I’m in bed waiting for you while you brush your teeth, wash your face, all those little personal tasks at the very end of the day. I’m wearing a not-too-interesting light woven cotton shortie top and panties, lying on my back, drifting off to sleep. I know you’re naked, it’s a hot summer night and you never wear pajamas, anyway. I feel the bed shift when you sit down.
“Don’t do anything,” you say. “Just turn your head away and pretend like I’m not here.”
I look at the wall, then feel your hand steal up under my pajama top and feel your fingers curl around my nipple, tapping it gently. You push your other hand up under my top to caress my other breast.
“Don’t look at me,” you whisper. “I’m not even here.” You drag your palms across my breasts, and they catch a little on my nipples. I begin to moan, but you tell me to be quiet, no sound tonight, to pretend that assassins outside will come in and kill us both if I make any noise.
You push up my pajama top to expose my breasts.
“Oh, they’re so pretty,” you whisper as you lean in to lick and suck on one pink nipple, while rolling the other between your thumb and forefinger. I love when you touch me like this. I rise up a bit to meet you, but you push me back, saying “No moving tonight. And keep your head turned away, too.”
You shift your position to straddle me, keeping your hands on my breasts. You lean down and kiss me softly and sweetly on my upturned cheek, while moving your naked groin against my panties. I forget that you’ve just told me to stay motionless, so I turn my head to meet your lips, arch slightly against you, move with your body the way we have so many luscious times before. I love your supple nakedness and try to open my legs to you, but you say, a little harsher, “Don’t move, dammit, I’ll move you when I want.”
So I keep my head turned away on the pillow as you begin to knead my breasts with more vigor.
“I love your tits,” you say, pulling and squeezing so hard you’re pinching my nipples, causing painful but exciting, lip-biting and delicious twinges that start from deep within, making me squirm almost imperceptibly. You’re quick to push me down with your hips.
“Stop it, stop moving, I told you, don’t move. I mean it.” And you swat me gently.
You take my hands, intertwine fingers, an intimate gesture I love, but tonight you are moving my hands up and away from us, showing me that you don’t want me touching your back, no stroking, no embracing. Then you disentangle your fingers from mine, and get something I can’t see from beneath your pillow. I feel fabric, maybe a handkerchief, being looped over my wrist, tightened, then tied to the spokes on the headboard.
This is something new that we’ve never done before, something we’ve never discussed. The first rule of our games is that we talk over any new ideas. I’m torn between standing up for our rules and a watchful, titillating curiosity.
“Nothing to say?” you say in a surprisingly mean voice. “You’re always telling me what to do, nothing to say about our rules?”
I want to say something, but when I start, you are ready to put a bandana between my teeth and tie it too tightly behind my head. I’m pissed and try to untie it with my free hand, but you are quick, grabbing it and securing it to the headboard just as firmly as the other. I am truly bound, unable to move either hand more than an inch.
I protest, trying to talk through the bandana. You press the side of my face into the pillow and tell me to stop making noise, right now, and you give my head a little shake, just as you do when you are trying to get the dog’s attention. I don’t want to be quiet, and when I continue with my muffled complaints, you slap my face, hard. That really makes me mad. When I make louder protesting sounds, you slap me again in the same place.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” you say and you don’t seem to be kidding. You’re suddenly pinching my nipples hard, and it’s all I can do to stay quiet.
“Oh, that’s a good little slut,” you say. “You better stay quiet.”
I turn my hands slowly, trying to find the knots while keeping my gaze averted from yours.
“Lift up so I can take your panties off,” you say. I raise my hips and can feel the fabric slide slowly down and off my legs. You are holding one of my ankles, then you tether and tie it down. This is way beyond any games we’ve ever talked about. I’m feeling a little apprehensive. I start to move my free leg, to keep it from getting tied down, too, but you are there with one last restraint.
I am now spread-eagled on the bed, naked except for the gag.
“Are you having fun?” you ask. I glare at you from the side of just one eye, keeping my head turned. I don’t want to get slapped again. It really hurt.
