He knew that any more evasion would only hurt the State’s case.
“Yes,” he said. “Mr. Robinson’s trousers were unzipped and his penis was exposed.”
Rebecca nodded thoughtfully, waiting for the rising murmur in the courtroom to die down. “And you heard the coroner testify that, in addition to the knife wound, Mr. Broussard had a few other injuries as well, right?”
“And those injuries were a scratch on his neck and a scratch on his penis, right?”
“How many rape cases have you worked in your time as an officer?”
“Objection,” Knight said. “Beyond the scope of direct.”
“Overruled,” Judge Feldman said without waiting for Rebecca’s response.
“Couple of hundred.”
“In how many of them did the witness fight back?”
“Fifty, maybe seventy-five,” Robinson said.
“What type of wounds did the assailants typically have in those cases where the rape victim fought her attacker?”
Robinson shot a glance to Knight, who only lowered his head. “Scratch marks.”
“Scratch marks where, Detective?”
“Face, neck, chest, back, genitals,” Robinson answered. “Pretty much where there was exposed skin.”
Rebecca’s head spun, and her eyes locked with Robinson’s. “And the only exposed skin on Mr. Broussard when you found him was his face, neck, and penis, right?”
Robinson, having violated the first rule of testifying by answering too much, mumbled his answer.
“What, Detective? The ladies and gentlemen of the jury didn’t hear your answer.”
“I said ‘yes, those were the only exposed areas not covered by clothing,’” he said, looking back at her.
“And you heard Ms. Broussard’s testimony, right?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You hear that part about where he appeared to be forcing himself on a young woman?”
“Anything in the course of your investigation arise to lend credence to any history of such behavior by Mr. Broussard?”
Robinson hesitated, looking to Knight again for guidance. Knight only stared back at him, offering nothing.
“Take your time, Detective,” Rebecca said. “We all know it was a long investigation.”
He cringed at the contempt in her voice.
“Well, we heard some rumblings,” he finally offered.
“Rumblings? That’s all? You sure there wasn’t more?” she said. “Proof of a more definitive kind?”
Robinson was sweating now, afraid to answer, but terrified of getting caught. Knight’s face had tightened, and he was watching Rebecca’s every move.
“What do you mean by definitive?” Robinson asked.
“Now Detective, I think you know what I mean by definitive.” She turned and walked to counsel table, reached into her briefcase, and retrieved a stack of DVDs. Robinson saw Jennifer Bradford’s body and face tighten at the sight of them, her eyes going wide. This was the first emotion other than sadness she’d shown since they’d started picking the jury.
As Rebecca turned and held the DVDs up for all to see, Robinson was sure his look of terror made Jennifer Bradford’s apprehension seem like giddy joy.
“Objection, your Honor,” Knight thundered, flying from his seat.
“Mr. Knight,” Judge Feldman said, leaning forward and staring down the prosecutor, “there’s no question pending or any offer of evidence.”
“But there’s going to be,” Knight insisted, “and I want it cut off right now.”
Robinson sat mute, unable to move as he watched Knight panic. Rebecca, on the other hand, only smiled, continuing to hold the DVDs up high. The murmuring in the courtroom was rising, and the bailiff’s attempts to quiet them proved futile.
Judge Feldman stood. “Court’s in recess,” he said. “Counsel, follow me.”
Feldman strode through the door to his chambers and was seated by the time the two attorneys walked in. He smiled at them.
“Okay, Bob, you wanna tell me what’s got your undies in an uproar?”
“Your Honor,” Rebecca interrupted, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to object to this. If we’re going to discuss this, I really must ask that a court reporter be present.”
Feldman looked at her. She was cool as a cucumber and had clearly played all of this out well in advance. He had to admit he was enjoying her show. For someone with no experience defending a murder case, she hadn’t missed a step yet. Moreover, she was making a complete fool out of Bob Knight.
“Point taken, Ms. Lyons,” Feldman said. “Jim,” he called to the bailiff just outside the door, “you wanna ask Francine to come back here for this little show.”
They waited for the court reporter, who appeared moments later with her steno machine.
“For the record,” Feldman started, “we are in chambers on People v. Bradford. Both counsel are present, as well as myself.”
Turning to Knight, he said, “When we left this off, Mr. Knight, you were objecting to what appeared to be a stack of DVDs. Would you please now explain the basis of your objection, however untimely it appears to be at this point?”
Knight fumbled for words before getting started. “The evidence I fear is about to be produced is highly prejudicial and will serve only to inflame the jury.”
“And what do you think this evidence is, Mr. Knight?”
Knight squirmed at that one, and nothing came from his mouth.
Feldman turned to Rebecca. “Ms. Lyons,” he said, “can you explain what is going on here?”
She smiled wide and placed her hands in her lap. “Of course, your Honor. You see, these are DVDs from Mr. Broussard’s computer. They show his various sexual conquests over the three-year period before his death.”
Feldman sat back and whistled low. He stared back and forth between Rebecca and Knight, and the look on Knight’s face told him that he still wasn’t getting the full story.
“This makes you uncomfortable, Mr. Knight?”
Knight shook his head.
Feldman turned back to Rebecca. “All right, Ms. Lyons, assuming what you say is true, what is the probative value of these videos?”
“Well, your Honor,” she said, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, “the vast majority of the videos clearly depict sex that was highly coercive in nature.”
Feldman raised his eyebrows at this and shot a look at Knight. Knight was still tight-lipped, though.
“You disagree with Ms. Lyons’s characterization of these videos, Mr. Knight?”
“No, your Honor.”
Feldman nodded. Turning back to Rebecca, he continued. “Is there more, or are you going to make me drag this out of you bit by bit?”
Rebecca shot a look of contempt at Knight before she spoke. “Just this, your Honor,” she said, turning back to look at the judge with fire now dancing in her eyes. “Mr. Knight had these videos and never bothered to turn them over.”
The tightening of Knight’s entire body told Judge Feldman that this was true.
“You’re kidding me, right Bob?” he said to Knight. “You’re prosecuting a murder where we’ve got notice they’re going to be raising self defense to rape as a justification, and you didn’t bother turning over videos that show the victim–and I now use that term guardedly–has a long history of coercive sex?”
“But none of them, not a single one, shows the defendant, your Honor,” Knight pleaded. “They’re not relevant to this case because they don’t show that she was the victim of any such coercion.”
“Oh come off it, counsel,” Feldman thundered. “You know better than that. They’re clearly relevant to the matter at hand, and the defense had a constitutional right to have them. And you had a constitutional–and ethical–obligation to turn them over to her.”
“But she’s already got them, Judge,” Knight pleaded. “There’s no prejudice where she’s already got them.”
Feldman thought about this for a moment. “So, no harm, no foul. Is that your response?”
Feldman turned to Rebecca. “Ms. Lyons, he makes a good point. If you’ve already got them, where’s the harm?”
“The harm, your Honor, is that is shows he’s hidden the most central evidence of this case from us. And you don’t know when we got them. If it was only yesterday–which is, by the way, the first time I was able to fully view all of these tapes–then how am I supposed to prepare a defense when they make sure to hide all evidence central to my defense? Oh no, your Honor, we’re clearly prejudiced.”
Feldman nodded. “I could give you a continuance, permit you to amend your witness list if you wish. Then we could still go forward.”
“And how do we know he’s not hiding other evidence, your Honor?”
Feldman turned to Knight. “Bob, any more surprises for Ms. Lyons?”
Knight hesitated. “No.”
Feldman leaned over his desk and glared at the prosecutor. “This is your last chance to come clean,” he said. “If I find any more improperly withheld evidence, she’s getting a mistrial.”
Knight said nothing for a minute.
“We’re waiting,” Feldman said.
“No, there’s nothing else.”
Feldman stared at the prosecutor, knowing he was lying. Then he looked at Rebecca and saw the smile on her face. She knows he’s lying, too, and she’s going to prove it.
“So, Detective, when last we spoke, you were about to tell me whether you had any more definitive evidence that Mr. Broussard had a history of coercing women into having sex. Want to share that with the jury now?”
Robinson looked at Knight, who was staring straight ahead.
“There were videos on the victim’s computer,” Robinson said. “They were very . . . uh . . . graphic. And they depicted some, well, uh, encounters that appeared to be less than mutually agreeable.”
Rebecca flashed him a look of sarcasm. “Do you really want me to start showing these videos, or would you like a shot at describing ‘encounters that appeared to be less than mutually agreeable?’”
Robinson flushed. “He seemed to be extorting sex from quite a few of the women.”
“How many videos were there?”
“Couple of hundred.”
The murmuring in the gallery rose, and Robinson heard an audible gasp from the jury box.
“How many different women?”
“And how many of them appeared to depict such coerced sexual relations?”
“The majority of them.”
Rebecca looked at the jurors, going from face to face, as she spoke next. “The majority? You want to try putting a percentage on it?”
Robinson looked at the jury, and all eyes were glued on him, waiting for the answer. He looked at Knight, who looked straight ahead. Oh well, he sure as hell wasn’t risking his career for this farce. He’d never wanted the charges pressed in the first place, and now Knight was tossing him to the wolves.
Robinson turned from Knight to Rebecca. “I’ll do better than put a percentage on it. Of the twenty-three women, only three appeared consensual. One of those wasn’t initially consensual, but it was clearly consensual by the third meeting.”
“And the others?”
Robinson turned to the jury. “If I’d had these videos, and if Mr. Broussard were still alive, I’d be pressing charges against him for well over a hundred and fifty counts of aggravated criminal sexual assault.”
Most of the jurors stared back at him in shock, and the courtroom erupted in pandemonium.
“Quiet,” the bailiff was yelling. Robinson saw that Judge Feldman was only shaking his head. The defendant still appeared nervous, though.
That’s curious, Robinson thought. She wasn’t on any of the videos. Maybe the night of the murder–if he could even call it that anymore–was her first encounter. And maybe she’d been the first, and only, one to ever resist Broussard’s advances fully.
When the courtroom quieted back down, Rebecca smiled at Robinson. “Detective,” she said, leaning back against the jury box and placing her arms on the rail behind her, “did you interview any of these twenty-three women?”
Robinson nodded. “All of them.”
“Did they all have alibis for the evening of September twenty-third?”
“Did any of them, either the women or their spouses or someone else close to them, own dark BMW 325s?”
“Yes,” Robinson said. Here it was, the biggest chink in the armor. And he had no clue how she knew this. Judging from the smile on her face, though, it was evident she knew everything.
“Did any of those with no alibi, or weak alibis, for that matter, own a dark BMW 325?”
Robinson looked at the defendant. Behind her, he watched Benjamin Bradford cross his arms and sit back. He knows the answer, Robinson realized. He’s playing this, playing us, and has been all along.
Robinson looked back at Rebecca. “Of the two women who owned dark BMW 325s, neither had a solid alibi for the night of the murder.”
As the noise in the courtroom again rose, Robinson saw most of the jury now openly smirking at him and at Knight. We’re done, he thought.
On her way back to counsel table, Rebecca stopped, standing very still while waiting for the crowd to quiet down. Robinson watched as the courtroom went dead silent and every eye in the room locked on the dark, intense defense counsel.
She turned slowly and looked straight at Judge Feldman, her eyes never leaving his as she asked the next question.
“Detective,” she said, her voice loud and clear, “you have been a police officer for twenty-one years, correct?”
“Yes,” he conceded, hoping this was not going where he thought it was going. Still, he’d testified thousands of times, and he recognized impeachment when he heard it.
“And during that time, you have received extensive training in cataloguing the process of your investigation, correct?”
“Yes,” Robinson croaked, seeing Knight drop his head to counsel table and bury his face in his arms. Looking back at Rebecca, he noticed she was still looking straight at Judge Feldman, a smile now beginning to curve her lips as her voice got louder.
“And part of that process is preparing and filing police reports of each and every interview you conduct during the course of the investigation, correct?”
Robinson hesitated. They were dead.
“Correct?” Rebecca repeated.
“Correct,” he agreed.
“And you prepared police reports of each and every interview with each and every one of these twenty-three women, correct?”
Robinson looked around. All eyes were now on him, including an obviously very angry Judge Feldman’s piercing stare.
“Correct,” Robinson said.
“Then can you explain why none of these police reports were ever turned over to the defense or listed on any of the discovery documents provided to the defense?”
Robinson’s answer was drowned out by the new uproar in the courtroom, and Robinson hung his head.
“Counsel,” Judge Feldman roared. “Chambers, now.”
“So what happened in chambers?” Ben asked her, his feet kicked up on her coffee table and a glass of wine in his hand.
“It’s going to be over first thing tomorrow is what happened,” Rebecca replied. “Feldman went nuts, and he’s going to be spending the entire evening researching and writing his mistrial statement. He’s not going to get this wrong and run the risk of it coming back to bite him in the ass. He’s going to make sure Knight’s ruined over this.”
Ben laughed. “Arrogant prick,” he said. “Serves him right.”
“Penny for your thoughts,” Ben said, sipping the wine and looking at her curled in the chair opposite.
“I’m still worried about how this is going to play out tomorrow,” she said. “You know, after the trial’s over. Is it going to go down like we’re planning? Is there going to be another sudden turn of events to deal with?”
Ben smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s going to play out perfectly. Now come over here and give me a kiss.”
She did, and it was getting easier every time they touched. Gone was the hesitation, the fear of contact. Though she was still tentative at first, she soon relaxed as their tongues explored each other’s mouths and his hands brushed lightly over her stiffening nipples.
