Sweat trickled down my neck, uncomfortable in the late June heat. I pushed a strand of hair off my face with my arm, careful not to use the muddy gardening glove. Everyone always thought the best part of being a teacher was summer vacation, but this summer had been the most boring of my life, and it wasn’t even close to halfway through.
I woke early each day, too hot to stay in bed. Peter ate breakfast and left for the office. There were things to do: yard work, housework, the gym, laundry, rinse, repeat. I mowed the lawn, weeded the flower beds and half-wanted to turn the hose on myself.
All my old friends were at work, and the teachers from school had either gone on vacation or had kids to contend with. I’d taken to walking to the closest café, sitting under the awning and doing my best to make an iced tea last as long as possible. Listless in the heat, I people-watched while pretending to work on curriculum. Life hung in the balance, devoid of excitement. What next? Kids? More years of monotony?
Peter and I had become woefully incompatible. I missed him when he was gone but wanted him gone when he was home. I felt detached; as though I were judging someone else, some typical young wife in a pretty house with a successful husband. I wanted to start drinking but wasn’t ready to drink alone. There were clichés and then there were clichés. So there was no escape, just me and my thoughts.
I finally called Annette. Everyone has the friend who’s the devil on her shoulder, and Annie was mine.
“You married bland and boring. You at least need to fuck someone exciting.” Annette examined my almost-naked body thoughtfully. “And Tom is the perfect guy, for a no-strings fling.”
I fought the urge to cover myself. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet. And will you stop looking at me like that? I feel like a piece of meat.”
My cheeks felt hot. I’d been naked in front of Annette dozens of times, but not like this. A changing room here, a shared bedroom in a beach rental there. She’d even helped me pee at my wedding, holding the train of my dress safe as I squatted over the toilet.
This was different. She was staring, appraising. “We’re all pieces of meat. Tom will treat you like one, the way you need.”
“I need? Or you think I need?” I wondered aloud.
Annette ignored me, eyes still on my body. “Very nice,” she approved. “You haven’t let yourself go. Zumba?”
“Crossfit.” My nipples were hard in the cool air.
She gestured at my underwear. “Now those.”
I hesitated as I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my cotton bikinis. “I haven’t even agreed to this. Why do you need to see me naked?”
“I just need to see if I need to send you to Maria Luiza for an emergency wax. And you can’t wear panties like that when you meet Tom.”
Sighing, I reminded her, “If, not when. I haven’t agreed to this yet.”
“Yes, you have. You just don’t want to admit it.”
She popped another truffle in her mouth from the open box on my night table. “Are you sure you don't want one, K? Not to defend Peter, but these are pretty fucking good. Makes Godiva taste like Hershey’s Kisses.”
Anger flared up in me. “It doesn't matter how good they are since he should know I don't like chocolates. And he didn't even give them to me on the right day! Seriously, it's like he thinks spending a bundle on a present makes it okay. The fifth anniversary is supposed to be wood. He can’t even look up the right thing on the internet? Instead, we’ll be spending our anniversary with some loser buddy of his from grade school he hasn’t seen in ten years because he couldn’t even be bothered to come to our wedding.”
“So you want Peter to give you some wood? I thought that was the problem,” Annette answered with a typical twinkle in her eye. I sighed. Trust Annie to turn it back to sex.
She gestured again at my underwear. I slid it down, revealing my bare snatch to her.
“Tell me about Tom again.”
She smiled. “See, you have made up your mind.”
Two days later, facing another inspection in my bedroom, I slipped into the new dress and fastened the two small buttons behind my neck.
“I told you I’d look ridiculous!” I glared at my reflection in the mirror.
Annette jumped up from the bed.
“You do not look ridiculous!” she insisted. “You’re wearing it wrong. A dress like that needs you to own it. Act like you’re Scarlett fucking Johannson!”
She rifled through my wardrobe and emerged with a pair of heels she’d given me the previous Christmas. She examined them suspiciously.
“My god, you’ve never even worn these!”
I felt my cheeks redden. “They’re too high. And kinda… slutty.”
“Which means they’re perfect!” she insisted, setting them down in front of me.
Dutifully, I stepped into them. Annette undid my ponytail so waves of red hair fell over my shoulders.
“See?” she said. “Wear bright red lipstick and you’re done! If I wasn’t straight, babe...”
She let the words hang until I looked away first and we both laughed. I checked myself out nervously in the mirror.
“No, you have to smile,” Annette fussed. “Actually, no, don’t smile. Just pout. Yeah.”
I sighed and kicked off the heels. “I still don’t know, Annie. I mean, I’m married for god’s sake!”