“You are getting the hang of this,” you say. “I like it when you’re so damned obedient. It’s about time, you know, it’s about fucking time you shut up. Now listen to this great idea I have. I want to watch another man fuck you really, really hard.”
We have not talked about anything close to this. I’m so enraged that I ignore your instructions, and turn to glare directly at you. I want to speak, to remind you that I told you back then that I married you to love only you. I used to like having lots of boyfriends. But when I married you, it was truly, truly forsaking all others.
“Stop looking at me,” you say. “Stop it right now.” I drop my eyes quickly, but you decide I am too slow in looking away, and slap me hard again. This is so confusing, what you are doing. What did I do that would get you so mad to make you hit me repeatedly?
“Jesus! How hard is it to follow directions?” you ask. “You looked at me, after I told you not to. You just proved that you can’t follow simple directions. I’m going to have to mark you.” You lean in to bite and suck the front of my neck, my face and my chest until there are many, many hickies. You know I think it’s really cool to be marked, but never where it shows. But tonight when you bite really hard on my cheekbone where it will show tomorrow, it really hurts and I can’t help but squeal in ever-increasing rage and indignation.
You reach down between my legs and begin stroking my clit the way I like it, with a finger on each side. I am mad at you and try not to respond. But you know me too well, and I can feel myself getting wet from your touch.
This is usually the point when we start to excite each other more and more, and back and forth, with little increments of kisses and nudges and licks and nibbles and pushes and running our hands up the outsides of each others’ thighs and our fingers up the insides of thighs and this is when I start whisper-scratching the backs of your legs, which always makes you shiver and throw your head back in goofy ecstasy.
And then you will just close your eyes and take a long slow sniff, smiling to yourself. Early on, when we were giddy in love and lust, I wanted to know everything about you, and you told me you were smiling because you were smelling the best smell in the world. And it was the best smell because pure sweet magic always happened after a room filled with my special scent.
“Ooooh, he’s going to like that,” you say, sliding just the tips of your fingers across my labia. I bite the bandana, keep my head turned away, feel more dread. The fear seems to increase my arousal. I start to breathe faster in spite of myself. I want you to stroke my clit harder, I want to feel your tongue flicking against it, I will you to enter me with your fingers, I just want some release, some sweet escape from this tension.
But you simply test the bonds at my ankles and wrists, by pulling first my hands and then my feet up off the bed just a little. When I let them drop down limply, you say “Good, no resistance. Keep it like that.”
I’m hoping that it’s all an act, a game. Maybe you’ve just read something somewhere and slapping and biting me is something you’ve dreamed about, but never dared ask for. It hurts, but at the same time, I am desiring you so — my skin is begging for your touch, my lips for your sweetness. What you say next makes me angry all over again. Followed by an unexpected blush of intense arousal.
“There’s this man I might invite over,” you say. “He thinks you have a really sexy looking cunt. I showed him some of our pictures. He really wants to fuck you, and I think I want to watch him enter you and then hammer you. It just seems kind of sexy. I don’t know if I’m going to blindfold you or not… you can worry about that.”
You slowly drag your fingertips up the inside of my leg.
“He’s going to touch you here,” you say. “On the insides of both legs, at the same time, and he’s going to move his fingers up towards your cunt.” If it was just you and me playing, it would be so wonderfully exciting, not being able to stop the slow climb of your fingers, but there’s something in your voice worrying me, like you really might be thinking of sharing me someday. Watching a stranger fuck me without my consent.
Your fingertips move closer to my pussy lips. They are slick with my juices. I yearn for your touch, I yearn for your entry, I love making love with you, I am always so ready for your cock. You have reached the slick area, and you tell me that I’m the best girl, that he’s going to like how wet I am… it’s going to be exciting for this man to see how excited I can get. You tell me your cock is throbbing and wonderfully hard as you spread my pussy lips apart and enter me with two fingers.
I swoon. The buildup has been so slow and steady that I am sick with lust, drowning in desire, desperate to be fucked. I push up against your fingers, and you slide them in and out, deeper and deeper, wiggling my clit with your thumb. You toy with me for a few seconds, and my breathing becomes even faster, sweat begins to form at the back of my knees, my head falls back, mouth opening under the gag. Your fingers drive deeper inside me, and I am deliciously hot and deliciously ready.