My God, she thought, it’s taken nine years since that terrible night. What if she’d been more patient the first time and hadn’t thrown him out? Would they have stayed together and had children of their own?
Still, she was getting a second chance here–that they were getting a second chance–and she vowed not to mess it up this time.
Jennifer stood as the jury filed into the courtroom and took their seats in the jury box. Judge Feldman, she noticed, had a severe look on his face, and he glared several times at Knight. This had to be good, she knew, but Rebecca was playing it close to the vest. She had moved for a mistrial, Rebecca had told her yesterday before Jennifer had been returned to the cell she’d lived in the past five and a half months.
Jennifer had spent the night in her cell praying. Praying that the motion for mistrial would be granted; that this long ordeal would finally be over; and, most of all, that she’d be able to again hold and hug her beautiful little girls that she hadn’t seen all this time. She and Ben had agreed at the outset that they didn’t want the girls to see her like this, and Ben promised he’d tell them that she was out of town on business for a long time, but would soon return. Both Ben and Rebecca had shared pictures of the girls during that time, but the aching in her heart only grew with every passing day.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Feldman intoned, quieting the courtroom murmur, “in light of yesterday’s testimony, defense counsel made a motion for mistrial in chambers. The Court has heard the arguments of both the defense and the prosecution, both for and against defense counsel’s motion. Before the Court rules on the motion, it would like to make the following findings.”
Feldman shuffled through the papers before him, read a page, then began speaking, looking throughout the courtroom as he did so.
“First, the defense has, from the outset of this action, given notice of its intent to raise the affirmative defense of justification to the charge of murder. That justification is premised on self defense to a sexual assault.”
“Second,” Feldman continued after glancing at his notes, “under the Due Process Clause as enunciated in the Fifth Amendment of the United States Constitution, the prosecution is obligated to turn over to the defense, in a timely manner, all evidence in the prosecution’s possession that either is, or can reasonably be construed as, exculpatory to the defendant’s guilt.”
“Third,” Feldman continued, his voice now rising as he pushed his notes aside, “the prosecution has, in this case, intentionally and with flagrant disregard of the Constitution and the defendant’s rights thereunder, withheld key evidence from the defense. That evidence so intentionally withheld includes videotapes that show the victim had a long history of possible sexual assault as well as police reports of interviews with numerous other persons who all had motive and possible means to commit the offense charged. Worse, the prosecution intentionally engaged in a pattern of conduct designed to insure the defense would know absolutely nothing about the existence of any such persons altogether.”
“Fourth, there is now great doubt in the Court’s mind that any of the evidence thus far adduced–and granted, the prosecution has not yet concluded its case in chief, but I can’t see it getting better–that any of the evidence thus far adduced in trial points solely to the defendant as the perpetrator of this crime. To the contrary, we now have at least two other possible suspects, the identity of whom was not disclosed to the defense until Detective Robinson testified yesterday at trial. As a matter of fact, and I want to make this clear, were it not for the truthful testimony of Detective Robinson under less than ideal circumstances, none of this would ever have come to light. For this, Detective Robinson is to be commended.”
Judge Feldman gave a nod to Detective Robinson, who was sitting next to Knight at the prosecution’s table. Then Jennifer watched as Judge Feldman’s gaze swivelled and rested on hers. Without conscious thought, she felt her chest constrict as she held her breath.
“In all of my years on the bench,” he said, his gaze unwavering and his facial features softening, “I have never witnessed such gross prosecutorial misconduct. Any evidence presented that may point to the defendant being the vehicle of Mr. Broussard’s death–and it’s highly unclear whether she was, in fact, the person responsible for that death–but any such evidence points more so to the likelihood that the defense she raised is valid.”
Feldman’s face now hardened as he turned to Knight. “Given the level of prosecutorial misconduct and the severe prejudice thus inflicted on the defendant’s rights after the commencement of this trial, this Court has no alternative but to grant defense counsel’s motion for a mistrial.” The courtroom erupted, but was just as quickly silenced when Judge Feldman slapped his palm on his bench. “Such mistrial being predicated on prosecutorial misconduct after the jury has been sworn in, the charges are furthermore dismissed with prejudice.”
This time, no amount of shouting from the bailiff would quiet the courtroom. Jennifer watched Judge Feldman scribble his signature to an Order form and hand it to the clerk before leaving the bench. She turned and watched Knight slam his briefcase shut and storm from the courtroom, ignoring the questions being shouted at him by a dozen or more reporters..
“What does this mean?” Jennifer asked Rebecca, who was leaning back in the chair beside her, rubbing her face as the intense energy visibly left her petite frame.
“It means you’re free,” Rebecca said. “It’s all over.”
Jennifer felt the hot tears sliding down her cheeks as the empty pit in her stomach was filled with hope. She turned and looked at Ben, who smiled at her. She could only smile back, not trusting her voice to speak.
“Miss Bradford,” the bailiff said, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. She turned, and he continued, “Could you come with me, please? We’re just going to go back and get your things now and we’ll have you out of here in no time, okay?”
She nodded, then turned back to Ben. “We’ll wait for you,” he said.
When Jennifer stood and followed the bailiff, she looked back at Ben, who was now hugging Rebecca. Rebecca, she noticed, was hugging him back just as fiercely. Strange, Jennifer thought. He didn’t hug me.
Outside the courthouse, Detective Bradford waited near the throng of reporters for Benjamin Bradford to appear. When the door swung open, Ben was leading Rebecca toward the microphones, standing to the side as she answered all questions put to her.
“Can I speak with you for a minute?” Robinson whispered into Ben’s ear.
Ben turned and smiled at him. “Why of course, Detective.”
They walked unnoticed to a deserted area fifty feet away.
“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Robinson said without preamble.
Ben’s smile got bigger. “Knew what, Detective?”
“The videos and the police reports. You’ve had them all along, haven’t you?”
Ben only smiled in response.
“You played us,” Robinson insisted, trying to get a response. “You–and she–knew this would happen, and you played us.”
A cloud of anger passed over Ben’s face, then the smile returned. “Detective,” he said, “assuming what you say is true, how could anyone have possibly known Knight would withhold all of that evidence? That he’d play right into our hands?”
Robinson shook his head. “That didn’t matter if you had all of that evidence though, did it? No, that just made it faster for you, and helped to bring Knight down in the process. Either way, even if it had all been produced, you had us.”
“Then why were the charges pressed in the first place, Detective?” The look of anger returned to Ben’s face, and his voice was now a hiss. “You knew what a rotten bastard Broussard was, and you still brought these charges and did your level best to convict her. Like the world’s a worse place without that . . . that . . . that fucking animal going around destroying all those lives. Oh yeah, who’s the bad guy here, Detective?”
Robinson said nothing. Bradford was right.
“Assuming we had all of this from day one,” Bradford continued, “and I’m not saying we did, but if we did, then yeah, we weren’t really all that worried.”
“But again, Detective,” Ben said, spitting out the last word with venom, “the real question is why? Why did you bring these charges? You of all people knew what a monster Broussard was. Why did you put us through this?”
Robinson shook his head. “I didn’t,” he finally said. “I begged Knight to drop it, but he wouldn’t. Said he needed this win, needed it to stay in office.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ben said. “You could have leaked all of this to the press months ago. It would have gone away, and you goddamned well know it. No. Instead, you just played right along with this . . . this . . . this fucking farce so you and Knight could get your backs patted, get your elections won and your promotions approved. Well touche, Detective, I guess it didn’t work out quite the way you planned, did it? And if you want someone to blame, start by looking in a fucking mirror.”
Robinson said nothing to this. What could he say? He just watched Ben storm off toward Rebecca before himself turning and walking back into the courthouse.
“Where are we going, dear?” Jennifer said, looking at Ben.
“We’ve got to stop by Rebecca’s, Jen,” he said. He was tight lipped, his face a mask, and Jennifer was uneasy.
“But I want to see my babies,” she said. “Ben, please, can’t it wait?”
Ben shook his head.
“Ben, baby, what’s wrong?”
He shot her a glance, and Jennifer felt a shiver run down her spine. Oh God, she thought, this can’t be happening.
She bit her lip as the car pulled into a parking garage. They were silent riding the elevator to the top floor, where they got off and Jennifer followed Ben down the hallway to a door. He pulled a key and unlocked the door, motioning her inside. Seeing him unlock the door to Rebecca’s condo, Jennifer felt like someone had punched her in the stomach.
“Sit,” he said, pointing at the dining room table.
She slid into a chair and watched Ben. He was running wires to and from a laptop computer and an external hard drive. Then he fired up the computer and clicked on some folders. She couldn’t see the screen, but she feared the worst. Seeing the videos in the courtroom had paralyzed her with fear, but she thought she was free and clear after hearing the testimony and figuring out that she hadn’t been in any of them. Now she wasn’t so sure this was all over yet.
“Here already?” she heard, and turned to watch Rebecca walk in the door and toss her jacket over a chair.
“Just getting ready now,” Ben said.
Rebecca smiled and flipped the latches on her briefcase. “Then we’ll need these,” Rebecca said, pulling a thick manila envelope from the briefcase and setting it on the table in front of Jennifer.
“What’s going on here?” Jennifer asked, looking at the two of them as they sat at the table.
“Let me tell you a story,” Ben started, typing on a couple of keys on the laptop, then clicking the mouse.
“Once there was a family, and they were very happy. At least the husband thought so. They seemed to have it all. He had a good business that was just starting to take off, and she was rising rapidly through the ranks and getting promoted faster and faster. This couple had two beautiful little girls, and things couldn’t have been better.”
Jennifer watched Ben as he spoke, and she saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Then one day, at a party,” he continued, “I was hired by your boss to audit your computer security. You seemed so excited at that, so happy for both of us. And I was happy, too. I wanted to make you proud, let you see what I really do and how well I do it. So I gave it my all, and in no time, I was in your systems.”
Jennifer felt a tightness in her chest. He’d broken through. She’d tried to monitor him, tried to find out how far along he was, but he’d never tipped his hand. She’d underestimated him, she realized. She’d relied far too much on Jeff Richard’s bland assurances that all was well.
Ben smiled through the tears now running down his cheeks. “You only made one mistake, Jennifer, and it was a very small one.”
She looked confused while he waited for her to guess.
“Your only mistake,” Ben said after seeing she wouldn’t answer, “was at the party when you identified Broussard to me as a prick. And just for shits and grins, I decided that he was the one I was going to break in through. You see, it’s those people, the arrogant know-it-alls, that usually make the biggest mistakes. They think they’re invincible, and they don’t bother to listen to all the peons about little things. Little things like password security and overall systems security. And because you pointed that out to me right off the bat, I was unknowingly pointed in the right direction to uncover the whole sordid scheme.”
He slid the laptop in front of her and she looked at the screen. “First, there was this,” he said, clicking the mouse and calling up a series of e-mails. “E-mails between Broussard and Richards. E-mails between a head of systems security and a head of commercial paper that shouldn’t be there. They probably didn’t talk to each other five times a year, and suddenly we’ve got them e-mailing each other two, three times a day.”
Ben clicked the mouse again, and a specific e-mail popped onto the screen. “So that leads me to this,” he said. “An e-mail from Broussard to his own home computer.”
Ben clicked again. “And that led me to this.” Jennifer looked at the screen and watched as Ben scrolled down the thousands of deposits from Jensen National to the series of offshore accounts.
“And this,” Ben said, clicking the mouse again. A folder was called up giving all of the information about each of the offshore accounts, including balances and account passwords.
“So it was you,” Jennifer whispered.
Ben nodded. “You didn’t think I was that bright, did you?”
She said nothing, amazed he’d uncovered the whole scheme so quickly. He was right, she’d clearly underestimated her own husband. Then again, she had no idea what he really did or how he did it. Instead, she’d relied on Richards to foil any attempted intrusions.
“The problem was,” Ben continued, “I knew there were three of you, but I could only identify Richards and Broussard. Frankly, I figured for Susan Flowers as the third. The third was clearly a female, and just as clearly worked in auditing. I remembered you saying that she and Broussard had a thing going, and I was sure as hell positive that she was the one.”
Ben clicked the mouse and a list of folders appeared, all women’s names with numbers behind them. “Then I ran across this,” he said. He clicked on one marked Susan 9, and a video appeared and started playing. “This confirmed my suspicions,” Ben said, turning to the screen. Susan was enthusiastically riding Broussard’s cock, in the throes of orgasm.
“But there are none of me on there,” Jennifer said, scanning the list of videos. “So what’s this all about?”
Ben smiled. “No, Jennifer, there are none of you on here.” He scrolled the screen with the mouse, running up and down the hundreds of video files. “This is what the police have had since day one.”
“Then you know I’m innocent,” Jennifer pleaded. “Please, Ben, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Ben’s look of sorrow vanished, and she watched as pain and anger contorted his features.
“Jennifer,” he said, his voice hoarse, “this is what the police had because I took these out.”
He clicked the mouse and six video files appeared. They were labeled Jennifer 1 through 5, and the last one was labeled The Murder. Jennifer shivered at the last one.
Ben scrolled the arrow to Jennifer 5 and double-clicked. “This is the video that changed my life,” he said. She watched the screen. There she was, naked and in front of Broussard, detailing the scheme to take millions, to seduce Jeff Richards, to make her dreams of wealth finally come true.
“You did it all for the money, didn’t you?” he asked.
She nodded, watching the screen.
“No matter what it took, you just wanted the money. Fuck me, fuck our marriage.” His voice cracked as she turned to him. “To hell with our little girls, right?”