“Unhappily married,” she emphasized. “Don’t be so square, Kerry. It’s the fucking twenty-first century. Cheating is as common as lying on your taxes.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Can I at least see a picture of this Tom guy?” I asked.
“’Cause the anticipation is kinda fun, doncha think? If I give you a picture, you’ll probably masturbate over it, then call the whole thing off.”
“But how will I know who he is?”
Annette smiled. “He’ll be expecting you, K. Don’t worry. He’s six feet, maybe six-one, brown hair, well-built.” She laughed. “Trust me, you’ll know when you see him. Tell you what, I’ll tell him to say something really inappropriate right away, treat you like a piece of meat from the get-go. That way you’ll be sure. Oh, and he’s uncut and not too big. Average, really, but he knows how to use it.”
A cab into town. Another cab to the hotel. I didn’t even realize I was trying to cover my tracks until I sat down in the back of the second taxi. The driver, of course, couldn’t have cared less.
It felt so clichéd, so generic. I took a deep breath and tried to tell myself I hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet. I could back out at any time. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. I sat on them.
I pulled at my dress again. It wasn’t scandalous, but if anyone I knew saw me they’d be surprised at the amount of cleavage on display. Even in the back of the cab, I felt exposed. I could see the driver’s eyes in the mirror and fancied he was looking at me, knowing what I was up to.
Not wanting to wait for change, I gave him an eight-dollar tip on a twelve-dollar fare. Stupid! He’d be even more likely to remember me. And as soon as I thought that, I realized I wasn’t planning a murder. What did it matter if he remembered me?
I was early; my watch read 3:47. I looked at it longer than necessary, wondering how many times I’d checked the time without ever really seeing the watch. A wedding present. It had been a nice wedding, by all accounts. Dresses, dancing, cake, champagne, laughter, and the best kind of tears. The past was a hazy summer memory, sweet and warm -- a dream that receded the more you tried to grasp it.
But the fairy-tale had ground to an ugly halt. Inertia more than passion had pushed us to marriage; it was just what you did after dating long enough. I didn’t even see him anymore, and when we were together, it was usually around others, presenting a fake version of our relationship. It had been exactly five years since we’d gotten married. Everyone thought that everything was perfect, like the display in a store window. Nobody saw the tape barely holding everything together. They saw what they were meant to.
My phone chimed. I checked it hurriedly, half hoping it was Annette canceling the whole thing, but it was Peter.
Don’t forgot diner tonight
He relied too much on autocorrect. I used to find it funny, charming even. But now it felt careless and lazy. Irritation prickled behind my eyes. I thought of the goddamn dinner preparations I’d been making all day for the stupid childhood buddy he was so desperate to impress, to show that he’d made it out of their old neighborhood. And though he wouldn’t admit it, to rub it in. I shoved my phone into my bag and let out a long breath. He just didn’t get it.
I stepped out of the cab and walked into the lobby of the hotel, heading straight for the bar. Part of me wanted to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. In fact, I had only two objectives: to have a story that would make Annette squeal with joy and to make a rebellious memory I could enjoy when I needed it most, to remind me I wasn’t a robot. The next time he complained that his shirt collar wasn’t sitting right, I would simply think of my fling and the anger would be replaced by a sense of what, smugness? Smug. It would make me feel smug to have cheated on my husband. God, what had I become?
It was early but the bar was already busy. I swept the room quickly, too nervous to register faces. Did every guy have brown hair? I slipped onto a vacant stool.
“What’ll it be, ma’am?” The bartender’s eyes were kind and understanding.
“Double Maker’s, neat. Soda back.”
Peter liked me to drink wine in public; it looked better for “corporate wife” events, where his bosses judged me as much as him. Now, chardonnay made me gag. When my bourbon came, it was in a heavy glass with a reassuringly thick bottom. I drained half of it in a quick, nervous swallow. Warmth radiated through my insides in a way that wine never matched.
The voice from my right surprised me. He hadn’t been there a moment before.
“Your ass is too good to be true, and you order a real drink?”
I felt my heart thud; it was him; Annette’s Tom Carter. Tall, at least six-two, with broad shoulders. I knew instantly what she’d meant when she said I’d know him when I saw him. His smile was friendly, but there was an intensity in his expression that reached into my stomach and made my insides flutter. There was no disguising his look, eager and hungry. He wanted me and wasn’t bothering to hide it. Peter hadn’t looked at me like that in... years?
The sleeves on Tom’s Oxford shirt were rolled up, revealing arms corded with tan sinew and muscle that contrasted with the starched white fabric. His hands looked strong. I tried to guess his age. A fit thirty, or maybe thirty-five. He looked like someone who spent most of his time outside -- the crisp clothes couldn’t hide that.
