The Next Sex Game of Stacy and Harold South?
By Ernest Winchester
Copyright 2011 By Ernest Winchester
Mr. South glanced over to the driveway that was beside his house as he approached the modest, one story dwelling. Stacy’s car was not parked there as it usually was, when he arrived home from work. As a grade school teacher, she had the luxury of slightly shorter hours than he had as a social studies teacher at the high school. Though he wondered a bit, he wasn’t overly concerned, she might have been shopping, or perhaps…
He smiled slightly at the thought that she might be off somewhere preparing for the next session of their game. The game that they played every week or two—there was no set date or time. The last time had been a little over a week before, one that had been his turn to orchestrate. Now it was his wife’s turn to devise a scenario that would provide an intense sexual experience for the two of them. When the last game had left her with a faint bruise across the front of her thighs as he had pounded his cock into her while she was spread-eagled, face down over a small table in his classroom, she had sworn she would get even in the next session. He had been quite smug with himself at the execution of that episode and could hardly wait to see what she might think of to top it. They each had a very torrid imagination when it came to sex—certainly not the staid lifestyle that many would attribute to schoolteachers.
It was Friday night, so they would have all evening to play, with no thought of grading papers or other preparations for school the next day. It certainly would be a perfect evening for a lengthy fuck session. With that thought in mind, his cock began to respond. ‘Patience.’ He thought. It shouldn’t be all that eager for he and his wife often had more conventional sex on a regular basis. At three years into married life he liked to think that they were still in their honeymoon phase and they were eager to make it last as long as possible. Could they still be thinking of strange ways of having sex by their twentieth wedding anniversary? And what in the world would they not have tried by then? For now though, there was no reason to confine their sex to the bedroom.
Parking in front of the house, parallel to the curb so that she could use the driveway, he got out and grabbed his leather briefcase containing his students’ test papers that he would need to grade at some point during the weekend. It felt good to have the luxury of the two days to procrastinate should his wife provide a lengthy diversion for the evening.
He lifted the top of the mailbox and withdrew the mail that was deposited there, junk mail, electric bill, credit card solicitation—but then something odd. It was a small, plain white envelope such as a person might use to send a personal letter. But what made it strange were the two things he noticed immediately—there was no return address, and the address was printed in block lettering such as a child might use. It was also done in pencil, addressed to ‘Mr. South,’ with the rest of the address somewhat at a slant, as if the writer was accustom to printing with pre-lined paper.
After dropping his satchel on the floor of their combined computer room/den, he first opened the electric bill to read the amount and the due date, then filed it in the plastic box reserved for bills. Next he slit open the strange letter.
The single sheet of paper appeared to have been printed on a computer printer, Arial, twelve-point, he was sure, and contained no inside address, no date, not even a salutation. It read:
We have your wife. If you want to see her again live you must do what this letter says. Go to the lake in the park and sit on the bench near the boat ramp fasing the water at exactly 7 tonight. after you sit do not look around or move away from the bench. Someone will come behid you. Do not turn around to look at them. Do not talk. Have this letter in your suite pocket inside. Also have your checkbook and savings bookinside. Do this and your wife will be releaset unhurt later tonight.
Mr. South’s first instinct as an educator was to grab a red pencil to mark the spelling and grammatical errors, but he brushed that aside to re-read the letter. Surely this wasn’t an actual kidnapping attempt. Schoolteachers don’t make enough money to justify being held for ransom.
This had to be a part of his wife’s latest game. How could anyone trust that the post office would deliver the letter on the proper date? He retrieved the envelope to read the cancellation date on the stamp. A smile broadened his face when he discovered that the stamp had no cancellation. Someone, his wife he assumed at that point, had dropped it into their box without it passing through the mail system. This had to be from his wife. But why would she, or possible kidnappers for that matter, waste a stamp? Was it to get him to open the envelope rather than discarding it out of hand?