She gasped at the last. “No, Ben, it was because of them that I did it. So they’d never have to want for anything. So they’d not go to school in hand-me-downs like I did, with cheap haircuts and not enough money for a homecoming dress. So they’d never have to worry about living in a trailer house.” She felt the tears streaming down her face. “No, you’re wrong there,” she said, “they were why I did it. And every time I did something I didn’t want to do, I thought of them and how they’d never have to grow up like I did. Ashamed of myself and my family, the butt of everyone’s jokes at every dance and football game and class and everything.”
Ben’s face was now awash in tears, and Jennifer looked at Rebecca. She thought Rebecca looked sympathetic, but she couldn’t tell if it was for her or for Ben.
“You slept with more, didn’t you?” Ben accused.
She nodded her head.
————– Orkideh ————-
Our hotel was not far from downtown Montreal near McGill University. I picked this location not because it was a happening area but because it was far away from my sister’s neighborhood on the other side of the city. Jackson and I were walking downtown along Rue Sainte Catherine that is lined with shops and restaurants.
It was a lovely spring day, bright and sunny with a slight breeze. I regretted that I couldn’t dress appropriately for the weather. Instead, afraid of being recognized, I was covered from head to toe, complete with hijab and large sunglasses. Jackson was dressed casually in pressed jeans and a light turtleneck that hugged his broad shoulders and tight biceps perfectly. I had to stop myself from randomly pausing in the street to just kiss him.
During our walk Jackson asked me about what had happened to the secret memo that had people chasing us and that put our lives in danger in New York. I filled him in on how all of us who had copies of the memo tried to devise a plan get it out and how news organizations refused to publish it because they couldn’t find anyone to verify its authenticity. Then I also told him about our friend who had tried to send his copy of the memo and had disappeared, and how we all basically gave up, fearful for our lives and for our families’ lives.
“You guys were brave,” he told me. “You did what you could.”
“Then why have I felt like such a coward?” The question went unanswered. Jackson just squeezed my hand and kissed it as we continued walking, silently contemplating. “Isn’t that the definition of cowardly?” I continued, “when you fail to do what is right because you are too preoccupied with protecting your own ass?”
“You guys didn’t sit on the information, you tried to get it out but no one would listen.”
“I didn’t personally take the risk,” I countered, “and expose my copy of the file. Even if the newspapers wouldn’t publish it, I could have posted it online, tried other means to get the truth out.”
“You know with all the information out there that just randomly posting it online would only have a very slim chance of making an impact, but it would have put you and your families’ lives at risk.”
“And that’s exactly why I feel like a coward,” I exclaimed, “because I was afraid to take a bigger risk. Plus, we all just got so demotivated. I think that’s what makes me feel the worst. All the revolutions that gave us such hope during the Arab Spring were all either defeated or co-opted. They either remained puppet governments for Western interests or they were overrun by religious fanatics. It was the same folly that happened in Iran after the revolution from the Shah in 1979. I think that crushed me the most.”
“Orkideh,” he said, drawing my name out and stopping us on the sidewalk, “every cause worth fighting for needs people who are willing to dedicate their lives to it, perhaps give their lives. But just as important as having that commitment is knowing when you need to survive, to live to wage a smarter fight tomorrow, one that you might actually win.”
We began walking again, in more silence as I contemplated what he said. His words were no doubt meant to make me feel less guilty, but I had to admit there was wisdom there. On the other hand, I knew all too well how easily the ethic of self preservation could freeze a person into inaction indefinitely. Iran was filled with those people and I had grown up with them all around me. It always seemed like cowardice to me and I detested it. But surely I didn’t want to die in vain. How to strike a balance?
At that moment we happened upon this cute little lingerie boutique called –. Jackson suggested that we go inside, sensing an opportunity to brighten our mood. I hesitated.
“Let me treat you to some new sexy undies,” he suggested as we stood in front of the store. He was being respectful of my need to remain discrete with our affection in public but the look in his eyes told me that he wanted to suck on my neck and tell me just what he would do to me back in the hotel while wearing some new lingerie.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I stammered.
“Do you really want to buy me something that I wear once or twice for you and then take home to wear for Br-… for someone else?” I asked, avoiding the mention of my husband’s name.
“I’m trying — to think about that,” he answered somberly, hurt clouding over his eyes.
“Not that I would want to wear them for him,” I tried to recover, “but it would look strange for me to return home with new sexy underwear that I never wore for him. They would be impossible for me to hide, and I sure wouldn’t want to just throw them away after this weekend, good lingerie is too expensive.”
“Well,” he pondered, “let me watch you try some on, then. Let me have that image to take with me. Let it be our foreplay for when we go back to the hotel afterward.”
“As if we need it,” I said softly. Truthfully, I was getting horny just at the thought of modeling for him. But I was also still hesitant — extremely self-conscious about doing such a thing in a public place. In my head I could hear all my conservative uncles (and one or two of my older aunts!) back in Tehran railing against the negative influence that Western mores had on Islamic women. For them, such an act would definitely fall into the category of turning oneself into a whore. Almost immediately I felt a sense of shame come over me and I hated myself for still being so susceptible to their judgments even while 8,000 miles away.
Jackson could see the conflicted turmoil on my face and rushed me into the store before I could change my mind.
There were two women working in the store — one younger who looked to be about 25, and an older woman who looked to be in her 40s and carried herself as if she were the manager or owner. Perhaps detecting my nervousness — I suspect it was obvious from my dress — the older woman gave her younger colleague a knowing look and came over to offer her assistance.
This woman knew her craft. She was friendly yet spoke softly to me, aware of my fears about discretion. She introduced herself as Marie, and asked if we were looking for something specific or just browsing. Feeling comfortable, I took my hijab and sunglasses off and shook her hand. We explained that we were browsing. She briefly pointed out the different sections where we could find different kinds of panty and lingerie sets.
“Take your time and figure out what you like, what you may want to try on,” Marie explained. “When you’re ready, we have a private fitting area in the back and a ‘hubby’s couch’ where he can wait comfortably until you are ready to show him what you’re trying on.” She said the latter part seeing the wedding bands on both of us, assuming that we were married. I wasn’t about to correct her.
“If you want to try on any corsets,” Marie continued, “those can be a bit tricky at first and I can help show you. But take your time and enjoy yourselves, and just let me know if you have any questions.” Seeing how her demeanor had put me at ease, she left us alone to explore. The fact that there were no other shoppers in the store also made me feel at ease.
Jackson had an insatiable appetite to see me in all kinds of outfits, so it took us a while to gather everything I would to try on. He had impeccable taste in women’s underwear, even though I found it hard to imagine ever wearing a corset or a bustier in my real life. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy wearing sexy bras and panties, it was just that the bustier and garters seemed a bit much. Nevertheless, I was getting turned on just watching Jackson’s excitement grow from his anticipation. He was like a kid in a candy store, and I was the candy.
When I was ready to try some things on, Marie led us back to the fitting rooms and pulled the curtain on the largest one for me. Jackson was about to follow me inside when Marie stopped him and directed him toward the couch by the entrance to the back hallway where the fittings rooms were.
“Down boy,” she laughed knowingly. “A little anticipation is a good thing. Let her call you in when she’s ready.” He put on a fake pout but complied with her orders. I couldn’t help but smile and Marie gave me a knowing look that made me blush. Sensing the electricity between Jackson and I, she whispered to me to make sure that I left my current panties on while trying on any others. Then while still smiling, a stern look came over her eyes to let me know that under no circumstances were we to get carried away and start fooling around back there. I thanked her and tried to assure her with my own eyes that we would be good.
When I was ready I called Jackson in. When he came through the curtain and saw me he gave me a look that made me feel foolish for ever hesitating to come into this store with him. A smokey, sinister look clouded over his eyes that spoke of all the bad and naughty things he planned to do to me. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked me up and down, shamelessly objectifying me, burning my flesh with his piercing gaze and making it blush.
For a moment I doubted whether I would keep my promise to Marie about not fooling around in the fitting room, knowing that I would comply with anything Jackson demanded of me. My own reflected gaze instantly noticed the bulge in his pants and I half expected him to command me to get down on my knees and give him relief. I had to wonder just who I was in realizing how happy I would be to comply with such a command.
Instead, Jackson walked up to me and attacked my lips with his own. He kissed me deeply, passionately for thirty seconds then just as briefly broke the kiss and stepped away, leaving me breathless and in danger of having to buy the pair of panties I was supposed to be just trying on. Moaning, he took out his phone and began taking pictures.
The babydolls didn’t turn him on as much as the bustiers and the teddies. To my surprise, he liked the lace boyleg panties more than he liked the thongs. I asked him why as he positioned me against the mirror and took a picture of me from behind. “I like the way the lace frames and hugs your butt,” he told me, the bulge growing in his pants, “it makes you look even sexier than the thongs.”
I asked him what he did with the other pictures he took of me in New York. Unabashedly, he told me how he masturbated to them with my panties pressed up against his face. The revelation made me throb between my legs. Bashfully I confessed to him how I did the same every time I was in the bath or shower over the past two years. If it was even possible, his erection grew stronger from my confession. I could see it, batting against the front of his jeans trying to get to me. I started getting wet, too wet.
“Jackson,” I whispered, “if you get me too excited I will leak through my panties and stain the store’s merchandise, and we will have to buy everything!”
“Well, we certainly can’t let that happen,” he said all too calmly, approaching me with a prowl. In a flash his hands were at my side, pulling down the boyleg panties and my soaked thong underneath it. In the next instant I felt his hand sliding over my glistening folds before two thick fingers were thrust inside of me. I hissed from both shock an appreciation at his touch. My hips started rocking all on their own, gyrating in a circular motion while mounted on his digits. But just as suddenly those invading digits were gone, leaving me pouting from the withdrawal. Jackson intently stared into my eyes as he brought his sticky fingers up to his nose, inhaled deeply, then stuck them into his mouth.
“I can’t decide what I want to do to you more, eat you or fuck you,” he growled in my ear, his erection pressed into my belly, making me moan.
The sound of new voices entering the store brought me out of my reverie and I froze. It wasn’t just the fact that there were other people in the store, it was the specific tenor of the voices that worried me. I told Jackson to go out and see who they were.
“Oh my goodness,” I heard Marie exclaim, “do you two have a sister? There’s a woman in the back fitting rooms that looks just like you two.” I panicked. My heart was beating at a million beats per second.
“We do,” I heard my sister Fatemeh’s voice reply to Marie, “but she lives in the states and won’t be here for another two days,” my oldest sister Naseem continued. Fatemeh is the sister closest to me in age, and we have been mistaken for twins in the past.
“Uncanny,” I heard Marie say. “Don’t they look like your wife?”
“I do see the resemblance,” I heard Jackson’s voice answer, “but my wife’s an only child.” I could not help but smile. It was nothing to be proud of but I could not help but marvel at how — like me — Jackson knew how to lie with such smooth ease. Growing up in an ultra-religious autocratic theocracy, lying was a matter of survival. The irony was that he was the one person in the world to whom I never had to lie. I knew I was the same for him.
“When she comes out, you will see what I’m talking about,” I heard Marie say. Then I heard what I prayed were Jackson’s footsteps coming back my way as my sisters explained that they were shopping for a week’s worth of honeymoon outfits. A pang of guilt struck me as I knew I should have been with them, laughing together as we shopped and ran errands in final preparations for the wedding. More than feeling guilty I was scared to death. How in the fucking hell was I going to make it out of there without being seen?!
Jackson stepped back into my changing room and saw the look of horror on my face. The stunned smile on his face told me that he recognized that we had a problem. He was also surprised at how quickly I had managed to get dressed.
“Wow! Your sister’s kind of cute,” he joked trying to bring levity to the situation. It brought back sore childhood memories of when all the boys I liked seemed to only pay attention to her. I wasn’t amused. I hit him in his stomach to let him know as much.
“I will scratch your eyes out if you even look her way,” I whispered to him, jokingly deadly serious.
“Orkideh,” he said softly as he came to embrace me, his own demeanor changing. “You have to know that no one else has ever come close to…,” he sighed, gathering his thoughts. “I would have married you, in a heartbeat. I was ready to spend my life with you.” He was letting me know in no uncertain terms that his eyes would have been only for me had I not walked away. I felt doubly shitty.
As was becoming common, Jackson had a plan to save my ass.
“There’s a service entry door just to the right back here. I’m betting it leads to the delivery alley out back,” he explained, picking up some the lingerie I had been trying on. “I’m gonna go buy one of these. While I have Marie distracted at the register you need to sneak out the back. We have to go quickly, though. If your sisters come back here and start trying things on, we are going to be stuck in here for a while.”
“Which ones are you going to purchase?” I inquired. Jackson inspected the crotch of the boyleg panties he had in his hand then put them to his nose.
“Definitely this one,” he said with a grunt. I turned red with embarrassment. Through trial and error he found one more that was no longer clean. “Hand me the rest of them so I can take them up to the front, lest she think you are back here stuffing them in your purse or something.”
“Why would she think that?” I asked perplexed.
“The back door has an alarm on it and it might go off. Don’t panic if it does, just walk calmly and briskly away.”
“I can do this, remember?” I assured him. “New York, our hotel, the taxi, the police?”
“I was so impressed with you that day,” he smiled.
“Good, so you know that I’ve got this. Now go, before they come back here!”
“Ok, ok. Just give me two minutes. Wait until you hear me say, ‘thank you very much for all of your help’ and that will let you know I’ve completed the purchase. That way if the alarm does go off I can just skip out the front quickly.”
“Alright,” I said, giving him a quick kiss. “Meet me at the Starbucks around the corner — I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He agreed and left to put our plan in motion.