His eyes swept over me, blatantly checking me out. Half of me was worried he wouldn’t like what he saw, but when his eyes met mine again I knew that he wanted me. It almost scared me. I’d only ever slept with serious boyfriends; Tom was a complete stranger. My mind flicked back to my two objectives for the evening, and I mentally added a third: enjoy it.
“That’s a… bold line,” I responded, not sure what else to say. My heart was pounding.
His eyes dropped to the neckline of my dress. He didn’t seem to care if I saw him look, and why would he? I’d dressed for his attention, and I was getting it. His eyes lingered, taking their time as I blushed. Our gazes connected again. I remembered Annette’s comment, We’re all pieces of meat, and Tom will treat you like one. Jesus, I could feel myself start to get excited just from the way he was looking at me. I was grateful for the dark, moody lighting in the hotel bar. Annie had made me wear a quarter-cup bra that didn’t even cover my nipples. In brighter light, their hard, excited points would have been all too obvious. As it was, I felt he could sense the effect he was having.
“Something told me it might work. Was I wrong?” He sounded confident; it wasn’t a question.
Squirming, I shifted on the stool. His eyes dropped to my legs, where the dress had ridden up as I sat. Before I could react, he brought his hand to my thigh, resting it on the black silk stocking. I felt paralyzed as he slid his hand up, under the hem of my dress, pulling the fabric partly up, until his hand found the top of my stocking.
“What... what are you doing?” I asked, finally able to speak. His hand was warm on my thigh, maybe six inches from my underwear. Heat radiated up my leg, adding to my arousal. I tried to pretend nothing was happening and took another sip of bourbon.
“Just curious if these were actual stockings.”
The presence of his hand was intoxicating. I was aware of each fingertip on my leg, tracing along the lace border of the stocking top. His touch excited me but also made me nervous.
“So now you know,” I said, hearing my words’ accidental rebuke of, “I wish you’d take your hand away.” I kind of wanted him to but mostly hoped he wouldn’t.
Instead, his hand crept up. Anyone watching could have seen his hand under my dress, now four --three?-- inches from my snatch. I looked up; the bartender was at the other end of the bar, intently focused on polishing pint glasses.
I clamped my thighs together, impeding his progress and trapping his hand. Amusement crinkled his eyes.
“Don’t do that, princess,” he warned.
He was still smiling, but his expression was harder, with more urgency in the set of his mouth and eyes. As if we were alone, he brought his other hand to my knee and forced my legs far apart, making me gasp at his easy strength.
The position had hiked my dress so far up my thighs that he could see the lace front of my thong. I became aware of my pulse throbbing at my temple, my neck, even my pussy. He held me like that for a long count, taking his time as he stared. The madness of what he was doing was even more obvious than before. Anyone giving us even a quick glance would see how he’d spread my legs, how brazenly he was looking at me. The bartender still hadn’t noticed; a woman two stools over shot us a sour look.
Finally, Tom let me go, but I didn’t bring my legs together right away. With his hands no longer holding my knees apart, I was inviting him to look, even to touch; I didn’t quite dare close them. It was as though he’d arranged me just as he wanted and I was powerless against his wishes.
Not caring who was looking, he brought his index finger to the edge of my panties, tracing along the decorative tie at my hip. My breath caught in my chest. I wanted to close my legs, but I needed him to touch me even more. The sour lady looked set to march over and give us a piece of her mind. I didn’t care. I moved one knee an inch further out, the urgent invitation obvious. The front panel of my tiny underwear was sheer. Even in the dim light, he had to be able to see my snatch. Could he see its wetness?
He chuckled and brought his finger directly to the front of my thong, his finger sliding between my lips over the damp fabric. His touch made me start involuntarily. A gasp emerged from my throat, even though I’d been clamping down on making any noise. I couldn’t remember the last time a simple touch like that had excited me so much.
He dropped a twenty on the bar.
“Let’s go,” he announced, taking me by the hand and pulling me to my feet. My dress, mercifully, covered me once more. I teetered for a moment on my unfamiliar heels before finding my balance.
He was intent on pulling me towards the lobby, and I had to resist in order not to be yanked away from the bar before I could down the remaining half of my drink and return the glass. He smiled when he saw me gulp the bourbon. “Good girl.”
“Where… where are we…?” I stammered, stalling for time.
“My room.” His eyes mocked me, “Or were you waiting for your husband, dressed like that?” His eyes flicked pointedly to my left hand.
My face red, I didn’t answer but allowed him to lead me out of the bar into the lobby. Anyone could have seen me, wearing a slinky black dress and fuck-me heels at four in the afternoon in a hotel lobby, with a man not my husband, waiting for the elevator up. The world took on a dreamlike quality. Some of it was the strong drink on an empty stomach, but most of it was the impossibility of what I was doing. I’d never even had a drunken one-night stand in college.