She certainly had given it a realistic touch with the poor grammar and spelling. As teachers, they would expect lowlifes to use such language, but did she go overboard with the amount used in the letter? The printing was the same as would be on any PC’s printer, so he couldn’t tell if it was done on theirs or not. He opened a drawer of the desk and pulled out a box of similar sized envelopes to compare one of them with the one in question. The envelope was a fraction of an inch larger than the ones they had on hand and the folding was different. He laughed when he saw a major difference, their envelopes had security tinting, and the envelope in question did not. ‘Some Sherlock Holmes you are.’ He muttered to himself. He again smiled at her resourcefulness. She obviously had gotten the envelope elsewhere. Next, he pulled a blank sheet of printer paper from the box under their printer and compared it to the letter. Though one sheet of printer paper looked much like any other, he was sure it was a slightly different weight and texture. Only a forensics lab could garner much evidence from it, but he didn’t want to think ahead to such a need. Again he hoped to eventually give his wife credit for her cleverness. He studied the printing on the envelope for any more clues. It looked to be a number two pencil and rather blunt judging from the width of the printed lines. He rummaged through the desk drawer, inspecting all the pencils. All were very sharp and would have left a much finer line. But she could have sharpened it after using one. Checking the trashcan, he found no evidence of recent pencil shavings.
At that time he considered calling her on her cell phone, but he was sure that she either couldn’t answer if she was truly being held captive or wouldn’t to give him the impression that she was so detained. He placed his thumb under his chin and curled his index finger over his lips, thinking. Seven o’clock. That gave him plenty of time to fix himself a quick supper. Was that her way of being thoughtful of him before going to whatever rendezvous she had prepared? He knew he had little choice but go to the park and follow the directions in the letter. If it was a real abduction and some thug took his checkbook and savings account book, he would have plenty of time to thwart any effort if an attempt was made to withdraw money from either account. Neither account contained enough money to warrant someone spending twenty years in prison for kidnapping. In any case his primary concern, of course, would be his wife’s safe return. The letter said she would be released that evening but he strongly felt it was designed to lure him to some sexual adventure with his wife. She was certainly upping the ante on the game.
As he contemplated the likelihood of either scenario, anger started creeping into his thinking. But he wasn’t sure if he was becoming angry with some unknown hoodlum or his wife for going beyond what he then considered the bounds of the game—though they had never actually set any limitations. In all honesty, each game did seem to move the margins outward.
Mr. South opened a can of beef stew and warmed it in the microwave, eating it as he wondered how to go about complying with the contents of the letter. It seemed pretty straightforward but what was going to happen after a ‘someone’ came up behind him. If it was to be his wife, then they should have a very good time doing who knows what and who knows where. In could be a chilly night for sex on a park bench. Otherwise, he had no idea what to expect.
The sun had set at least thirty minutes earlier but there was a blue-green tint to the western sky as Mr. South left his car and walked down the cement path to the boat ramp. He looked up to note a few of the brighter stars had already appeared. No one was visible within the park and the solitude sent a chill down his back at the thought of who might be lurking in the dark. If it was his wife, he wondered if she realized the danger she might be putting herself in as she lie in wait in the bushes. Lights along the drive and over the ramp area would provide illumination enough for what ever sinister—or sexual—action that might be about to occur. He sat on the bench as directed, perhaps a few minutes early, for the time seemed to inch along as the hour approached.
After what seemed a near eternity, the tension of staring straight out into the now black water of the lake had him fighting the urge to pull his cell phone out to check the time. It was early spring and the piercing shrill of tree frogs drowned out any other sounds he might hear; despite how hard he was trying.
Suddenly pair of gloved hands clamped onto his head, making him jump and gasp in a startled reaction. He had heard no one approaching. The hands held him secure for several seconds until whoever was holding him seemed to be assured that he was not going to turn or make any effort to resist. He was suddenly breathing heavily, his heart pounding to match, as the gloves left his head to be replaced immediately with something sliding over his head, covering his eyes. He felt an elastic band on the back of his head holding the blindfold firmly in place. More seconds lapsed until a loud, mechanical sounding voice boomed out.