As luck would have it, the alarm did go off. I walked calmly out of the building as if nothing was happening. I heard a meek voice call out “hey!” just as I turned the corner and I quickly immersed myself in a crowd of people walking by. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I was a nervous wreck sitting in the Starbucks waiting for Jackson to arrive but no one would know it from just looking at me.
I usually love coffee but it was the last thing I needed just then. When Jackson finally came through the door I hugged him tightly before dragging him to a bar I had spotted across the street along the way. The bartender looked shocked when I walked up to him and ordered three shots of Knob Creek: one for Jackson and two for me. The bartender looked doubly shocked when I downed them immediately. I guess he had never seen a woman wearing a hijab walk into a bar and order straight bourbon before. It was turning out to be a weekend of many firsts for me.
The experience left me jarred. I just wanted to get away, to be someplace where I wasn’t under anyone else’s scrutiny. Instead, Jackson and I just made a beeline back to our hotel. It was a nice sanctuary but I was starting to feel claustrophobic spending all of our time in there.
————— Jackson —————-
At some point in the middle of the night/early morning, the raw power of a dream I was having about Orkideh woke me up. Upon stirring, I discovered why the dream had been so potent. Tangled up in each other, my senses were filled with her in every way. We were spooning. My face was buried in her hair and I had been breathing in her scent for a while. I had one arm snaked under her armpit with my hand pressed into her midsection, holding her close to me. My other arm was draped over her, cupping her breast in my palm. We slept naked and I could feel her soft skin pressed into me all the way down to my shins. The most erotic thing was that I had a raging erection, nestled tightly in the crack of her ass. When I stirred my hips were grinding into her of their own volition. I moaned, feeling the comforting warmth of her cleft.
My stirring elicited her own rupture from sleep, and she groggily inquired as to what I was doing awake. In response I slid my erection almost out of the valley between her cheeks and then pressed it back into her, planting a kiss to the top of her head. She groaned, but I couldn’t tell if it was one of arousal or frustration at being awakened.
“I would think after last night that you would need a good ten hours of sleep to recover,” she replied, pushing her ass back to meet me.
“Normally you’d be right, but it was the force of my dream that woke me up.”
“Ooh,” she cooed, as if I had a naughty secret. “Tell me about the dream.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I hesitated.
“Were you dreaming of someone else?” she demanded. I could feel her body tense up as she prepared to pull herself out of my embrace.
“No, my love,” I told her, holding her tight and raining more kisses down on top of her head. “Of course it was with you.”
“Then tell me,” she pleaded, relaxing back into me. She used her cheeks to squeeze and hug my erection for added incentive.
“Well,” I hesitated further, trying to find my words through the fog of raw lust that was still clouding my brain. “We were making love… but not in the conventional way.” My dick swelled in her cleft with just the thought of what I was about to share with her. She inhaled suddenly at the sensation, then pressed her backside into me even more.
“What were you doing to me?” she whispered as her nipple started to stiffen in my palm. I gently began rolling it with my thumb and forefinger.
“Well, I had just put my…” I trailed off, thinking better of how I wanted to explain it.
“Tell me, Jackson,” she pleaded again, her voice becoming raspier. I decided to give her the story from the beginning.
“We were at a movie theater,” I began, “but we were sitting in the back. For some reason, there was a couch back there. My head was in your lap and you were feeding me fruit while we watched the movie.”
“Then what happened?”
“Every time you put a piece of fruit in my mouth I sucked on your fingers, and soon I was hungry for more than just fruit. I guess you can say I was hungry for your fruit.” That admission elicited another small moan and tight squeeze of her ass around my shaft. “I turned over on my side until I was facing your tummy. I lifted your shirt and began tonguing your belly button. You were so ticklish there that you had to pinch me to stop before you yelled out in the theater.”
“I — ticklish there,” she confirmed. “It makes all the muscles in my abdomen jump when you do that to me.”
“I decided to leave your tummy alone because I had more devilish desires in mind, so I turned all the way over until I was face down in your lap. You were wearing a skirt, and I began massaging your thighs, inching your skirt up as I went. You protested, worried about the people around us in the theater. I ignored you. I was kissing and nibbling on your thighs which made it impossible for you to resist. I rolled your skirt all the way up until I could press my nose down into you, to see if you liked what I was doing to you.”
“And? Tell me what you found,” she said breathlessly as I moved my palm to take in her other breast. “Describe it to me.”
“I didn’t even have to take a deep breath,” I said, grinding into her ass just a little bit harder. My hips started doing a circular motion. The heat between us was causing her cleft to get sweaty. Combined with my leaking pre-cum, she was just moist enough where my shaft could begin to slide up and down. “Your scent was unmistakable. I smelled your rampant approval of what I was doing to you. ” There were more moans out of her, and her hips started to match my circular motion, grinding back into me.
“My appetite fully stoked, I got off the couch and got down on my knees between your legs. Then you really started to panic, afraid that I was about to take things too far for a public place.”
“You were being a naughty boy,” she whispered. “I can’t let you naughty boys do bad things to me,” she said, reciting my dream as if she had the same one herself.
“You clamped one hand defensively over your pussy and tried to hold your legs shut, and you put the other hand on my head and tried to push me away.”
“Did that make you give up and try to be good, respectful of my honor?”
“Hell no,” I said calmly, now using both hands to twist her nipples as I relayed the story. “Your resistance just made me want you more. I licked and sucked at the tender inner flesh of your thighs. Within minutes you had spread them for me willingly, as wide as they could go. The next thing I knew you were scooting down in your seat, pressing the wet crotch of your panties directly in my face. I pulled the sodden fabric aside and began eating you earnestly, not caring that the entire theater could hear me devouring your sex, drinking your sweet honey.”
Hearing this made Orkideh shift in my arms, moving up higher in the bed next to me until my cock slipped from between the cheeks of her ass and slid into the wet softness of her inner thighs. It was my turn to groan, feeling her arousal.
“Don’t stop,” she said impatiently, “tell me more.” In our new positioning her head was level with mine. I moved her hair out of my way and pressed my face into her neck before continuing.
“Then something strange happened. A guy who worked at the theater came walking through with his flashlight, telling everyone to put away their cell phones — no talking and no texting. He walked right by us and shined his light directly on us. I could see his flashlight reflected in the wetness of your sex and all over your inner thighs. I thought we were busted and he was going to kick us out. But all he said was ‘remember no cell phones’ and just kept walking.” Orkideh gasped, feeling genuine embarrassment. I continued, smiling to myself.
“I kept eating you, lost in how good you taste. But I was frustrated because your panties kept getting in my way. Finally I just pulled them off completely and put them in my pocket.” A low moan escaped out of her, and her breathing grew more ragged still. “I turned you over and put you on your knees with your butt up in the air, then I buried my face back into you and kept eating.” I stopped talking and started sucking on her neck, just enjoying the heat of her creamy thighs. I was a bit hesitant wondering how she might respond to the next part of the dream.
“Tell me,” was all she said, knowing or perhaps hoping where the narrative was going. She began urgently trying to rub her sex against my shaft. I started slowly thrusting into her, the top of my cock rubbing into the lips of her pussy, but the angle wasn’t right for me to enter.
“I feasted on you,” I said breathlessly, moaning and unable to contain my own excitement. “I feasted on you in a public theater, with my tongue deep in your pussy and my nose pressed up higher, smelling you there.”
“Fucking hell!” she hissed, and I felt a fresh gush of her nectar wash over my crown. “Tell me,” was all she said again and I felt her fingers begin to play at her clit. I knew what she wanted to know.
“You smelled… funky, earthy, kinky,” I said, groaning at the thought.
“Is that what you remember?” she asked, acknowledging that I had her in this position once before until she stopped me from going further.
“Yesss!” I answered, the heat growing in me to a fever pitch, “and it makes me want to taste you there,” I admitted
“It doesn’t smell like… dirty stuff back there?”
“No, my flower,” I said, making reference to her name. “I cleaned you thoroughly back there. It just smelled like… concentrated you, but the most secret and hidden part of you; the forbidden part of you. Like an espresso shot of your pheromones. I want to taste you there because I love you, because I want all of you inside of me. I want to smell all of you, kiss all of you, taste all of you… be inside all of you.” The further admission made Orkideh begin thrusting back into me, arching her back, trying to get me inside of her hungry pussy. “So I started moving my lips,” I said, going back to the dream, “kissing you higher, licking you there, tasting you there.”
“Tell me,” she pleaded. I could feel the vibrations in her body indicating her hand moving furiously over her clit. Again, I knew what she wanted to know.
“Your flavor mesmerized me in its pungency, your muskiness was like a drug. I just licked around the outside for a little while, savoring your flavor and your body’s reaction. Soon my hunger grew too strong to resist and I tried to push my tongue inside of you but you were too tight. You were squeezed shut like a knot in a rope, pulled so tight you can’t get it out. So I went back and forth between licking your ass, licking your pussy and licking your clit until you came.”
I felt Orkideh tremble at the dirtier, more graphic language, and I knew I was getting to her. “You came violently, trying not to shout into the theater, using the couch cushions to muffle your cries. Once you calmed down you relaxed, and I was finally able to force my tongue inside.”
Her fingers left her pussy with a squelching noise that betrayed her arousal then found their way into my mouth, giving me a taste of her nectar in the present. I grunted as I licked the slightly salty juices off of her digits. This woman knew me so well… she knew hot to get what she wanted. The moment her flavor hit my brain my hips shifted and her back arched simultaneously, allowing my tip to find her center and push its way inside. Her body welcomed me in with a contraction of her inner muscles which made me groan in ecstasy.
“I ate you thoroughly, noisily” I told her as I started a slow rhythm thrusting into her steamy pussy. Orkideh took her fingers from my mouth and threw off the blankets, suddenly too hot beneath the comforter. Her hand rushed back to her sex and began rubbing her clit furiously as the pace of our thrusting increased.
“And no one from the theater said anything?”
“Strangely, a woman came over to us and asked if I wanted to eat her popcorn. I peeled my face out of your ass just long enough to tell her ‘no.’ She said that hers had more butter on it but I shooed her away. Then I buried my face back in you. You began thrusting back into me and your dirty little whole was twitching with excitement while I swirled my tongue around inside of you.”
“You are positively one sick and depraved individual, Jackson William,” she told me, rutting back to meet my strokes.
“And you love it, don’t you?” I challenged her, sinking my teeth into the flesh of her shoulder and increasing the force behind my thrusts. Her free hand reached back to weave her fingers through my hair, raking her nails against my scalp.
“Then what did you do to me?” she asked, avoiding my question.
“I switched from my tongue to my fingers, trying to loosen you further. You were grunting as I plied you open with first one finger and then two. The people in the theater kept shushing us, but we ignored them.”
“Then what?” she asked, barely audible. “Tell me what you made me do.”
“I withdrew my fingers and took one last taste of you — all of you — then I stood up behind you, positioning myself. I made you spread for me so I could take what I wanted. You complied obediently. Reaching back to hold yourself open to me, you arched your back and pushed your ass out to me. I could see the glow from the movie screen reflecting off your wetness as your scent filled the theater.”
“The whole movie theater was smelling my pussy?” she enquired, her breath now ragged.
“Yes, everyone in there could smell you and the effect was like a drug affecting the entire crowd. Couples started kissing madly and touching each other, shedding their clothes. I couldn’t wait any longer. I invaded your pussy first, wetting myself in the dripping mess you were making. Then I pulled out of you. Even in the darkness of the theater I could see my dick all shiny from how wet you were. I moved my tip up a little higher and started to push. You were panting loudly from the pressure, and the people in the theater were starting to watch us, playing with themselves. I had just pushed the head of my dick inside you when I woke up.”
————- Orkideh ————-
By the time he finished retelling his dream, we were full out fucking. Unsatisfied with the lack of leverage behind his strokes as we lay side by side, Jackson rolled over fully on top of me, pulled my hips slightly in the air, and then started pounding me into the mattress. There was no mistaking how much his fantasy had aroused me. My treacherous body had my secret on full display, dripping down my thighs, filling the room with the smell of my desire to let Jackson do all of those nasty things to me.
We were already both close. I continued rubbing my clit while he slammed into my upturned ass, the smacking sounds of his thrusts echoing throughout the room. He started lunging into me, making all sorts of unintelligible sounds, and I felt his cock swell with its imminent explosion. We exploded together, calling for each other, grunting, clawing, trying to pull the other closer. Jackson flipped me over quickly, almost violently, and slammed his dick back into my spasming pussy before falling on top of me to claim my mouth with his own. My legs instinctively wrapped around him and I hugged him with my thighs while my arms hugged him around his neck. We shared a long, deep, wet and sloppy kiss while he throbbed inside my flooded passage, our bodies both twitching uncontrollably at the force of our orgasms.
There were no words. We both knew. It took his erection a while to fully subside and slip out of me, but I didn’t mind. I loved that moment between us even though I felt dangerously exposed. Eventually our heart beats slowed and we shifted our position, laying side by side but still facing each other. I knew that I needed to get up and pee but I wanted to just stay there and drift off to sleep held snugly in his arms. Not peeing after sex leaves me vulnerable to a UTI, and the last thing I wanted for this long weekend was to wake up sore down there in all the wrong ways. So reluctantly, I peeled myself away to go pee. When I got back, Jackson was on his back snoring. When he felt my body slide back next to him he stirred and wrapped his arms around me once again. I pulled the blankets over us and we started to drift off to sleep. Without thinking, my mouth uttered one last thing before I lost consciousness.
“Hmm?” he answered, barely awake.