The people in the lobby moved in hazy slow motion. Like paintings in a museum, they all seemed to stare at me, accusing me, although the rational me knew that of course, they weren’t. After an eternity, the elevator door slid open and we stepped in.
I don’t remember the elevator, except for being thankful that we shared the ride with others. For all I knew, given what he’d done in the open at the bar, he might have stripped me naked and fucked me in the elevator. Even so, at the back of the car, his hand cupped my ass, one finger straying lower, rubbing my pussy through my dress. I had to work to stay silent.
When the elevator stopped on our floor, he took his hand away. Even after that short ride, I missed his touch. My body was trembling with excitement. I spent the walk from the elevator to his room in a daze.
I do remember that seeing the bed snapped me out of my dreamlike state. It dominated the room, announcing, “There are only two things to do here, and you didn’t come for a nap.” A suitcase on the dresser surprised me. Why had he brought luggage?
I didn’t have long to think; as soon as the door closed, he pressed my back against the wall. He was handsome, I decided. I’d been too nervous in the bar to absorb anything but broad strokes. His face had a weather-beaten look, as if he squinted in the bright sun all the time, though it may have been the day or so of stubble that contributed to that impression. His grey eyes stared straight into me, blatantly hungry. I might have been a piece of meat, but it felt good to be desired so openly. I felt a strange sense of pride.
“Jesus, those cherry lips are making me think of only one thing,” he breathed, his voice husky. I’d had to go to the store to buy the particular shade of bright red that Annette had decreed was necessary. His hands went to my shoulders and pushed down, forcing me to my knees.
I felt stupid for a moment as my brain registered, Oh, we’re not going to kiss first. Still, it was a relief to know what was next. The carpet was thankfully plush and soft under my knees. I waited for him to unzip, but nothing. The bulge in his jeans was impressive; apparently, I was the one supposed to perform that job.
Job. Blowjob. Jesus, was I really going to suck a guy I hadn’t even kissed? I looked up at him, flustered. He towered above me, enjoying my hesitance. His lips were pressed into a hard, crooked smile.
I could feel my hands trembling as I undid his zipper. When I released the button of his jeans, his cock sprang free, almost hitting me in the face. My first thought, after realizing he wasn’t wearing underwear, was that it was enormous. This is what Annette describes as “average”? I thought with surprise and alarm.
He was almost fully erect, a bead of precum gleaming at the opening of the apricot-sized head. With a shaky hand, I reached for his shaft, almost flinching when my hand made contact with the hot, tight skin. It felt bizarre to touch another man after so long with Peter, surreal to draw my hand back and forth on the largest cock I’d ever seen in the flesh. Eight inches? Maybe even nine? And proportionately thick. I pictured it stretching me open and squeezed my thighs together in anticipation.
I imagined what it would feel like pressing its way into my cunt. Not a word I ever used, even in my mind. It sounded ugly when Peter used it, so I’d made him stop. But something about the situation made it feel right. The situation, my excitement, his size. My cunt wants this big cock, I thought, getting ready to suck him. No, not wants, needs, I amended, my legs pressing rhythmically together.
I pumped it, getting up the courage to take it into my mouth. It was hypnotic to watch my fingers slide over the silky head. I flicked my tongue along the underside, tasting the salt of his excitement. Fisting my hand around the impossible girth, I started to pump, but he caught my wrists, tugging them away. I looked up at him warily.
“If I want a handjob, I’ll ask for one.”
His fingers tightened around my wrists, pinning them to the wall above my head.
“Show me what you can do with that fucking mouth.”
My lips closed around his cock and I sucked, my tongue swirling against his smooth skin. I’d never had to use just my mouth before; it forced me to work harder. I couldn’t touch his balls, couldn’t take any way out. My eyes flicked up to his face. He looked impatient, unimpressed almost.
“Is that really the best you can do?” he breathed. “C’mon, princess.”
I tightened my lips, rocking back and forth to take in more of his hard length. When I’d gotten as far as I could, I withdrew momentarily, working up saliva in my mouth before engulfing him again and slurping my tongue down so he was just short of dripping. I half wanted to take a risk and tongue his balls, but he’d said he wanted a bona fide blowjob. I contented myself with sucking hard, going as far as I could, breathing through my nose while he filled my mouth.
I could see my red lipstick smudged on his cock, could taste it as my tongue traced each vein and ridge. Jesus, he was huge. Back when I’d gone down on Peter, it hadn’t been impossible to deepthroat him of my own accord, and he was by no means under-endowed. But Tom was something else. I could only get maybe two thirds of his cock into my mouth before the urge to gag kicked in and sent me reeling. Perhaps I was out of practice. How could Annie have described this as average? Average! I knew average. This was absolutely not average.