“He’s going to have a great time in your cunt,” you say. You withdraw your hand suddenly, leaving me unfulfilled. I moan with the sound that means I am close to coming, please don’t stop, please, just a little longer.
“Don’t be so demanding,” you say. “You are not following directions. You know what? You’re so bad, I think I might really call somebody to fuck that demanding little cunt tonight. I might just do that. Goddamit, all I wanted was for you to be quiet for once.”
You reach across to the nightstand, find your cell phone, and call someone. “Hi, it’s me. Yeah, I know it’s late, but it’s not too late for a fuckfest, you think? Seriously, man, she’s just been plain bad and I’m just so ready to see her with somebody else. What? No, but that’s ok, she’ll do it. Because she’s my wife, that’s why. Because I want to do this. Hey, cool. See you soon.”
You lean over to lick my clit. I am feeling not so ready now that you are serious about inviting in a stranger. You reach up to place one hand heavily on the side of my face, and nonchalantly push it into the pillow, while your tongue roams from my clit to the entrance of my pussy and back. I am dying to writhe beneath you while you eat me, writhing as I always do in happy ecstasy while you nibble and suck and murmur pretty things. I hold my breath and tell myself not to move, knowing that if you press any of my personal pleasure points, it will all be over, I will come, come like you have taught me, almost on command. I am being still like you said, I am trying to do what you tell me to. I am hoping you will keep on pleasuring me if I do what you say. But you stop and stand up.
“You horny bitch, I cannot believe you are this excited about having a stranger come inside you. I really did, I really called somebody from work, and he’s on his way over here. So just lie here all wet and think about his prick inside you.”
And then you pull the pillow from behind my head, take off the pillowcase, drop it on my face. You get off the bed. I hear you pull on your jeans and move toward the door. As you shut it, you say in a mocking tone, “I leave you alone with your wicked thoughts.”
I am clenching my fists and clenching my toes, biting the bandana, trying to stay quiet while I am freaking out. My heart starts beating even faster. You know I hate that, you know I can’t be still while something is touching my face. I am so angry and scared that you have tied me up, that you have slapped me more than once, that you have left me alone and unsatisfied. The gag hurts, you really have tied it too tight. I’m so mad at you, why did you do this, why do you think I am liking this? I pull testily at the bonds. Some of my anger seems to ripple along the inside of my arms. It is unexpectedly pleasurable. Followed by small quick shocks of excitation from my nipples and my cunt.
I finally slow my breathing and drift for a little while. But I am fully awake after I hear the front door open. I hear you murmuring as you come upstairs. I can tell there is more than one set of footsteps on the stairs. You have no idea how scared I am. I try to lift my legs off the bed, but the restraints are still very solid. The bedroom door opens. One unfamiliar male voice says “Oh my god, oh wow,” and another says softly “Oh, baby. Oh. Oh.”
I can’t see or recognize the men by voice. There are roughened hands on my breasts, caressing them, squeezing them, enjoying them. The men cannot see me close my eyes. I am shocked to find those hands delicious, to find that I want a rough and slightly scratchy hand down between my legs.
“Oh, these are great tits,” the first man says. “These are just the right size, oh I love them. I have wanted to put my hands up under her shirt so many times. I thank you a million times, my friend.” I cannot recognize the voice, cannot think of anyone who would be a friend who would want to touch me like that.
“Little girl,” you say. “This is somebody from work. I told you I showed him some of our private pictures, and, well, he has wanted to touch you and fuck you for months. And he brought his roommate. I think you’ll like them a lot.” As clearly as I can, I say “Uh-uh, uh-uh, no no no.”
“Are you telling me no?” you say, and your voice is very dark, very menacing.
“Hey, let her talk,” the man says. “It’s going to be more fun hearing her say no.” When you reach under the pillowcase to untie the gag, I try to kiss your fingers, to let you know I am yours and it is you I love, but you laugh and shove three fingers into my mouth.