“Do not talk. Do not resist. Sit still.” The volume of it made him jump.
A hand slid down the front of his shirt and inside his jacket’s inner pocket, removing the items he had been instructed in the letter to have there. Was that the end? Would he or she leave then if that had been a simple theft?
“Stand up and you will be given a blind man’s cane and escorted away.” The voice sounded much like the synthesized voice provided to Steven Hawking as he expounded on the wonders of the universe. Mr. South stood as the disemboweled voice directed and something was forced into his hand. He realized within seconds that it was the handle of a cane and judging from the heft of it, it must have been about four feet long. He tapped the ground, then swung it slightly from side to side in the manner he had seen blind people do. He wondered if it was white.
A hand grasped his arm just above the elbow to usher him around the bench and back toward the road. The walk seemed infinitely longer than the one he recalled such a short time before and the hand at his arm nudged him gently, first one way and then another. He felt that he was being forced to take a path other than the one he had arrived on. There was grass under his feet he was sure, and as they walked along the cane suddenly struck something solid. Something that he might well have walked into had he not had the cane swinging before him. The hand guiding him seemed to allow him time to feel out the object, first with the cane and then with his free hand. He recognized the rough bark of a tree with the fingers of his free hand and he stepped sideways to pass around the tree trunk.
His mind was so preoccupied with walking and not falling that he had little chance to evaluate his immediate situation but when the hand on his elbow pulled him to a halt, he took time to think about what was happening. They had not passed on or over the concrete path, so he knew that his car had to be somewhere off to his left. The walk had seemed more uphill than he would have imagined so he had to assume that they had gone more to the right. He couldn’t recall the layout of the area well enough to guess how far away they were from his car but he was reasonably sure that they had to be near the road.
The hand released him and grasped the fist that contained the cane as a signal to cease swinging it. As he waited for another signal, he tried to get a sense of the person who was guiding him. It was difficult to judge the person’s height from the grip on his arm so he brought his other senses into play. He could detect no odor of perfume or other scent. His wife’s perfume he was sure he would recognize, but then she might have bathed it away to confuse him. He could detect no discernable aroma of soap to indicate that the person had recently showered. His wife always used a very fragrant bar of soap, but could well have changed to an unscented bar for the occasion. Would she have had time to shower after arriving home before he had? If she was the person standing near him, she would have had to plan things very thoroughly to arrive at this point, with who knows what next. A great deal of detail had already transpired and he felt a lot more was to come.
As he was thinking, he heard the click of a door handle and the sound of a door sliding along railing. He was certain he was near a van with a sliding door rear entry.
“Climb into the vehicle and lay face down in the rear seat.” The mechanized voice instructed him. He tapped out with the cane to determine where the vehicle was and with a guiding hand on his arm, he crawled into the rear seat, laying the cane on the floor. “Put your hands behind you.” A pair of handcuffs was fastened to his wrist, applied carefully so that they weren’t too tight. His feet were forced up to allow the door to be pulled close.
The person climbed into the driver’s seat, he could both hear and feel, and started the engine. Harold didn’t like the idea of leaving his car unattended in the isolated park very long after dark. He wasn’t even sure that was allowed. Vaguely, he recalled seeing a large blue sign providing information when he entered, but he couldn’t remember what the park’s hours were and whether vehicles left unattended would be towed away. That, however, might be better than finding it the next morning, a stripped shell.
As he was being bounced around in the back, well aware that he was wearing no seatbelt, his hands cuffed behind his back, unable to fully stretch out, he started thinking about the odds that he was going to be robbed and not destined to have really great sex before the night was over.