“Further,” Tom growled. “Go as deep as you can.”
I surged forward recklessly, feeling a need to prove myself by taking him all the way. But every time I pushed my lips only part way down his shaft, I wasn’t able to relax enough to take him deeper. My throat wouldn’t relax the way I knew it should. Momentarily defeated, I caught my breath with just his head in my mouth. It pulsed against my tongue.
“You need a little help?” I heard the ache behind his voice, the desire to take over. I would have protested had my mouth not been full. He dropped my wrists, his hands winding into my hair and holding tight as he pushed hard into my throat. He took what I hadn’t been able to give.
“Fuck…” His groan was long and breathless. He ground himself selfishly against me, balls against my chin before he mercifully retreated, leaving me gasping. Then he speared again, this time beginning a slow rhythm as he pushed in and out of my throat.
“Look at me,” he grunted. My eyes were watering inordinately; I could hardly keep them open. He stopped moving, his cock hard and throbbing in my mouth. He didn’t pull out until my eyes had flicked up desperately to meet his; I needed air.
Gasping to catch my breath after he finally pulled his cock from my mouth, I looked up at him, stroking him gently as I recovered from his oral assault; he’d peeled off his shirt while I sucked him. I admired his body, all hard planes of muscle, but not the artificial bodybuilder kind. He was somehow big and lithe at the same time. An unmistakable tattoo of an eagle with the words “Semper Fi” above it rippled on his right biceps.
“I didn’t know you were in the military.”
He looked at me blankly; his cock, wet with drool, bobbed enormously an inch from my mouth. “How would you? We met ten minutes ago.”
I felt the heat creep into my cheeks. “I thought Annie – Annette would have told me.”
His brows pulled together. “Who the fuck is Annette?”
I looked at him. He wasn’t bluffing. I looked again at the bag on the dresser.
Annette had said he was uncut. Realization hit me like a glass of water in the face. I hadn’t, had I? I couldn’t have. Fuck. I had. It was the wrong guy.
“Your name’s not Tom, is it?” I asked carefully.
“No, it’s not fucking Tom!” He was confused, but still in command. “Look, princess, are we going to have a chat, or do you want to finish what we started?”
Stunned, I considered my options. I visualized going back to the bar, hair and makeup a mess, to find the actual Tom, undoubtedly looking for me by now. I imagined the look on the bartender’s face. What would he think? Prostitute, servicing multiple men in short succession? And would I really take two strangers’ dicks in my mouth on the same day?
Not-Tom kicked his shoes off and pulled down his jeans. He was perfect, all muscles working in concert and rippling under his skin. He settled into the desk chair, a small smile on his face, as if holding back actual laughter. He brought his right hand to his cock and stroked it lazily as he looked at me. He may not have been Annette’s Tom, but never had I felt more like a piece of meat as when this stranger masturbated in front of me. Not just in front of me, but to me.
“What’s so funny?” I stalled.
“I get it,” he smirked. “I may be just a jarhead gunnery sergeant, but I figured it out. You weren’t just looking to find someone for a random roll in the hay. This was all planned out. Your friend Annette had a guy in mind for you?”
I nodded, mutely, even more embarrassed, if possible, than before. I couldn’t look him in the face; instead, I stared at his enormous erection; at how his hand slid smoothly over it, with my saliva providing the lubrication.
“So,” he continued, “she told you to come here and let yourself get picked up by someone she’d send, but she didn’t even show you a picture. Am I warm?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my cheeks on fire.
“Is this a little game? A bored suburban wife sex club? You send her your friends, and she sends you hers?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not like that! I’ve never--”
“First time?” he interrupted, raising his eyebrows in mocking disbelief before his face changed. I must have been more believable than I thought. He stared at me, his hand still stroking and kept talking.
“Let me guess. You got married young, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four. Some boyfriends in high school or college, but nothing serious. Your husband wasn’t your first, but he might as well have been. Now it’s what, three, four years later? And you’re going crazy. He works; you don’t, so taking care of the house and waiting until it’s the right time to get knocked up are the only things you have to look forward to.”
“Shut up!” He was too smug, too right.
“I’m right, aren’t I, princess?”
“No,” I answered, feeling ridiculous as I corrected him, “I do have a job -- I’m a teacher. And it’s five years. Today, actually.”
He looked surprised at the last detail but recovered quickly. “Details,” he scoffed. “Big picture, I’m right. You’ve been a bad girl. Sucking a stranger’s cock on your wood anniversary,” he snorted at that, but at least he knew! “You’re in for a spanking now. Come here.” He patted his lap.