“I love you, too,” I said, pulling his hand up to my face and kissing it. I felt his lips press into the side of my face while his arms held me tighter. My fate was sealed. It was the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep.
When I woke up the next morning I was a changed woman. I was nervous as hell, feeling so exposed, but even more so I felt liberated. We were both thrumming with excited energy, me a bit anxious as well, knowing that by the end of the day I was going to submit to Jackson in every way. But it was also our last full day together so there was a heavy emotional weight in the room as well.
To his credit, Jackson didn’t try to rush straight into it, so to speak. There was a cool, unhurried confidence to him that morning. He knew he was going to have his way with me yet patient enough to let me decide my exact moment of surrender. It was the first morning he didn’t start off by rubbing his face in my sex to get my scent all over him. His affection was no less demanding, however. Other than to let me go pee, Jackson wouldn’t let me out of his arms. He just held me close to him and kissed me about the face, whichever part of my face was closest to his lips in any particular second.
After a while both of our stomachs were growling so I reached for the phone and the room service menu. Before I knew what was happening my new liberated self had forgone my usual breakfast of assorted fruit, Greek yogurt and pastries and instead I ordered a breakfast filled with pork: an applewood bacon, sun-dried tomato and goat cheese omelet; Grand Marnier French toast with a side of maple sausage; and a Virginia country ham steak with home-fried potatoes. Jackson looked at me with his mouth agape, totally shocked.
“Holy shit, what’s gotten into you?” he chuckled, remembering that I had grown up not eating pork and never went near it.
“You have,” I answered simply then locked my lips onto his.
I love meat, my whole family does. The whole vegetarian craze never appealed to me, though I do enjoy eating healthy. I just also enjoy a meal anchored by a nice cut of fish, chicken, beef, or my favorite lamb. But as any person from an Islamic country will tell you, we are raised and taught that pigs are the filthiest of animals, but physically and spiritually. I never even had an opportunity to try pork growing up because it wasn’t sold in any markets nor was it served in any restaurants. But I was in the mood for breaking taboos. We ravished the food. After stuffing ourselves, we took turns in the bathroom then showered together. Not that he needed any instruction, but I bent over long enough for Jackson to make sure that he cleaned me thoroughly.
While Jackson brushed his teeth and combed his hair, I packed a backpack for an outing. I wanted to go someplace where we wouldn’t be recognized and I had an idea. Something told me that I might need a blanket so I looked in the closet and found the extra one that the hotel provided. I stuffed it into my oversized backpack just in case my plan worked out.
—————— Jackson —————-
Orkideh wouldn’t tell me where we were going, only that it was someplace she hoped we could go to enjoy the outdoors without fear of being recognized. She handed me the keys, though, and told me to drive.
“How can I drive if I don’t know where we’re going?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you where to turn,” she answered, piquing my curiosity. “Besides, this will let me mess with you while you drive, instead of you messing with me,” she teased.
She was probably right — I might have been tempted to caress her thigh and let my fingers tickle the sensitive flesh in between while she drove — but her tease turned out to be an idle threat. At first. During the first hour of the car ride we spent the whole time listening to music, switching Ipods and introducing each other to more of our favorite music. It was non-erotic, but very intimate all the same.
As we got past the city limits Orkideh started to relax, and her hijab and sunglasses come off. With her hair now loose, she opened her side window to let the wind blow through it, soaking up sun with her face. Beyond her physical beauty she conveyed such a free spiritedness in that moment that was even more enduring. I sat dumbfounded contemplating why people from her part of the world would want to cover all of that beauty up.
Orkideh was wearing a classy but beautifully sexy sun dress. Soon after losing her hijab and sunglasses she also took her shoes off and put her feet up on the dashboard, tempting me with her smooth thighs. I could not resist reaching out to her and to my surprise she did not swat my hand away like she did when we were driving to the hotel from the airport.
I rubbed the inside of her thighs until they became warm, almost hot to the touch. When I first started she kept them modestly closed but after ten minutes or so they were spread wide, welcoming further digital exploration. My hand drifted to the front of her midnight blue boy-leg panties, the same pair I bought for her the day before. There I rubbed until a wet spot formed, coating my fingers in her moisture. I brought her fingers to my nose and inhaled deeply, letting her see, but I ddin’t put them in my mouth. Instead, I reached back for her sex and try to move her panties to the side. A close call where we almost wreck makes her think twice and slap my hand away.
“Both hands on the wheel,” she insists, “or I’m pulling my dress down for the rest of the drive.”
I complied and her own fingers took over where mine left off. She got her fingers wet and brought them to my face. My hunger was growing and she knew that I was by that point dying to taste her but she denied me. Instead, she let me get a second whiff but when I tried to capture her sticky fingers between my lips she pulled them away. Over and over she teased me like that, driving me crazy. It wasn’t long before a large tent in my pants caught her eye. As she smiled mischievously, I knew I was in for it.
I struggled to keep my eyes on the road as she put her fingers back in her sex.
“This is a first for me,” she admitted breathlessly while staring down at her lewd act.
“Don’t you dare try and lie to me and claim that you never masturbated before.”
“No silly,” she smiled, removing her fingers momentarily to observe their wetness. “It’s the first time I’ve done this while not in the shower or the bath. As a little girl, that was the only place we had any privacy. But I was so ashamed of the behavior that as I grew up I could never just lay in my bed and do it, let alone let anyone watch,” she added, groaning the last part. “For the first two years I tried to suppress my desire to do this while thinking of you. About two years ago, I lost the battle to resist those fantasies and for these past couple of years, every shower, every bath…” her voice trailed off into groans as my ears picked up the unmistakable squish of finger banging. I glanced over to find her right hand working at a blurry pace.
I let out a groan of my own and contemplated pulling over to the side of the road. Not yet satisfied in my torture, Orkideh removed her hand a second time and reached out toward my face but again she would not let me take her fingers into my mouth. Going in for the kill, she wiped her stickiness all over my face, quickly dodging when I tried to snag her slimy pungent digits with my lips. She was generous enough to leave a little just under my nose. I reached out with my tongue and licked it up hungrily.
“Tell me more about what you did while thinking of me,” I groaned, hoping to drive her need to a fever pitch.
She turned red, closing her legs over her hand buried in her pussy, obstructing my view. I told her how I snuck out of bed the night after our first phone conversation to find my hidden box of her memories, and then masturbated to them while saddened that her panties no longer held her smell. My revelation seemed to push a button inside of her. Orkideh took a deep breath and looked up at me, spreading her legs again. It was all I could do to look at the road and not keep my eyes glued on her.
“I dreamed about our intellectual connection,” she said breathlessly, and I could hear her fingers sloshing around in her sex, so wet she was. “I also dreamed about your scent,” she continued as her eyes closed dreamily, “I never forgot about how good you smelled, or how good you tasted. I loved how we both needed to smell and taste each other…”
Her words trailed off into moans as her fingers sped up and she slid down further in the seat. She pulled her legs up even further, until I could see her cute tinier orifice, glistening from the juices leaking down from her pussy. I thought she was going to cum but then she slowed herself, deliberately, and her voice resumed in a whisper.
“Worst of all, I could never stop thinking about how you touched me here and made it a new erogenous zone for me.” I glanced over and saw her wet middle finger leave her pussy, drop down an inch, circle around at the tiny little opening and then slowly push inside. I almost came in my pants as I drifted into oncoming traffic.
————- Orkideh —————-
I never felt so stupid in all of my life. I screamed, seeing the large truck coming right for us, its horn blaring. The word “Peterbuilt” will be forever etched into my brain. That little oval symbol above the grill of the truck seemed to pass within inches of my face as Jackson swerved further left to avoid a collision by a matter of inches. We ended up on the opposite shoulder facing oncoming traffic that was zooming by on our right. Horns continued to blare at us for facing the wrong way on the wrong side of the highway. Jackson pushed further to the left, into the grass as he slowed the car to a stop.
My knuckles were white as I gripped the door handle with one hand and had the other pressed against the dashboard to brace for impact. My breathing ragged, it was a few minutes before either of us could speak. My heart was beating in my chest so hard I could hear it, and thought I could hear Jackson’s too. Finally Jackson reached over to me and took me in his arms. Words weren’t really needed — we were both just glad that we were safe.
Appropriately chastised for our risky behavior, we resumed our focus on music for the rest of the trip, though Jackson held my hand the whole way. Our destination was the –, about two hours drive outside of Montreal, situated between a lake and a mountain. My sister had told me about it a couple of years ago: its beautiful lake, majestic trees, and wonderful vistas. Most important to me, I felt confident that there would be no one there who knew either of us. If only for that afternoon, we could be free.
As we pulled into the parking lot as the southeast end of the park, we saw a lot of people there also with the same idea to enjoy this day while immersed in nature. I lost my nerve and put my hijab and sunglasses back on. Jackson grabbed the backpack that held our water, some light snacks and the blanket we swiped from the hotel.
We started out walking an easy path, hiking along a trail called the–. At the trail’s summit we had an absolutely spectacular panoramic view of the Adirondacks. A cool breeze flowed over the summit, making me shiver. Jackson took me into his arms to warm me. That’s when he removed my hijab and tucked it in my purse.
“No one’s going to recognize us out here,” he sad softly as he leaned down to kiss me. I thought it was only going to be a quick peck so I let him, not realizing that his lips intended to claim mine for a longer period, preparing the way for his tongue to follow. I found his kisses so addictive that I couldn’t physically pull my lips away, so I pinched him and nodded toward the other couple standing not twenty feet away from us when he pulled back to see what was wrong. They were also enjoying the view, and I knew that there would be more on the way to join us shortly, given how many people we came across while hiking. Jackson simply chuckled and didn’t press me, but the devious sound of his laughter told me he had more in store for me.
It had been a short hike, less than an hour, so we decided to take another trail to give us a different view of the park. We chose a trail named –, which took us along the shores of — I laughed as Jackson tried to imitate a true French speaker while reading the sign indicating the lake ahead of us. He told me that he had taken three years of French but used it so infrequently that it always took him a while to get back into the practice and remember his vocabulary.
The lake was beautiful and peaceful, reflecting the majestic peaks of the two mountains that rose above its opposite shore. Jackson held my hand as we walked along the water’s edge. I know it sounds like such a small thing, but for that afternoon it really started to feel like we were in our own little world where we were free to be a loving couple, not hiding in secret. There were many couples out there, and some families with kids in tow. Some people were getting in the water and swimming. We found a large flat rock along the shore’s edge and took a seat. Jackson just held me quietly while we watched the water sparkle under the mid-day sun. Eventually I began to relax and the tension slowly eased out of my shoulders.
“I’m so happy you texted me,” he whispered in my ear, his warm breath raising tiny bumps along my neck. I tilted my head to give him further access and he took it, his lips claiming the area just under my jaw. The nerve endings there seemed to have a direct line of communication with my sex and I clamped my legs shut to combat the sudden urge I had to spread them as wide as possible and invite his touch down there.
Jackson turned my head toward his face and removed my sunglasses, my last vestige of anonymity. My heart started racing as I knew what was coming. This time I didn’t stop him. When his lips found mine, I greeted his tongue with my own.
We kissed like teenagers, when you kissed forever because kissing was as far as you were willing to go. It wasn’t “get-a-room-because-you-two-are-dry-humping-in-public” kissing, but it was deep, soulful kissing nonetheless. I got lost in his lips, so wonderfully plush and pillowy. I felt a rush of adrenaline as the kiss deepened, letting go of my nervousness about the people around us.
For those few minutes while we sat savoring the taste of each other’s mouths, there was no war going on, no friends disappearing or dying, no religious zealots policing my behavior, no longing for the home to which I could never return, no marriage vows being broken. There was just the incredible connection we felt for each other, consummated in the caress of his tongue sliding against my own. Starting to feel too comfortable, lost in the way that his lips claimed me, never satiated and ever hungrier for more. I had to stop us when my mind drifted into a fantasy of laying out our blanket and letting him make love to me right there on the lake shore.
“I could do this all day, you know,” I hummed into his neck.
“I could do this all my life, you know.” I had no good response to such an admission so I just sat there, letting it live in the moment.
I made to stand up so we could continue walking but Jackson held me down.
“Give me a second,” he said in a hushed tone as he reached into his jeans to adjust the large tent erected in his pants. He was trying to use my body to shield him from others’ view. I couldn’t help myself and laughed out loud, drawing a couple of stares in our direction.
“I’ll get you for that,” he promised softly in my ear as I continued giggling.
“I can’t wait,” I teased, wiggling my butt back into his hardness as I stood. “Oy!” I yelped when I felt his fingers pinch my rear. I elbowed him in his stomach and took off running, leaving the lake behind.
We continued our hike into an oak forest where we fell under the spell of the –: a magical wetland where towering trees sprang forth out of a shallow sea of still water. Traipsed across the water was a boarded trail suspended above pontoons that led our way.
As we hiked, every time we found ourselves secluded Jackson grabbed me and spun me around for a kiss. We made out until we heard someone else coming along and then nervously broke away. For some reason, kissing out in the open on the lake shore seemed more acceptable, whereas kissing along the hiking path when no one was around seemed more clandestine, where any second someone could turn a corner and catch us.