Then something occurred to him that elated him almost to the point of laughing out loud. His sister-in-law. This could be her van, for she owned one. If his wife borrowed it from her, she also could have gotten a blind man’s cane because the sister was a teacher at a school for the blind in a city an hour’s drive away. It all made sense. He recalled a conversation with his sister-in-law the previous Christmas when she adamantly stated that every sighted person should spend just one day wearing a blindfold and using a cane. She would gladly loan the van and cane to her sister to force him to do that, he was sure. But had his wife been completely open with her sister as to the extent she would be using the van? What kind of an excuse had his wife used to cover that, he wondered? They were very close, but that close? His sister-in-law, three years older than his wife, and a year older than he, was an adventurous woman. Single, and rather audacious in her love life, as he often heard his wife relate, could she agree to assist in this wild escapade? And if so, how much would she be involved?
He was losing all sense of time. The jostling from the drive along city streets had produced annoying pain in his shoulders from the way they were pulled back by the handcuffs. But the ride eventually smoothed out, as the van seemed to be cruising along a highway at a steady speed. The longer that went on, the more he slid back into a frame of mind that he might be on a proverbial one-way ride where his body could be dumped alongside some isolated stretch of rural road. It was obvious that they were not going back to his house for there was no stretch of highway between his house and the park. He considered trying to rub his face along the seat to dislodge the blindfold but with his arms pinned behind him, there was little he could do even if he could manage to remove it. It was dark now and even the drivers of passing cars that he could hear, would not be able to see him and notice his predicament.
The van slowed, and he sensed it pulling off the highway to the left, maneuvering around a couple of more slight turns before coming to a stop. By that time not only his shoulders hurt but also his feet were going to sleep from the odd way they had been positioned through out the ride.
“Sit up.” The voice said.
Harold twisted around as well as he could, finally managing to sit. His feet were numb and he was sure that he could not stand if he was ordered out of the van at that instant.
The driver seemed to be in no hurry to exit the van and, as he waited, Harold could hear an occasional car pass on the highway they had just been on. At least they weren’t on the isolated rural road he had envisioned earlier.
After what had seemed endless minutes, the driver opened the door and exited the van, almost immediately pulling open the rear door. The hand reached in and pulled gently on Harold’s arm to signal him to edge over toward the door. Harold was very reluctant to try and slide out of the van with his hands manacled, for fear of loosing his balance and falling with no way of catching himself. A gloved hand grasped his ankle and pulled it down to a lower step in the doorframe as the other hand took a firm hold on his upper arm and inched him out the door.
As he had feared, Harold pitched forward and fell against the driver who absorbed his momentum with much more strength than he knew his wife had. This had to be a man! With that realization, he wanted to cry out in hopes of attracting a rescue, but he had no idea where they were or if anyone else was within calling distance. Instead, he allowed himself to be guided slowly away from the van until he heard a door open and he was escorted over a low threshold.
Inside, Harold could smell the strong aroma of disinfectant and clean linen. He was sure they were in a motel room. He was guided to what he assumed to be the middle of the room where he was pivoted and pushed slowly backward until he felt what he thought to be the edge of a bed against the back of his legs. Further nudging prompted him to sit and then there was a long period of quiet until he heard the distinct sound of the sliding door of the van being closed. Moments later he heard the sound of the room’s door closing and the security chain being attached to its slide.
Harold felt the sag of someone on the bed as the cuffs were unfastened and removed. Bringing his arms forward, he rubbed his wrists and flexed his shoulders, hoping to garner a little sympathy from his captor. Instead, he was assaulted by the loud voice.
“Do you need to use the bathroom? If you do, nod, otherwise remain silent.”
Though he had no urgent need, he felt it would be wise to move around, if for no other reason than helping to restore circulation to his legs, so he nodded. The cane was returned to his hand and the gloved hand grasped his arm to guide him to the bathroom.
In his hand he then held a weapon. For a second he entertained the idea of stepping away and bringing the cane to bear against his abductor, to rip away the blindfold, but he knew that he was no fighter and he still had no idea what the man holding his arm wanted from him beyond what he had already taken.
Once in the bathroom, he used the cane to investigate its layout. He quickly discerned where the commode was and aligned himself before it to piss. He fumbled for several seconds afterward before finding the handle to flush it, then more time finding the sink. He confirmed that he was in a motel, feeling the miniature soap bar still in its wrapper.