Somehow, in all of the talking, the idea of leaving had evaporated. My body moved on autopilot; I wasn’t thinking anymore. I closed the few steps between us, my face undoubtedly as red as my hair. I’d never been spanked before, but I arranged myself across his lap as if used to it. His erection was huge, urgent against my stomach. Idly, I wondered if his pre-cum would stain my dress.
With my head on his left side, he used his right hand to pull my dress up over my hips and ass. I felt more exposed than I ever had, even more than the first time Peter had taken me from behind. I imagined what he could see. My black stockings reached just inches below the crease of my buttocks. My ass was completely exposed in the skimpiest of thongs; the sheer fabric, concealing nothing, nominally covered my snatch. I was facing down, but I could feel his eyes exploring me.
They were joined soon by his right hand, which rested lightly on my left cheek, his fingertips a mere inch from where I wanted him to touch. I wiggled in his lap without meaning to; his cock was iron against me.
It shouldn’t have, but the first slap took me by surprise --CRACK!-- and I gasped. His hand had landed hard, stinging. It hurt but felt warm, the heat going straight to my pussy. My cunt, my new self reminded. He rubbed the area he’d hit, his hand delicious on my overheated flesh.
When he removed it, I braced myself for the next slap, holding my breath. I wanted another even though the pain scared me. It didn’t come. I didn’t dare look up, but eventually, I had to breathe again. When I did, the second one --SMACK!-- came even harder than the first, shocking a whimper out of me. My body had tensed with the pain, but as it relaxed the pleasure radiated straight to my center.
I heard him chuckle. “Too much, princess? Call it quits and go back to life in the vanilla wasteland?”
I shook my head. “No,” I whispered.
What did that mean? Did he want me to call him sir? His finger traced ever so lightly along the wet fabric of my panties, tracing the contours of my snatch, making me shudder. He exerted more pressure with his finger, driving me crazy. Of its own accord, my body shifted back, trying to meet his hand. If he’d touched my clit, I would have come right then. His other hand caressed my buttocks, warm from only two slaps.
“No, I don’t want to stop,” I told him.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“I… I want you to spank me.”
“Tell me why.”
Because it feels good! I wanted to say because it excites me! It turns me on more than anything I can remember! Instead, I said the first thing that popped into my head, which was also true. “Because I’ve been a bad girl, and I need to be punished.”
For an instant, I felt ridiculous, a bad actress playing a schoolgirl in a cheap porno. But the feeling lasted less time than the words took to say. He chuckled, the sound erotic and vaguely menacing at the same time. I knew nothing about him. Tom, at least, was going to be a safe fling, vetted by Annette. Who knew what this guy intended? It occurred to me that I’d had his cock in my mouth but didn’t even know his name.
SMACK! The next slap took my breath away. He kneaded the flesh he’d hit, gripping it hard, one hand on each cheek, spreading them, putting me on complete display. I panted as he brought one finger slowly from my clit down --up?-- to the bottom of my pussy, pulling the fabric of my thong aside to touch his fingertip to my asshole. He pressed gently, firmly.
I was breathless with need, but his finger scared me. Peter had taken my ass once, long ago and never since. It had been okay, but I’d gotten the impression it was more about marking his territory than pleasure for him, to reassure himself that he’d had me every possible way. Not-Tom was much bigger than Peter and did not strike me as gentle. As I waited for the next slap, I gasped my question, “What’s your name?”
Another chuckle. “You don’t think we’ve been properly introduced? I’m John.”
John? How stupid did he think I was? Last name Smith, maybe? Annoyance stabbed through me. He was from out of town, unmarried. Knowing his name didn’t seem like an intrusion.
“Fine, don’t tell me.”
The next blow was the hardest so far. SMACK! I moaned in hot pain and worked my hips against his body, feeling his erection just above my mound.
“God, look at you,” he breathed. “You’re fucking desperate for it!” He rubbed my ass as I squirmed, his finger once more pressing against my asshole. “My name is John. And I’m going to call you Cherry because your mouth looks like a juicy cherry. And I think I just might be the first in this tight little ass.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t correct him. Cherry was coincidentally close enough, and telling him I’d had anal before might make him more likely to try. I didn’t think I could bring myself to stop him, but the idea scared me.
CRACK! That blow was as hard as the one before, leaving my nerve endings raw and sensitive. His other hand moved my panties to the side, then ripped them away in impatience, prompting a different jolt of pain-pleasure as the soaked fabric dug into my flesh before giving way. A finger found my opening and pushed inside. I ground my body back against him, desperate for more.