Inevitably we did get caught. When it happened, we would let them pass while pretending that we had stopped to just look at the foliage and the fauna, or like we were trying to find one of the flying squirrels supposedly inhabiting these woods. At one point, things started to get carried away. Jackson pushed me up against a large tree and began making out with me with more urgency. I moaned with pleasure as his mouth took mine with force, taking my misgivings and kissing them to oblivion. Not satisfied that both my hijab and sunglasses were off, he found the scrunchy holding my hair in a bun and pulled it away, raking his fingers through my tresses as they fell past my shoulders. His hands moved over my body, hot through the material of my sundress, rubbing me all over and making my skin yearn for his unimpeded touch. Up and down my back, around my waist, and up and down my hips — he wasn’t touching me in any places inappropriate for public space but damn if I didn’t want him to.
Greedy with my own need to feel his skin, my hands scrambled hungrily beneath his shirt. I grew bolder as my hunger increased, palming his abdomen before moving up to his pecks where I played with his nipples until they were hard little nubs. I broke the kiss and buried my face in his neck where I began to lick at his delicious skin, slightly salty from our day of hiking under the Canadian sun. He shivered before forcing my face up to sink his tongue back into my mouth. I clung to him tightly as the intensity grew. His own hunger mounting, his mouth left mine and moved downwards, licking a trail of kisses along my jaw toward my hair line.
“I can’t ever seem to get enough of you,” he said gruffly in my ear. I moaned and tilted my head as he worked lower, kissing my neck and then biting into my shoulder. I moaned even louder as I felt his erection press insistently into my stomach.
“Nor I, you,” I responded breathing raggedly. His lips traced my plunging neckline straight to my breasts and lingered there in my cleavage, his breath warm against the rise of my flesh. I froze as his hand swept down from my waist to my knees before rushing back up, this time under my dress. His fingers felt hot to the touch as they made contact with the bare tender skin of my thigh.
Jackson was bold, too bold for my comfort as his touch moved inwards, daring for someone to catch us up against that tree with my dress scandalously looped over his wrist and his hand who knows where. His invading fingers pressed between my thighs demanding access.
“Stop it! Be good,” I whispered, hoping to arrest things before they reached a fever pitch beyond return. The caution in my mind was betrayed by my body when I took a trembling step to the side, allowing his hand to explore the soft skin within. His touch painted progressively wider circles, tickling my inner thighs and making the sensitive skin there tremble in his palm.
“Don’t worry, I plan on being very good,” he replied lustfully. I shivered with panicked arousal when his rough fingers finally made contact with the lacey fabric covering my leaky core. In Farsi, I demanded that he stop immediately when he began caressing my juicy center with firm but gentle strokes through my sodden panties, suddenly at a loss to remember my English vocabulary. When his fingers edged beneath the elastic to reach behind my cotton barrier I nearly melted as his digits slid deep between my folds. Perhaps he mistook my admonishment for encouragement. Perhaps he didn’t care.
The squelching wetness seemed to reverberate throughout the forest glen, adding to my shame. Jackson had a lecherous smile across his lips when they found mine again, mocking my embarrassment. My body went rigid in his arms as I cried out into his mouth while his fingers danced in my dripping sex.
Though my mind wanted desperately for him to stop, I resigned myself to the pending mini orgasm that was fast approaching. This made it all the more jarring when his hand suddenly left my oozing little gash and covered my mouth as he pulled me around to the side of the tree facing away from the trail. I swallowed hard as I tried to comprehend what was going on while the pungent smell of my horny cunt flooded my brain. It was then that I heard the voices approaching, a man and a woman’s, getting louder as they drew closer to us on the trail. Jackson gave me the ‘shush’ sign with the clean index finger of his left hand while he pushed the other slimy, glistening fingers of his right hand between my lips, forcing me to taste myself. With smoky eyes he watched my reaction. Red with shame, I sucked the musky tang away until his digits were clean. His lips smashed into mine, sharing the taste.
“Good, huh?” he asked once the couple had passed, licking the last remnants of my cream from around my lips. Before I could think of anything even approaching a sensible response, he placed his hands upon my waist, allowing them to glide sensuously over my hips as he slowly knelt before me. Grabbing fistfuls of my dress, he bunched the fabric up around my middle, holding it there while he pressed a kiss between my thighs.
“Yum,” he murmured approvingly while burrowing his nose in the thin lacy material covering my pubes. “I’ve been happy to do this for past lovers but only with you do I crave it like a drug. Your smell, your taste,” he mumbled between licks, “drives me fucking crazy!”
Our passion was quickly building to a fever pitch as I angled my hips to press my covered sex into his face. I yelped as he suddenly snagged the waistband of my panties with his teeth and tore them away. My hand uselessly tried to push his head back as he rooted against me, his determination to have me overpowering my desire to maintain some sense of decorum. “Jackson, you can’t!” I pleaded as he pushed my legs further apart, planting nibbling kisses along my inner thighs as they betrayed my better judgment and opened for him. “Oh God, you –!”
Yes he could. And he did.
His insistent tongue pushed inwards as his hands resumed their firm grip on my hips, tasting me in one long, swirling swipe then another as my fingers combed uselessly through his hair. It was only on the third spine-tingling pass that I managed to snatch a handful of his tight wooly curls and pull his head away. The look on his face was wild as he groaned his discontent, the sound vibrating right into my womb.
Jackson relented to my demand to cease and desist but my panties were too ruined to be put back on. He palmed the torn and drenched fabric as he pulled me back onto the trail. Taking my hand, he walked with an urgent purpose, his eyes searching the landscape intently. I trailed behind him in a fog of lust and fear as the arousal from my unprotected sex ran down my inner thighs. I desperately needed to cum but I was deathly afraid to let Jackson take me there.
Soon thereafter Jackson found what he was looking for: a small opening in the trees that seemed to lead to somewhere off of the official trail and off the beaten path. We treaded deeper into the majestic oak forest. There were signs all over the park telling us that it was forbidden to venture off the official trails. As if he had sniffed it out, we shortly came to a clearing in the trees that led to a small grassy meadow. Jackson marched us right to the middle and took our blanket out of the backpack. I panicked.
Sensing my fear, Jackson didn’t tear right into me like I know he wanted to. Instead we just lay down and cuddled. His strong arms gave me the sense of security I needed and I gradually found my nerve.
With my resolve stiffened, I determined that I was not going to be a passive participant in what may lie ahead. It being our last full day together, I wanted to drive Jackson just as crazy as he was driving me. The tent in his pants had not decreased in the least and I reached for it, salivating. I pushed him back to rest on his elbows as I undid his pants. His erection bobbed eagerly inside, anxious for my touch. He groaned his appreciation as I pulled down his boxers and jeans at the same time. I was too excited to bother with his shoes so I left them around his knees as I grabbed hold of my prize.
I didn’t tease. I sucked him greedily, hungrily, with the sole purpose of making him call out my name. I bobbed with a purpose, pausing only to lave his spongy mushroom head at the top of each descent. With each of his moans I grew bolder, shifting to gobble up his hairy balls while humming my eagerness to taste their contents. My psyche fed on the look he gave me, in awe of the raw nasty slut I was becoming right before his eyes. It was love, lust and amazement all in one stare, accompanied by a steady chorus of grunts and groans as I drove him forward.
Strong hands lay pressure to my head, trying to slow my urgency, trying to retain some control, trying to hold onto some sense of dignity before I made him scream out like a teenage girl at a rock concert. I forced my head down further, gagging, trying to get my nose into his pubes, demanding a wild orgasm out of him. That’s when I heard someone shout out, only it wasn’t the shout from Jackson that I had been craving.
I pulled up immediately, a desperate look of fear on my face. Only the throbbing tip leaking pre-cum remained in my mouth before his strong hands stopped my retreat. With Jackson’s wrists blocking my vision on either side I could not see who’s voice it might have been, but I would have sworn I heard them yell, “what the…!” My hands left his shaft and scrotum as I tried in vain to push myself up against the blanket to take my head out of his crotch.
Jackson’s eyes bore into mine as he held me steady with an iron grip. He saw the desperate need in my eyes to flee even the slightest hint of public scrutiny. He didn’t even look around to check who might have found us, so far off the regular trail. It was as if he didn’t care, his concentration solely on me. Pre-cum continued to dribble out of his slit as he slowly shook his head, a feral look in his eyes. My tongue lapped at the salty appetizer, oblivious to my mind’s panicked anguish.
That was the final straw for Jackson. His fingers strengthened their grip on my scalp as he pulled my face back into him. When his spongy head hit the resistance of the narrow opening of my esophagus he forced the rest of his tumescent cock in anyway, oblivious to my need to breath. Wiry hairs pressed into my face and my nose was filled with the heady smell of his male musk that I crave religiously. I felt a surge of power within his flesh run down the length of my tongue. His twitching cock expanded in my neck before it exploded.
Jackson was screaming, yelling my name as a torrent of his seed splashed inside of me. With his dick so deep down my throat, the first spurts shot straight into my chest. He felt me pushing back but this time he knew I was no longer trying to get away, only trying to make sure that not all of his cherished cream shot past my taste buds. My windpipe still cut off, breathing was only a distant third priority.
The grip on my head relented to let me back off a bit and breathe but no sooner had I taken two spurts on my tongue than my nose was full of his pubic hairs again. Over and over he drilled my face as his yells turned into grunts and moans. I swallowed, gagged, drooled, and tried to breathe. Once his head became too sensitive his balls stopped slamming into my chin and he tried to gently move me away. That’s when I went into revenge mode. Looping my arms around his thighs I held on tight and tortured his drooling tip with my tongue. He cried out in the meadow all over again, clawing desperately and trying to get my mouth away from his glans.
At that point my conscience finally regained consciousness and I remembered that someone just might have been watching me perform that lewd act upon him. But before my horror and shame could fully set in Jackson flipped me over and threw my dress up over my abdomen, exposing my naked sex to the skies.
On my back looking up at the puffy white clouds, Jackson pressed my legs up into my chest while he baptized his face in my drenched sex. This area of the park had those elusive flying squirrels, and they flew overhead as he buried his face in my folds, deep French kissing my pussy. His nose and upper lip massaged my clit but his tongue stayed deep in my hole for the longest time, gathering all the moisture from my pink inner walls and sucking it into his mouth. His strong hands gripped my legs just below my knees, holding my legs back against and spread in a demand of maximum access to my sex.
The air was filled with the sound of birds chirping in the trees and the sound of him greedily devouring my pussy, grunting in his feral hunger. I used my muscles to try and hug his tongue with each thrust, kissing him back with my pussy. Without direct clitoral stimulation by his tongue he had me in a holding pattern of continual bliss without relief. I tried to shift my hips and push my clit in his mouth but he held me firmly in place.
I realized he was doing it on purpose. If I came I would get too sensitive and push him away. By not letting me cum he could gorge himself on my smell and my taste and drink me to his heart’s content, belly full. Occasionally he pulled his tongue out of me only to wipe his entire face in my pussy until it was all shiny and wet. At one point he stuck his nose directly in my hole to snort my musky nectar directly into his brain as if he were inhaling a potent drug. His raw and wild hunger for me made my pussy gush out her cream just that much more, and he lapped it up with a look of total bliss across his face.
My reservations flowed out of me with my leaking desire. Jackson seemed to know instinctively how to stoke that desire to a burning inferno. He knew when to tease me and when to indulge; when to deny giving me what I was too scared to admit I wanted until I was on the verge of begging, and then when to spoil me with his wicked tongue. He knew exactly how to extract the deepest passion from me, how to coax my sex into fluttering around his tongue while drooling shamelessly into his mouth. What he was doing to me left my own mouth dry, hungry only for a taste of him to quench my thirst.
One appetite satiated, Jackson turned me over and arranged me in a position that I could hold comfortably for a while. I felt vulnerable and exposed with my shoulders down on the blanket and my hips up in the air. His large hands began rubbing the cheeks of my ass, giving the muscles there a deep message. Strong fingers bit into my taut flesh, pulling, groping, until finally he spread my cheeks apart and held them open, staring at my pursed little star, tightly guarded with nervous tension. I felt the heat from his face as he drew closer, and goose bumps broke out all over me when I felt his warm breath blowing over both my holes. A sharp intake of air broke the silence of meadow.
“You filthy bastard,” I whispered into the blanket realizing where he was smelling me. I felt my whole body turn red with embarrassment, tingling all over. My heart was beating out of my chest both with trepidation and anticipation.
————– Jackson —————-
I studied her wrinkled little aperture nestled between the taut globes of her ass, trying to remember every detail in case I never saw it again. My lips searched out one of her cheeks, sucking the juicy flesh into my mouth before sinking my teeth into it. Her body shuddered as my touch met her flesh. Orkideh hissed at the sudden nip of pain then sighed as my tongue soothed it away. I repeated the same on her other cheek, my tongue laving her smooth flesh until both orbs glistened in the afternoon sun.
Planning on being there for a while, I adjusted my position to sit comfortably behind her. I paid full attention to every detail. Her golden olive skin slowly transitioned to brown around the lips of her sex and around the tinier orifice twitching nervously above, the melanin more concentrated there. Her labia were splayed open and plush with blood, exposing her pink insides that were shiny and glistening in the sun light. Her musky nectar oozed out to cover her entire vulva, indicating her excitement. Her smell was pungent in the air around us. I inhaled until my lungs were full, over and over, insatiable when it came to her.
“Such a tease,” she whispered breathlessly.
I turned my full attention to that part of her that had consumed my every sexual fantasy for the greater part of four years. Those tightly pursed folds of flesh, a mix of browns and reds that made up her pursed little opening. I studied how the melanin in her skin became more concentrated toward the center. That lovely, musky little center that beckoned me and called to my soul, tense with conflicting nervous energies: fear, shame, nervousness, and a desire strong enough to make her brave them all.