His abductor had stayed outside while he did his business, but the door had remained open, as assured by what he had assumed was a foot that blocked his attempt to close it. He was guided back to the bed upon completion of his piss.
“Take off your clothes.” The voice directed.
Not sure if he should comply immediately—for his ‘weapon’ had been taken away as soon as he had returned from the bathroom, and he was again defenseless—he hesitantly pulled off his suit jacket. For the first time since falling against the person while alighting from the van, he entertained the notion that it was his wife standing in the room; perhaps he had misjudged the strength needed to catch him earlier for he was not that heavy a man. Though he had taken no aggressive action, he had a moment’s lament that he might have attacked his wife. Who else would want him naked at that moment? He decided to play along, hoping for the good sex that he couldn’t decide if this night was destined to provide or not.
When he removed the jacket and placed it on the bed beside him, he immediately heard a faint whisper of cloth being moved and he reached out to discover the coat was gone. He regretted not checking the inside pocket to see if all the items had been removed while he had been sitting on the park bench.
He sat thinking of the possibilities of the situation at hand.
“Take off your clothes.”
The repeated instruction made him wonder about the device producing the ‘voice.’ Was it a prerecorded sequence placed on a cassette tape, which would have made the person rewind a short section to replay the last directive? He was sure if that had been necessary, he would have heard the numerous clicks required. Giving it more thought, as he began unbuttoning his shirt, he knew that there was a myriad of devices on the market far more sophisticated than a simple cassette recorder. By current standards, that would have been a relic. Though a number of his high school students had one or another of them, many cost more than a teacher could afford.
Removing the shirt was a repeat of the previous item, he laid it on the bed and it quickly vanished from under his fingers that he had left resting lightly on one edge of the garment. The same thing happened to the T-shirt. He reached down and pulled off his shoes and socks, putting the socks inside the shoes and setting them off to one side. If they were taken away, he couldn’t tell, for the person moved with unnerving silence.
When he further hesitated, there was a light tap on his bare shoulder with what he assumed was the cane. He stood and removed his pants, placing them on the bed behind him. This time he heard the jingle of keys and coins as the slacks were removed from the bed. He stood, unmoving; until another tap on his hip indicated that he should remove the remaining item. In a pique of playfulness, he lightly held out the underwear until they were plucked from his fingertips. He felt like laughing but wasn’t sure that would constitute talking.
“Move to the middle of the bed on you back spread eagle.”
Once in the position, Harold felt the gloved hands restrain his wrists, one at a time, with ropes that felt like velvet, they were so soft. Though soft, they were securely fastened to the underside of the bed he had to assume, for they allowed little freedom of movement for his arms. Also, they did not hold his arms outright in a crucifix pose but rather askew, with a downward slant from his torso at roughly a forty-five degree angle.
Thoughts of what might be about to happen, made him hope it was his wife in the room for more than personal safety reasons, for he could feel his cock growing. To expose his engorging manhood before a total stranger was somehow embarrassing to him at that point.
In the following moments, he could vaguely hear rustling sounds that he thought—no, he urgently hoped—was his wife undressing.
Next was the startling sensation of an incredibly pliant and sensual cloth fanning across his chest, softly caressing his stomach, passing down his legs and returning to stroke seductively around his genitals as his cock grew ever harder. The article fondled him under his testicles and he groaned in appreciation as he spread his legs. It slid back across his chest again, toying with his nipples, before going on to his neck to caress it and his jaw. The fine texture of the chamois scraped on his five o’clock shadow. A finger and thumb combination pinched one nipple before moving over to the other to do the same. His wife knew how sensitive his nipples were. This had to be her.
The chamois left his body and a moment later he felt a fingertip touch his cock head, smearing pre-cum around his glans.
“Eat the pussy.”