Another blow --SMACK!-- struck my hyper-excited skin, and when he touched a fingertip to my clit, I exploded in a monstrous orgasm. His hand came down again and again on my raw skin, his fingers working in and on me. My orgasm peaked, impossibly intense. I was vaguely aware of incoherent words and moans coming out of my mouth as if ripped from me. “Yes! Oh Jesus! Fuck!”
He kept rubbing and spanking me through my climax until it was impossible to know if I’d had one gigantic orgasm or three in succession. He finally stopped, and I could hear his breath, as loud as mine. My pussy and ass burned with complementary heat.
Pulling me to my feet, he yanked the dress off my shoulders and down my body, leaving me in my stockings and bra. My nipples were exposed, hard points in the air-conditioned air of the room. If anything, his cock looked even bigger and harder than before. His hands rough, he turned me around to face away from him and propelled me to the bed. I stumbled onto it, his body just behind mine.
Thinking I knew what he wanted, I got on my hands and knees. His large hands went to my wrists and pulled them forward, pushing my face down against the pillow. I felt too exposed, my ass presented high in the air. A moment later, I felt his impossible size press against me. I gulped and waited.
I pushed back against him, desperate to feel him inside me.
Still nothing. His cock was still resting lightly against the opening of my cunt. What was he waiting for, an invitation? God!
“Please,” I whispered.
“Please what?” His cock pressed a little harder. Anyone else would have slid right in, but he was too big.
“Please fuck me.” I was beyond pride.
“My pleasure,” he chuckled, the sound strangely menacing. He pressed forward, and I could feel my lips parting to accept him. But then he stopped.
“Where? Here?” he asked, nudging forward with his hips. “Or…” --he withdrew and the next thing I knew there was pressure on my anus-- “...here, Cherry?”
I started in alarm, my body flinching away from his cock.
“No! Not there! In my… pussy, please!” I needed him to fuck me there as much as I was afraid of the other option.
He slapped my ass, casually. Even that light slap on my abused skin sent delicious pain rippling through my body.
“Where?” he asked again, nudging my asshole with his cock.
The forbidden word spilled out of me, the first time I’d ever said it aloud. “In my cunt, please, fuck my cunt!”
The pressure on my asshole retreated, and I could feel my whole body relax in relief. He laughed as he fitted his cockhead between my dripping lips.
“I’m a sucker for a woman with a dirty mouth. Besides, I didn’t bring any lube. Next time, Cherry.”
There won’t be a next time, “John,” I thought to myself, even though I didn’t dare say the words. The next thing I knew he was driving forward, splitting me, filling me more than I’d ever been filled. His hands were still on my wrists, the only part of him I could see. They were big, powerful hands; it occurred to me that if I wanted to get up, I couldn’t. And if he changed his mind about next time… The thought was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
Finally, inch by agonizing inch, he was all the way in. The raw skin on my ass screamed in pain where his body touched it. But I almost didn’t notice; the sensation in my pussy overpowered everything else. I couldn’t tell if it was me or him that was throbbing, but my entire being was focused on our joining.
By degrees, he pushed me down until he had me completely down on the bed, a butterfly on display, pierced and pinned by his enormous penis. “Jesus, princess, you feel good… so tight,” he whispered.
I could feel his breath hot against my neck, and then his teeth nipped at my nape as well as he covered me. He plunged in and out of me, each withdrawal pulling me inside out. When he thrust back into me, he drove my body against the bed, rubbing my clit against the sheets.
He worked me hard, taking his pleasure. His cock came out almost entirely every time, leaving me feeling empty, craving each re-entry, which sent fiery pleasure lancing through my body. Impossibly soon, I was on the verge of coming again. Usually, I had to concentrate hard to get there; I couldn’t have stopped this one if I’d tried. I did my best to meet his body with mine, driving back against him as much as his weight allowed.
“Oh Jesus, I’m coming!” I whimpered into the pillow, smeared now with lipstick and mascara. His thrusts were merciless as he pounded me through my orgasm, making it build to an impossible level, one I’d never felt without a vibrating toy.
Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through me. I moaned an incoherent “Unnnnggh!” then screamed in uncontrolled pleasure, using the pillow to muffle the noise.
As before, I wasn’t sure if I’d had one impossibly long orgasm or a series of connected ones. Every muscle in my body tensed, with particular intensity in my calves, which threatened to cramp. As I regained capacity for thought, I found myself wondering how I could possibly go back to what I knew, after this. I’d been wrong. Doing this wouldn’t make me feel smug -- it would just make me all the more aware of what I was missing.
He gathered both of my wrists in one large hand, still holding them down, and shoved my face down roughly against the pillow with his forearm against my neck. I hadn’t thought it was possible to be fucked harder, but he managed it. A few thrusts later, I felt him stiffen and my insides flood with warmth. “Christ on a crutch, princess, you’re fucking amazing.”