“Suck on that, bitch,” you say, and I do, trying to love you with each suck.
“Thanks, bitch,” you say, pulling your wet fingers from my mouth, and wiping them off on my belly.
I feel fingers stroking that sensitive place where my leg meets my torso, moving slowly in circles, circles that meander down my leg until the man is tickling my ankle. Then with both hands, he begins to retrace the path, back towards my pussy. He strokes the backs of my calves, lingers behind my knees, up the backs of my thighs, then moves to the fronts, then the insides of my thighs, and then softly strokes my labia. I moan in fear because I can’t do anything to push him away. I moan in sexual frustration because I am close again to orgasm. Please let me come, please go away. His fingers stop.
“Do you need some lubricant?” you ask, breathing a little faster. I hear the bureau drawer open. “You should put it on her, see what happens,” you say.
Now that the first man’s stroking has stopped, I am aware that the other stranger is on the bed, fondling my breasts with one hand. I am sure that his other hand is playing with his prick.
“Oh, my god,” mutters the first man. “Look at her go, I can’t wait any longer.” He pushes two fingers into me, and I roll to accommodate them. He adds another, pushing them in as far as he can, then twists them slowly, rotating back and forth, and then switches to sliding them in and out quickly. I can’t help myself, I lift my hips up as high as I can, press into his hand. He tickles my clit, and I can feel how hard it has become. I can barely say “Stop it, please stop it,” because I want to say “now, now, do me now.”
“She’s so wet,” he says. “She doesn’t need any lube. She just wants me to fuck her.” But I say out loud, no, no, please make him stop, which makes him push his fingers in deeper, more forcefully. And then he pulls them out. I hear him unzipping his pants, then I hear them fall to the floor. I writhe and pull at the bonds, but they still will not give. I feel the tip of his cock press against me, slippery, poised to enter. It is stiff and thick and substantial.
“Oh, do her with that,” I hear you, my husband who loves me, say, “She will have to squeal.”
It pushes against me, and I try to tense my muscles so that he can’t gain entry, but he spreads my pussy lips further open, puts all his weight into it. I have to let him in. I am still saying no, but he is already in me. He is holding onto my hips and ramming in so deep inside that I am pinned to the bed by his cock. I try to open wider because he is hurting me, and he tells his roommate to untie one ankle, then he rolls me a little to the side, so entry is easier.
“Oh, she is good,” the man says. “She feels so damned good!” He continues to stroke into me, and I rise to meet him, I am arching my chest towards him. I am engorged and excited. My breathing becomes faster, becomes half panting, half swooning.
“You little whore!” you hiss. “Look what you’re doing! You want him in you!”
Oh, my baby, you are right. It is too late to stop myself. I want to come on this strange, thick cock. “I want you to come inside me,” I hear myself say. All I can feel is the edge of climax, all I want is that beautiful, piercing release.
“You little whore,” you say again. “Beg him to come inside you, beg for him to shoot his hot cum into you, beg him for it.” I do, I beg him to ride me faster, and fuck me deeper, even deeper, and he does. His cock feels so good moving inside me. He grabs my free leg and puts it on his shoulder, so I feel every thrust even more intensely. Suddenly he is kneading my ass mindlessly and making sounds from deep within. He is on the edge of orgasm. His body begins that last gripping tensing and I start to moan in excitement, which pushes him over the edge. He slams into me bruisingly, enjoying the moment.
“Oh, yes, oh my god, yes, you are so good!” he says. Then he is done and lying panting on top of me, twining his fingers in my pinioned ones. I move against him, trying to bring myself off. I am so excited and so unfulfilled.
“Roll off her now,” you say. I am in such excitement, arched, trying to rub my thighs together to put pressure on my clit, rolling from side to side. “Please,” I beg, “Please, please, now.” I am insane with lust and desire. I need you to bring me off like you can so well.
I am focused on coming and I am thinking only of you. My eyes are closed, like you knew they would be, so when you take the pillowcase off, I am stunned to open them and see a strange man with an erection moving to kneel between my thighs. He is very tanned and looking at me with crazed and hungry eyes. I am doubly shocked to see you guiding him into me.