Within seconds the mattress sagged, indicating that someone was climbing onto the bed. A sag that was concentrated near his head. He was first aware of the heat of nearby flesh as it slowly bracketed his face, accompanied by the jiggling movement of the bed. Then came the aroma, but not the smell of aroused cunt, as he would have expected. He was startled, for it was—yes?—the scent of mouthwash! What the hell? Was she trying to disguise the taste of her cunt? It didn’t seem necessary; for he hadn’t tasted any other pussy in years, well before they were married. Not since his junior year in college, for they had become engaged during the summer before his senior year and he had been faithful from that time on.
But if that wasn’t surprise enough, what he encountered next would have made him disregard the no talking order had his lips not been smothered. The pussy lips that mounted his mouth were shaven; shaven clean of even the slightest hint of pubic hair. If he was to be bamboozled into not recognizing his wife’s cunt, she was doing a good job of it.
“Eat the pussy.”
Harold had no inclination to refuse, and once over the shock, began licking the smooth labia with enthusiasm. His tongue stroked the swollen mounds and slipped between them to find the clitoris budding out from it hiding place. The woman, whoever she was, began rocking her cunt against his face, moving up to force his tongue into her vagina, then back down to allow him to administer to her clit. The pussy quickly became wet and its moisture overrode the antiseptic taste of the mouthwash. The refreshing flavor intensified his arousal and he wished she would pivot around to settle into a sixty-nine position for his cock was sorely in need of attention. But with his arms tied, he had little choice but enjoy what was presented and hoped she would return the favor soon.
As her pussy juice flowed ever more freely, his face became coated and she slid her genitals up and down his face with increased momentum. He could hear her breathing intensify and he expected her to begin moaning, sure that when she did, he would be able to tell if it was his wife’s voice. He felt two fingers slide between his cheeks and her pussy lips, pulling the labia open as she forced her cunt harder against his face. He buried his tongue into the warm, wet burrow as the labia closed over his nose, preventing him from drawing a breath.
Harold hoped she would realize the peril she was creating at that moment as he continued tonguing her ever-moistening tunnel. He groaned and tried to move his head from side-to-side, hoping she would take the hint before he became desperate enough to bite her. She lifted her pussy two inches from his face as he gasped for air and she remained suspended as he drew in several deep breaths. When she returned her bottom to his face, she slid up far enough that her anus was over his mouth.
Dutifully, his tongue came out and he was again surprised by a taste. Though it wasn’t a regular event, he had tongued his wife’s anus occasionally in the throes of passion. But instead of the flavor of clean ass—he was grateful for the squeaky clean anus—he was astonished by, not the taste of mouthwash, but the flavor of raspberry. ‘Raspberry?’ He didn’t like raspberry, but couldn’t recall that fact ever coming out in conversations with his wife in the six years he had known her. ‘The planning for this episode is amazing,’ Harold thought, marveling at his wife’s ingenuity. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to be able to top this.
The slippery bottom then made pumping actions up and down his face, forcing his tongue to sample the supple flesh from her ass to her clit, pausing at points where she obviously wanted prolonged attention. At a time when he was sucking intently on her clit, he felt her lean slightly forward, bringing her sensitive nub ever tighter into his mouth. Using his tongue, he stroked across the tip, and was delighted with the flinches in her thighs that action produced. He sensed that she was growing ever closer to an orgasm and wanted to make it as intense as he could, considering the handicap he was working under. ‘Literally.’ He mused to himself.
If his eyes weren’t covered, they would have popped wide open at the next sensation, for while he was plying his attention to what he assumed was his wife’s cunt, someone grasped his cock. He was sure that the woman sitting on his face was pitched too far forward to reach back and take his manhood in hand, without twisting around more than a Chinese contortionist. Whoever was handling it began pumping his cock with enthusiasm.
Suddenly, there was more than a hand on his dick. Lips surrounded his cock head and a tongue began working his glans, then the mouth slid down its length. It had been so primed that it didn’t take long for it to react as he felt his testicles tighten. In a matter of incredible timing, his cock exploded into the mouth that encased it as he sensed a series of intense orgasmic spasms in the thighs that bracketed his face.