Planting a surprisingly soft kiss on the back of my neck, he rolled off and onto his side, facing me. Empty, I could feel his cum drip out of me, and when I shifted my weight, I squelched audibly. He smiled, his expression no longer as mocking, and surprised me by bringing his hand between my legs, probing at my raw, leaking pussy. Two fingers entered me easily, prompting aftershocks of pleasure.
When he took his hand away, his fingers were glistening wet. He brought them to my mouth, offering them. Without hesitation, I took them in, swirling my tongue on them as I made eye contact. I could taste his cum easily, as well as my own juices. Watching his crooked smile the whole time, I sucked until the flavors dissolved. Releasing his fingers, I planted a soft kiss on his hand, the hand that had spanked me, made me come, held me down at his mercy.
In a strange way, it was the most intimate thing we had done.
We lay like that for a long moment until he broke the spell. “Any other time, I’d have you stay for round two, but I’ve got a thing tonight I’ve got to get ready for.”
I was being dismissed.
So much the better; it would cut down on awkwardness and his ridiculous idea of “next time.”
I got up and tucked my ruined panties in my purse, pulling my dress back on and doing the best I could with my hair and make-up. He watched me in silence. “Good-bye, John,” I told him, putting a little extra emphasis on his fake name.
When I reached the door, he called to me, “Can’t wait for the next time, Cherry.”
I didn’t answer. I just let the door close behind me.
A few hours later, all signs of my infidelity scrubbed away, the elaborate dinner ready to go, I waited for Peter and his friend to arrive. I kept reassuring myself that my fling wasn’t written all over my face, that Peter wouldn’t take one look at me and know.
And of course, he didn’t.
“Kerry, this is my friend Jack Lawson from back home.”
Jack Lawson. Peter’s childhood friend. A man I shouldn't have ever seen before. Only I had seen him. Every goddamn inch of him. Fuck. Our eyes met. I could practically see jigsaw pieces fitting into place behind his eyes.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jack.” Somehow I maintained a semblance of composure.
His crooked smile mocked me as much as it had earlier. “Well, it’s John, officially, ma’am, but my friends call me Jack. I’ve felt awful for years for missing your wedding when I was stationed in Afghanistan, but I’ve brought you a little anniversary present to try to make up for it.”
He held out a small wooden sculpture of a couple embracing. The details were roughly hewn, but the lines were perfect, so beautiful that for a moment I forgot my plight.
“It’s lovely,” I breathed. “Where did you--”
“I made it,” he interrupted. “It’s very relaxing to work with my hands.”
I cringed at the double meaning. And of course, his comment made me look at his large, powerful hands, conjuring up the vivid memory of everything they had done to me. Oblivious, Peter broke in,“C’mon, let’s eat. If I know Kerry at all, she’s spent the entire day whipping up a feast, and definitely better than any MRE.”
Peter led the way to the dining room, showing off. Jack followed me, amusement in his voice when he answered, “The whole day? No breaks at all? I’m sure it will be amazing.”
He pinched my ass, still sensitive from what he had done to me in the hotel, and I almost yelped.
Somehow, I got through dinner. Jack alternated between smirking at me and undressing me with his eyes. Peter didn’t have a clue. Later, when Peter was rummaging in the basement for the expensive bottle of wine he wanted to impress his guest with, Jack and I found ourselves alone in the kitchen, cleaning up.
“It’s one thing cheating on your husband,” he breathed. “But when your husband’s the big man himself, Peter Sloane! My god, Cherry – sorry, Kerry – you really are something. What was it he said? Kindergarten teacher? Fuck.”
I forced myself to look at him. He leaned against the refrigerator, on top of the fucking world.
“You won’t tell him,” I tried to say it as a statement, but it came out as a plea. “It was a mistake.”
Jack smiled. “C’mon, Cherry. You came six times. Call that a mistake? Besides, I didn’t even get to fuck your ass yet.”
“Yet?” I repeated, my voice little more than a tremble.
Jack’s smile didn’t waver. “Peter thinks he’s got everything figured out. Thinks he’s some kinda rags-to-riches fairy-tale. That he’s better than everyone he grew up with. Imagine if he knew what his perfect little wife had been doing behind his back.”
“It was a one-time thing,” I protested. “It was – like – it was...”
“It was fucking incredible,” Jack interrupted. “You loved every second, Kerry. And if you don’t want Peter finding out, then you’re gonna do everything I say.”
I blanched. “What?”
“Same time next week?” he suggested. “Same place? Or I could come over here if Peter’s at work.”
“No!” I closed my eyes, tried to make him disappear. “Please, Jack. Please.”
“God, I love it when you beg, princess.”
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