Some people prefer pink assholes and find them aesthetically more pleasing. I loved the fact that the skin of her little pucker was brown, darker than the rest of her. Psychologically, it was more of a mind fuck: the brown hues a constant reminder of what that hole is usually used for, making it impossible to avoid thinking about the nasty and taboo nature of the act.
I wondered if I had a problem, if my overwhelming desire to kiss her deeply in this spot was an indication that I had become sick and twisted. Surely French kissing her tiny forbidden orifice would bring her pleasure but that didn’t explain why — from the moment I met her — that my soul’s deepest desire was to share this level of intimacy with her. It was the singular fantasy that fueled my strongest orgasms since I met her — making love to Orkideh where we indulged every source of ecstasy and broke every taboo. Our affair was taboo of its own merit but giving me her ass to do with as I pleased, that was the biggest forbidden taboo of them all.
The Freudians believe that the anus is closely connected to the deepest recesses of the human psyche. I happen to agree with them. In that respect I didn’t just want to fuck her ass. I wanted to love it, claim it, and make it my own. Her body she would return to Brian. I wanted her soul.
I gorged myself with the smell of her. My nostrils flared as the heady scent of her funky hole saturated my sinuses. In that narrow valley between her taut cheeks there was no hint of her perfume or her body moisturizer, just all her. Her musky, primitive aroma intoxicated my brain and made me crazy with need for her. I held her just out of reach while my eyes and nose drank her in, challenging myself to see how long I could wait before devouring her. My appetite for her was ravenous — as well it should be after 4 years waiting. My eyes drew closed as I lost my struggle and my face moved closer to her flesh, irresistibly drawn by the pungency of her forbidden treasure.
—————- Orkideh ————-
I was losing my mind with nervous anticipation before I felt the tip of his nose nuzzling the cleft between my cheeks. When he found his target he held it there pressed tightly against my most intimate place and continued to breathe me in. His lips were pressed right up against mine, and soon he began deep French kissing my pussy while his nose tried to burrow deeper into its smaller, tighter neighbor. It was as if he were trying to actually get his nose inside of me to take in more of my scent. If I had any morals left I would have been disgusted with both him and myself. Instead I leaked a steady stream of approval and excitement into his mouth. Soon he was rubbing his entire face in the cleft between my cheeks, wiping my anus across his every feature as he did my pussy earlier. I felt his eyelids bat across my little bud and I thought I would go crazy with need.
“Stop teasing me!” I hissed, barely audible to his ears.
He grunted in response and I moaned as I finally felt his warm tongue work its way up my crack to center on my tiny orifice.
“You want me to stop teasing you, baby?” he asked, mocking my growing need and frustration. His lips moved against my wrinkled skin as he spoke while his fingers pull me further open. Finally his tongue made contact with my tiny little folds and just about came undone. That first contact sent a nervous spasm through me that started in my sphincter and moved up my spine in a wave that made the hairs on my head stand on edge. The wave then moved back down my body until exiting through my toes while my legs kicked out my nervous energy.
Jackson took long, slow licks across my hole, savoring what he found and going back for more. I squealed and beat my feet against the blanket. Broad strokes eventually became targeted jabs, circling about the center then trying to push inside. At first my panicked sphincter held tight against his demand at entry. Then I began to relax, allowing just the slightest breach. If there was any feeling in the world as deliciously naughty as a tongue probing at your backside, I couldn’t remember it. My whole body tingled as every nerve ending in me came alive.
My tight little orifice began to open up to his tongue like a thirsty flower opening its petals to catch the rain. He took advantage of my relaxation to push in deeper. With his lips pressed in an airtight seal around my anus he sucked at my funky little hole while his tongue wiggled around inside. It was the dirtiest and most perverse thing I could ever imagine. It was also wickedly and exquisitely pleasurable. In my mind I was disgusted but my body betrayed me as I felt myself pushing back into his face, trying to get more of his tongue inside of me. I surprised myself, my ass just as insatiable for him as he was hungry for it. My toes curled and my pussy gushed against his chin with every thrust of his tongue deep into my funky depths. I looked underneath me and saw a trail of my juices dripping down his neck across his Adam’s apple.
The kinky bastard sucked at my dirty little orifice with abandon, as if he was hungry for all the earthy flavors inside. I was scandalized but it felt so good I couldn’t bring myself to make him stop. I knew I was empty and clean — he had cleaned me thoroughly himself that morning — but the perverse and taboo nature of it gave me a wicked thrill and fresh goose bumps broke out all over my flesh. I didn’t think an asshole could ever be clean enough for a person to do what Jackson was doing to me yet here he was indulging in it, indulging in me — in a public park no less! I swooned at the thought.
I could try to lie to myself but he knew this was what I secretly wanted. He knew that when we last saw each other four years ago he had sparked a desire inside of me for him to penetrate deep into my psyche and break through these ultimate taboos I had grown up with. He knew by how wet I got as he told me about his perverted dream and the hot sex we had afterward. And he knew that the only safe space for me to experience it was with him.
I could have told Brian that I was curious about ass play and asked him to do these things to me, with me. But Brian was a breast man, not an ass man. Brian might agree and be up for trying it, but Jackson was tongue-fucking my ass like his life depended on it, sucking on my hole like it was his favorite meal. That just wasn’t in Brian’s heart. Jackson ate my ass like it fed a deep and starving part of his soul, just as he had done with my pussy that first night. Smelling and tasting me in my most intimate places was a spiritual thing for him and I was moved almost to tears to think of how similar we were in that respect. It was the kind of connection I craved most in a partner. It was the kind of connection I was missing.
I pushed my ass back into his face harder and tried to relax my sphincter muscle as much as possible to let more of his tongue inside of me. His large, strong hands took a commanding grip of my cheeks, spreading them apart as wide as possible and pulling my ass back into him. His hot breath grew faster with his excitement, blasting out of his nostrils up my crack which sent tingles up my spine. Meanwhile, his rough chin stubble lightly scratched the tender sensitive skin in the cleft of my ass, the contrast making my whole body shiver. Every single nerve ending from my clitoris to the top of my ass crack was on fire.
Deep groans of satisfaction echoed through the meadow, sometimes his and sometimes my own. Obscene noises escaped from his lips as he slurped at my dark passage. I was lightheaded with how good it felt to have his thick tongue probing me so deeply, its tip circling the inner walls of my rectum finding sensitive nerve endings I never knew existed. If Allah truly intended this to be sinful there is no way he should have made it feel this good, I thought. I concentrated hard, trying to use my muscles back there to reciprocate the deep French kiss I was receiving. I flexed my anus, sucking at his tongue with my sphincter and pulling it deeper into my depths. He loved my body’s response to him and increased the intensity of his ministrations — if that was even possible — devouring my ass shamelessly.
A bit of nervousness and apprehension flashed through me as I contemplated exactly what it meant that he was doing this to me. I wondered if I had the courage to return the favor to him, and if he would even want that? I felt I should — not out of obligation — but simply because I didn’t want to hold anything back with him this time and I wanted to make him feel as good as he was making me feel and more. I wanted to be the best he’d ever had. Not because of my ego but because I couldn’t give him the lifetime of love I felt that he deserved, that — deserved. Since I couldn’t give him a lifetime of love, I wanted to give him the love of a lifetime. But just the thought of it I found disgusting even though the feeling was divine. Sure, he had cleaned me thoroughly when we showered together that morning, but it was still an anus we were talking about here. I seriously doubted that I would have the courage to try such a thing and not gag.
But that wasn’t what I was most afraid of. I was most afraid because I knew he was going to take my “other” virginity after this. I knew that anal sex was his secret kink. I learned that when we first met on the plane three years ago and I spotted the pornographic movies on his laptop. They all had anal sex themes. It was why I got so nervous during our first shower together when he tried to put his finger in me and wash me back there, and why I couldn’t let him stick his tongue in my ass the first time he tried it that next morning.
It wasn’t because I didn’t like it. It was sinfully pleasurable in the way that the sweetest fruit is always that which is forbidden. But I feared what he would want next and I knew I didn’t have the willpower or the desire to say no. I wanted to experience all he had to give me but I knew that there was no way that I could go back to Brian and look him in the eye knowing that I let some relative stranger who I had just met on the plane completely deflower my ass the way Jackson was about to do now, under the great blue sky in a public park! Because I had denied myself then, that secret desire stayed with me through these past few years, haunting my inner thoughts with unfulfilled need. He knew I was lying when he asked me if I enjoyed him kissing me back there after I scrambled away from him. That lie had finally caught up with me.
The feeling of two of his fingers sliding into my pussy while his tongue continued to worship my smaller hole brought me back to the present. “Oh fuck,” I moaned as his two digits began giving me a deep pussy massage while his lips remained locked in a deep French kiss with my anus. I looked underneath me and saw him crouched between my spread legs as he dined on my asshole and that’s when I saw it. His shaft bobbed in front of him, rock hard again without receiving any physical stimulation. The entire head of his dick was shiny with all the pre-cum oozing out of it, a line of “drool” hanging from its tip. My mouth watered and I wished I could take him in my mouth while he did this to me. I reached back to get some of pre-cum on my fingers then slurped them into my mouth loud enough for him to hear.
That’s when it dawned on me that the immense pleasure I was feeling was almost incidental to this lewd act as far as he was concerned — he was eating my ass for his own enjoyment, as if he — to taste me there. I felt my pussy gush at the realization that he was so into me like that, that he craved such a deep level of intimacy with me. The emotional intensity reverberated through my lower body with every thrust of his tongue.
His tongue didn’t just go in and out of me. With every thrust he forced his face into my crack as far as it would go while his tongue swirled around inside me, searching, reaching, driving me crazy. My forebrain screamed revulsion at such a repulsive act. When his thumb began massaging my clit in time with his fingers pressing deep in my pussy, all the stimulation to the pleasure center of my brain closed the door on such protests.
He brought me to the brink and held me there in delicious torture. I began rutting my ass back into his face, now desperate for the orgasm to which he had brought me so close. Panic overcame me as suddenly his mouth and fingers were no longer where I craved them and he was quickly flipping me over on my back. I pulled my legs up instinctively, grabbing them behind my knees to hold them up on my chest, opening myself completely to him. I nervously wondered if this was the moment that he would take my ass with his cock and use it for his continued pleasure. Instead, he dove back in with his mouth and this time looked me dead in the eye as his tongue forced its way back inside my anus and licked circles around my inner ring. My hands went to caress his face and snaked through his woolly hair as he feasted on me with a dreamy look. The feeling was too exquisite, and my toes curled above my head at the wicked sensation. Then suddenly his mouth moved up to capture my clit as his slimy fingers that were in my pussy found their way to my ass.
Jackson began to move his middle finger within the snug confines of my anus. Slick with my juices and his saliva his digit slid right into me and curled upwards while he whipped my clit with his tongue. I saw stars. When he felt my hole relax enough he added a second finger, dilating my nervously constricted ring wider and wider. My back arched and I felt my body being lifted, elevated by the rush. Higher and higher I went until finally my orgasm crashed into me, slamming me back down onto the blanket and wracking my body in spasms.
I screamed out to the sky with the sweet release as convulsions wracked my body. Jackson wrapped his one free arm around my thigh and held onto me for dear life as my body thrashed about. I could feel his strength as he somehow managed to keep his lips around my clit. He stayed on it until the feeling became too intense and I began trying to push his face away. He perceptively dropped his mouth lower to cover the entrance to my pussy and began to suck out my gushing juices, moaning appreciatively as he gulped down my nectar.
After my body calmed down he slowly drew his sticky fingers out of my ass and sniffed them, closing his eyes, relishing my stink. I watched horrified. He moaned as my darkest scent filled his lungs and then he kissed a trail up my body. His lips rained light kisses up my belly and between my breasts, then around my neck to my ear.
“You were absolutely delicious,” he growled deeply then kissed a line along my jaw bone just up to my lips and then stopped without actually kissing me there. Perhaps he saw the worried look on my face and so he just stayed there looking deep into my eyes, a few inches just above my face. I saw a look of deep affection there, but there was also a knowing look he was giving me, as if he knew what I was going to do next. I didn’t even know what I was going to do next! Did he know me that well?
As if proving him right, my nose slowly drifted toward his mouth as I began to nervously sniff him. A pungent aroma greeted my senses though my biggest fear was unrealized. The whole lower half of his face was wet and it reeked with the smell of what he had been doing. I could smell my pussy on him but there was a funkier, muskier smell overpowering that. It was a kinky smell of ass but not a dirty one. It was very different from the smell of my pussy, though definitely in the primitive, sexual family of pheromone-laden scents that spoke directly to the lower half of my body. Had he cleaned me that well and had my fears been truly unfounded? As if sensing my disbelief he opened his mouth to let my nose investigate further.
I got closer, intimately pushing my nose directly into his mouth and smelling inside. My senses were greeted with the same musky smell of my pussy and my ass, but none of the dirty smell of which I was so afraid. My fears and defenses broke down as I nuzzled my nose in his mouth. He let his tongue dance along the entrance to my nostrils and I pulled away.
“That tickles,” I laughed, then quickly pushed my lips into his to finally take the kiss we both craved. I kissed him deeply, wanting to share all the kinky flavors of our love that his mouth had to offer. Our tongues danced together as he shifted his weight on top of me and his dripping erection found the entrance to my hungry pussy and slid inside.
He made slow, passionate love to me while lying on my back with my ankles up over his shoulders, grinding his cock deep in my gooey pussy while his tongue danced in my mouth. My heart was pounding in my chest with both excitement and nervousness and I knew he could feel it. I stopped kissing him long enough to lick his face clean then slid my tongue back into his mouth. We weren’t racing toward an orgasm at that point, just relishing being together and the sensation of each other’s bodies.