Utterly overwhelmed by what was happening, his mind couldn’t grasp what his body was experiencing. The hot, wet flesh clamped over his mouth muted what would have been loud vocal expressions from him and yet the woman pinning him down was totally silent, giving him no clue as to her identity.
After the ending quivers of her orgasm had subsided, she withdrew, leaving only the mouth around his cock sucking out the last drops of his cum and causing almost painful final pulses of his intense orgasm. The lips remained tight around his shaft as they slid up and off. Seconds later, Harold felt plops on his abdomen and assumed that his cum was being returned. Fingers were applied to the spot, smearing the still warm juice around his stomach in ever widening circles. Suddenly the fingers were at his lips, giving him an ample taste of his ejaculate. Though he didn’t sample it often, he wasn’t totally unfamiliar to the experience. The first few times the woman who was to become his wife, had given him a blowjob, he refused to kiss her immediately after, but at her insistence he had relented, on threat that she wouldn’t continue the treat. Even back then, he had been amazed at the boldness of her sex acts.
Suddenly, lips were pressed to his, forcing more of his cum into his mouth as the slimy tongue compelled its way between his lips. The organ swept around, sliding across his teeth, actively engaging his tongue—and then the person left the bed.
“How was that Harold?” The mechanical voice inquired.
Harold didn’t know if the ban on speaking was now removed, and if he did answer, would his captors engage him in conversation. He desperately wanted to hear his wife’s voice, wanted to know if he was experiencing what was easily the most outrageous game yet. But he also knew he would be hard pressed to explain how the experience was. It was so unbelievable that he didn’t think he could put it into words. And could the question have been rhetorical? Was it possible for a machine to be rhetorical? The question wasn’t repeated, so he felt safe in ignoring it.
If the second person giving him such an incredible experience was his sister-in-law, then which end of him had she ministered to? Was hers the shaven pussy that nearly deprived him of breath while cumming all over his face? Or was it her mouth that had sucked him dry?
He would never admit to lusting after her—much—even to himself. Such a desire was out of bounds in the family after all, but, being a normal man, he had passing visions of having sex with her at the times he might have innocently cast his eyes on her curvaceous body. She and his wife came from the same gene pool and were equally attractive with full feminine figures. And what man wouldn’t have a passing fantasy of an encounter with the two of them together?
Whoever they were, they left him alone for a while, letting him regain his breath, leaving him to contemplate what might be next. More scenarios filled his mind, including the renewed possibility that this was not his wife’s doing. It was so involved that he found it hard to imagine that she had concocted the entire set-up in a little over a week. Could he have been captured by some sex-crazed pair, out to have as much fun with him as he could deliver before hauling him out to the remote area he had considered earlier and kill him? Impossible! How would they know his name, his address? No, he felt sure he was safe, though very confused, within the confines of his loving wife and whoever her accomplice might be. And there was the possibility that she had been cooking this one for a long time. If it was her sister with her, could they have committed such a scheme before with a boyfriend they might have shared? History told him that they were a pretty wild pair. The stories they had told of some of the tricks they had pulled on their gay cousin…
Oh, shit! The gay cousin. Could he possible be the second person in the room? Harold recalled meeting him some years back and getting the feeling that he was flirting with him. He would gladly suck his cock. He would be large enough to catch him falling out of the van, though he recalled that he wasn’t really all that large a man, about his height but maybe large enough. Oh, shit! Surely his wife wouldn’t pull a trick like that on him. There had to be some moral boundaries to their games.
While his mind was so preoccupied, he vaguely became aware of the sound of water running in the bathroom. Were they cleaning themselves, preparing to leave? In the past episodes, the sex had marked the end of each game. The roles were dropped and their lives went back to normal. If so, he was more than ready to be released and find out who was there, maybe.
But wait—with the third person in the room, the third person who had not yet experienced an orgasm, perhaps the game wasn’t over. And if it wasn’t over, what perverse thing was there yet to do?