I have barely registered the image when this second stranger is in me, with his hard cock. He is sliding into me, it feels like he is stabbing at me with a slippery blunt knife. Stabbing and stabbing and I am lost and coming hard on this stranger’s cock. My head has fallen back, my marked neck is exposed and vulnerable, my mouth open in that pout you love so much. This man catches the knee of my free leg with his elbow and presses down, so my legs open wider and the pressure from his cock increases.
It is the kind of orgasm where I feel crazy waves of pleasure erupting from my core and flying out through my fingers and toes, where I want to curl around the cock inside me and the man on top of me and feel it even more intensely, aware of all the hair on his chest, of his sweaty skin on mine, of his pubic hair grinding on my thighs. If I could move freely tonight, I would wrap my arms and both my legs around this man and press even closer, feel even more.
I am wincing from the unbearable pleasures, coming and coming so hard it hurts. Then it has peaked. I cannot believe the intensity of it tonight. I work at prolonging it, relaxing a little at a time, holding my breath, then releasing it in a puff, which gives me a few extra little shudders of delight as I feel my cunt muscles grab his cock again. I come to myself, blinking my eyes. The second man is still pumping me hard. It is as though I left the room and am now thrust back into the middle of a movie. Even though I am satisfied, I am so wet that his cock feels very very good moving inside me.
You are staring at me, hand on your hard cock. You are looking at me like I am a birthday present so wonderful you almost don’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I am saying, while the man fucks me hard and makes my head slide up and down on the bed. I want you to know I didn’t mean to come like that with a stranger.
You kneel at the side of the bed, forcing your tongue into my mouth. I feel your hands on my breasts. Your breathing is ragged and I know you are very, very excited by what is happening to me. You finish the rough kiss. “I want you so badly right now, my little slut,” you say intensely. “I want you all full of their cum. My cock is aching to get inside you. You are so beautiful when there are strange men fucking you.”
Then you are holding my face very tightly between your hands, and you put your tongue back in my mouth, licking and sucking. I can’t get enough air, and I can feel the man on top of me finishing, ramming me with total abandon. I am exhausted and waiting him out. He finishes, and you make him get off your wife right away, and for a second it feels like the pony express, as the fresh rider pushes the tired rider off the pony and begins whipping the stumbling pony. I’m out of breath, and you are vigorously thrusting into me.
“Oh, I love you with your arms out like that,” you say, raising yourself up off my chest to gaze lovingly at my sweaty face.
“Look at your neck with those red marks,” you say, almost to yourself, and this makes you pump me harder. You wrap your arms around my back, pulling me up against the restraints, so my back is arching and my head is falling back, I am yours, not fighting, my breasts jiggling. I am relaxing, I am a rag doll, and this seems to excite you even more.
“Oh, oh, oh,” is all you can say, and then you are coming and groaning and holding me too tight for too long. Finally you let go, and as I struggle to catch my breath, you are stroking the side of my sweaty face.
“I love you so much, I love you more, thank you, baby, for letting me have this fantasy,” you say while you are pulling the restraints off my wrists. I limply close my arms around your back. It feels so good to just hold you while you kiss my face over and over.
“You can take off now, guys,” you say, as you are freeing my leg. “It’s just me and her for the rest of the night. Just me and my little wife, my little whore, my crazy, sexy wife. My amazing, loving, sexy wife.”
And when, just on the edge of sleep, you ask me if I want to do it again soon, I say no, baby, please, no baby, no. So you say, ok, then… ok, maybe not… we’ll see.
But I see you smile to yourself before you drift off. I wonder if you have crossed your fingers behind my back, if you are already thinking about who to invite next time. Something about the way your eyes roll off to the side, and something about that look tells me you are thinking of inviting three men next time. Or maybe even four.
Had you glanced over at me one last time before falling into your heavy contented sleep, you would have seen a deep and secret satisfaction that had been eluding me since our wedding night.
Look at me. I’m smiling, too.