I knew what he was doing — giving me time to mentally prepare for what was to come next. Having him in my pussy was like being home and I could just relax and take him there. He took his time, giving me all the time I needed. When the beating of my heart calmed down we both knew that I was ready. Without exchanging a word he stopped thrusting in me and pulled his swollen dick out of my drenched sex. We held eye contact as I reached down between us and grabbed hold of his slimy cock and moved his swollen mushroom head down to where he needed me most.
I didn’t have to tell him to go slow — I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He gently caressed my face and kissed me tenderly as he began to push himself into my forbidden passage. At first he got nowhere. My body tensed and my anus clamped tightly shut.
“Relax, my love” he said softly, cupping my face in his right hand. He caressed my cheek tenderly as he looked deep into my eyes. I took a deep breath and felt my moist brown little hole begin to spread for him and we both let out a groan. A deep, animalistic grunt forced its way out of my lungs when his fat tip finally crowned past my tight muscular ring. He stopped with just his head lodged inside me, pausing to let me get used to the feeling.
I felt my sphincter flex anxiously around his “–,” the head of his cock, twitching with fear and nervous excitement. Jackson groaned at the sensation of my tightness gripped strongly around his pulsing head. He felt much too big for my tiny little orifice and I felt it would be impossible to take him fully inside of me. We have an expression in Farsi, “–.” It means ‘a hippo’s cock in your ass,’ which was pretty much how I felt just then. I felt like I was being split wide open as his deliciously swollen dick staked its claim in my virgin hole. We were in a public park and a stranger could walk by at any moment and see how he was rudely violating me. Yet I was so consumed with excitement — my body thrumming with horniness — that I was unwilling to tell him to stop. For some strange reason I felt like I needed him buried deep down in my musky depths. I felt an intense and undeniable longing pulling at me from within, a longing for his heat, his pressure, for the sensation of being filled, even if it killed me.
His fingers had loosened me but my body continued to tighten from nervousness, making his further entry extremely uncomfortable and nearly impossible. I my flesh would start tearing, and again I doubted whether I could really go through with it. But his dick was so thickly greased with my shameless excitement that my virgin hole’s tight resistance was futile. I grimaced at the sting of his continued violation, my body struggling to catch up to the resolve in my mind. “Try to relax and take deep breaths,” he told me between soft kisses. I struggled to breathe deep enough as a million thoughts rushed through my head: fear, guilt, pain, and …
He let go of my face and wrapped his arms around my head and shoulders, holding me tight to him. His furious heart beat reverberated out of his chest and into mine, giving voice to all the emotion between us that we were both so scared to speak. I realized in that moment that I had been holding my breath because of the feelings that we had not spoken. But I also realized in that moment that we didn’t have to. We both felt it and we knew it, and with that knowledge I found my breath. I inhaled and exhaled deeply signaling my surrender, body and soul. The mental block removed, I felt my sphincter relax a bit which allowed his dick to continue its slow progression deeper into my musky channel.
His cock was thrumming with a powerful energy, hard and unbendable as it fought through the valiant resistance being put up by my anus. He stretched me with his girth; the skin of my anus forced wide open and pulled tight to accommodate his surge inside of me. Breath came as a struggle as he crammed more of himself into me and my body attempted to get used to the feeling.
There was more resistance when the head of his cock pushed through my rectum and came to the natural bend in my colon. But Jackson was relentless. The firm muscles in his thighs bulged with determination and pushed forward. Deep movements in my gut indicated that my insides were shifting, moving to get out of his way as he invaded deeper virgin territory, making a straight passage where no natural one existed. Every inch introduced my body to a new definition of being full.
I suppose that when one has to “go” really bad, one might feel full back there but that full sensation was nothing like this one. This was a throbbing fullness, a sexually charged fullness. More than just fullness, I felt impaled with a feral lust. The fact that I was impaled by my secret lover also made it a deliciously naughty and forbidden fullness, heightening our pleasure.
His fit within me was so snug that every detail of his cock was vivid in my mind, so much so that I could have drawn a picture. I could feel the vein that ran along the top of his dick as well as the one that ran underneath, the ring where his foreskin had been circumcised away, and the crown around his head. Every surge of blood pumping from his heart expanded his cock just the slightest amount and forced my hole open that much wider. It was incredibly intimate, feeling — heart beat inside of — body.
For all of his cool demeanor, his heart was racing with emotion. Feeling that one tiny bit of vulnerability from him was what I needed to lose the last of my mental reservations. I pushed my pelvis up into him to take his final inch. The dept of his penetration forced the air out of my lungs with a grunt. Curly hairs around the base of his shaft tickled my gaped little hole, giving me chills.
I tried to breathe but it felt like the head of his cock was pressed up against my diaphragm preventing me from filling my lungs with air. Still, he didn’t start thrusting in me right away. Instead, he gave my body time to adjust to the intrusion while his tongue continued to slowly dance in my mouth. Finally he couldn’t hold back any longer and began thrusting into me in slow, measured strokes. When he did I quickly learned that I had not actually taken all of him as each stroke of his shaft seemed to push a little deeper into me and the force behind his thrusts steadily grew in urgency.
Soon I found myself whimpering in despair every time he withdrew then sobbing with pleasure as he plunged in deeper, my flesh aching as he nudged into yet more virgin terrain. With my knees pressed up into my breasts and his chest pressed into the back of my thighs, Jackson made slow but passionate love to my ass with even, forceful strokes as our tongues remained entwined. A steady stream of excitement dribbled out of my splayed open pussy down into my ass cleft, keeping his shaft well lubed.
From his moans I could tell that he was enjoying me but to my dismay he remained in full control. He knew my body so well, knew to make love to me like this while my body got used to having him in me back there. But he also knew that stoking my fire like this would inevitably lead to me needing more. It was what I always needed from him, what probably got me off better than any other aspect of our love making: the feel of him losing total control inside of me.
I didn’t have to say a word. When he sensed my need and my readiness he withdrew his tumescent shaft from my humid depths, shiny and dripping. I immediately felt a rush of cool air flow into my bowels through the gaped open hole that only seconds ago was a clenched little knot. His strong hands flipped me over like a little rag doll to put my full ass on display before him. I rose on extended arms but a strong hand at the small of my back pushed me down and positioned me so that only my ass was up in the air. Without thinking both of my hands reached back to spread and reveal my every secret, and I wondered when I had become such a good little whore. Cool mountain air blew across both of my exposed holes, making me twitch involuntarily. I heard a low growl rumble out of his deep chest as he studied me.
“Ooh, do that again.”
“Do what?” I whispered, clueless as to what he wanted.
“Wink for me,” he chuckled sinisterly, presumably at my innocence that he was taking.
I tried my best to do as instructed, mimicking the muscle movements of stopping my pee in full stream. Judging by his reaction, I must have done it right.
“So fucking sexy!” he hissed. I felt him move urgently and I thought he was going to ram right back into me but he didn’t. I gasped in shock as I felt his tongue dart back down into me instead. He wedged his face deep in my cleft while he speared me. My anus now distended, I felt his tongue wiggling around in me much deeper than it had before, somewhere in my rectum where a tongue had no business being.
“Oh bloody hell!” I growled between gritted teeth. But before I could get used to the feeling he had pulled his tongue right back out, then slammed his rigid dick right back in.
Once he began to thrust fully into me the tickling of his hairs sent goosebumps up the crack of my ass and up my spine, all the way to my neck. His low swinging balls began to slap into my splayed open slit with every thrust, hitting my clit and becoming wet with my juices. It felt like his — was somewhere up in my chest every time he bottomed out in me and I just felt wonderfully full of his delicious flesh, wonderfully full of him, wonderfully full of a heady mix of lust and love that was threatening to make me lose my head. Jackson wasn’t just fucking my ass — he was fucking my mind. I was high on the heated mental rush of my biggest taboo being brazenly violated in a public place.
The worst was when he withdrew after each thrust, leaving me feeling empty. Soon my body tried to take matters into her own hands to prevent each little disaster of emptiness. I wantonly began thrusting back into him in a willful display of my complete submission to being thoroughly sodomized. I was desperate to feel the fullness from each of his powerful thrusts. Every time he lunged deep inside of me my body spasmed to take an iron grip of his rigid flesh, squeezing him as tight as she could to hold him and keep him there. This just served to feed his raw lust, making him growl, and bringing his muscular hips crashing down into my buttocks at a faster pace.
Before long he was rutting into me and grunting incoherently, his huge balls slapping my wantonly splayed open and empty pussy. If his tongue had been sweet and loving to me earlier, his dick grew brutal. I was suddenly scared to death, fearful that my body couldn’t take it. But at the same time, I had never felt more alive in my life.
The combination of his saliva and my pussy juice had me well lubed but as we began to sweat the addition of even more moisture caused the chorus of fucking sounds coming from behind me to reach a fever pitch. The most obscene squishing sounds reverberated throughout the clearing as he rammed in and out of my rectum. He began lunging into me so hard that I couldn’t stay on my knees — the force of his thrusts pushing me down on my stomach.
Jackson didn’t miss a stroke and began pounding my ass into the ground. Deeper groans, two octaves lower than my earlier ones, began flowing incoherently out of my lips. I bit down into the blanket to mask the obscene noises I was making afraid my screams might draw an audience. My fists also clenched the polyester material.
In this position two things changed. With nowhere for my body to go to absorb his thrusts, the pounding he was giving me felt all the more powerful and overwhelming. More importantly, the angle in which he was entering my ass meant that each downward thrust pushed the head of his shaft right into that sweet, spongy spot on the front inside wall of my pussy.
Suddenly I felt myself being pushed toward an orgasm; one of those deep ones, far off in the distance that take a long time to arrive but that crash into you like a freight train when they come. For a spell, I couldn’t think, talk or move. All I could do was just hang on for dear life and take being pounded as my legs flailed behind me. It was as if there was a dark pain deep within him, kept hidden from the rest of the world, that he needed to work out by fucking the shit out of my body’s most guarded passage. Finding my voice, I started mumbling obscenities in Farsi, shocked at my body’s reaction. He slowed his thrusts and brought his lips to my ear.
“No, not this time. As sexy as it sounds when you talk dirty in Farsi, for this I want to hear it in English.”
I groaned in protest at his slowed thrusts. I wiggled my ass around his hardness, trying to get him to resume his pace. He wasn’t having it.
“Tell me or I’ll pull out,” he threatened, knowing that I was loving it. But I knew that he was loving it just as much as I was, if not more, so I reasoned it was an idle threat. I repeated my obscenity in Farsi, dramatically accentuating the lustful desire in my voice, daring him to leave me. He thrust deeply within me one more time then pushed up on extended arms and began to slowly pull his sweet cock out of my hungry ass. I could feel the inner flesh of my rectal passage being pulled out with him as I desperately tried to hug him with my sphincter muscle and keep him inside. When only his head was left in me he paused and we both waited with baited breath. He blinked first; point for me.
“My God, Orkideh, this looks so fucking good, me inside you like this.” His lust-filled eyes burned into my flesh as he took in the lewd sight of his dick sticking out of my ass.
“No fair,” I pouted. “I wish I could see, too.” He thought about it for a moment then reached over to where our clothes were piled, grabbing for his pants. I turned my head to see him pull away with his phone. Then I heard the click of the camera app as he took a picture of us. He handed the phone to me. God, what an erotic sight it was! I had seen my anus once before when I was a young teen, first taking a mirror to examine myself. I remembered a crinkled little star held tightly shut. What I saw now was gaped wide open to accommodate him, the skin just around the anus slightly darker than the rest of my olive complexion. Seemingly forced into my greatly expanded orifice was a steel veiny rod, his chocolate brown skin shiny with our juices. The bulbous tip was hidden inside of me and the rest of his shaft looked poised to slam down into my core.
It was embarrassingly pornographic, and it turned me on immensely. My sex grew sloppy with added excitement just from the sight. My body tightened my sphincter to squeeze him appreciatively as I handed the phone back to him. Wiggling my hips, I pushed back to let him know what I wanted. He took the hint and took a few more pictures as he resumed an agonizingly slow pace stroking in and out of my stretched little hole. Point two for me. When I felt his pubes again tickling my gaped open anus he took one final picture and handed the phone back to me.
I gasped as I scrolled through each successive picture. My body’s visceral reactions to the pornographic images continued as Jackson brought his weight down on my back and began raining kisses against the side of my face. On the screen my crinkled little star stretched to grip him fiercely and I could see the tension in my tiny brown orifice increasing as he sank deeper into me with each progressive shot. The next picture made me gasp out loud. He had captured his cock withdrawing, pulling my insides out with him — the focus zoomed-in close. The pink inner flesh of my rectal wall was hugging him, clinging to his shaft in a vain attempt to prevent its escape. A filthy, whorish desire welled up in me that I couldn’t give voice to and my mouth watered. The damp spot on the blanket underneath my hips grew larger as my pussy wept tears of joy.
The final image of his cock buried down to its base in my ass actually caught my breath in my throat. I studied it intently as he watched my reaction over my shoulder. My once chaste little anus had wantonly devoured his shaft and made it completely disappear somewhere deep inside my bowels. All I could see was his course and curly pubes, slick with my juices and pressed tightly up against my impossibly stretched and distended hole. He could tell from the way my ass kept squeezing around him, hugging him while keeping his mushroom head throbbing somewhere deep in my abdomen, that the added visual of my ass being deflowered was turning me on immensely.