He flinched slightly as he felt someone climbed onto the bed, no, two climbed onto the bed, one on either side of him. They seemed to relax, to settle in, and hands began moving over him—all over him. His face was still sticky from all of the cunt juice and when one hand rubbed his jaw, he heard the slightest giggle, but it was cut short quickly by a ‘shh’ from the other side of him. Neither sound lasted long enough for him to identify his wife’s voice for certain.
At some signal, each person leaned over his chest and began sucking on a nipple. The one to his left had hair long enough to fall about his chest but the other did not. Did that mean anything? He tried to recall now long his sister-in-law’s hair was, but then either could have her hair pulled back or tied up. A hand went down and began playing with his testicles while a hand from the other side began massaging his cock, pumping it slowly as if to get it hard. He knew it wouldn’t take much to get it hard, especially with the idea to two people working on it together. The possibility that one of them might be a man, he tried to put out of his thoughts.
As his cock slowly responded, each person promptly stopped the action on his private parts and move around on the bed. They seemed to be moving up slightly and a hand came to his jaw and gently pulled his head to his right. The thumb of the hand pressed down on his chin, forcing his mouth open. A nipple was slowly, smoothly inserted, definitely a woman’s nipple, though whether it was his wife’s, he couldn’t be too sure. He closed his lips around it, drew it into his mouth, ran his tongue around it and quickly had it stiffening to her obvious pleasure, though she refrained from vocalizing any delight. He raised his head to press into the soft breast, determining that it was large, as large as his wife’s or her sister’s. After several minutes, the nipple was withdrawn and a hand pulled his head to the left and a mirror exercise took place with another woman’s nipple entering his mouth.
‘Oh thank god, it’s two women.’ He thought, as the second woman’s nipple also hardened within his mouth. At that point, it didn’t matter all that much who the second woman was, so long as he was certain that one of them was his wife. The two nipples had seemed very similar and, though he had never seen his sister-in-law’s, he could easily assume they would be alike. If his wife was so generous as to share him in that manner, why should he object?
As if satisfied that a point had been made, one woman removed herself from the bed.
“Eat the pussy.”
Again the aroma of mouthwash assaulted his nose as a pussy was lowered onto his face. But this time it was accompanied by a tickling matting of pubic hair. Never was he so relieved to chew the muff. ‘This has to be my wife.’ He thought, as he eagerly wallowed through the bush to enjoy the cunt lips buried there. She took pity on him and parted her curls, giving him clear passage into her innermost playthings. He used them intently, piercing her vagina with his tongue, sucking her clitoris with reverence, even enjoying the flavor of raspberry contaminated anus when it was positioned on his mouth.
Her cunt juice layered a second coating to his face before she tensed and quivered to her share of the evening’s orgasmic pleasures. He listened to her deep breathing as she lifted herself from his face, trying to discern any familiarity in the sound, but his primary thought was, ‘There, done, now we can drop the act.’ Though his cock stood nearly erect, he didn’t care that he was capable of another ejaculation. Still, he was a little disappointed that the women hadn’t fully exchanged places. He was ready for the scenario to end. It had been an exhausting evening though he had no idea what time it was.
After a brief period, the recorded voice rang out again, “Do you need to use the bathroom? If you do, nod, otherwise remain silent.” The repeated message puzzled him. If the game was over, he should be freed and allowed to use the bathroom by himself.
“Just let me go and…aggg!” A sharp sting crossed the tops of both of his thighs and he realized instantly that the cane had been applied. He also realized that a mark would be on him in the same area that his wife had been bruised during the last game. Had she been waiting all night for the opportunity to get even?
“Do you need to use the bathroom? If you do, nod, otherwise remain silent.”
Harold began nodding well before the repeated message was finished.
The velvet covered ropes were removed but the handcuffs replace them. He was shackled this time with his hands in front of him and the cane was again pressed into his right hand. In a stroke of someone’s amusement, he was led to the bathroom, but this time by his cock. It was still hard enough to be used like a boat’s tiller and the person grasping it pulled it to and fro as she walked along side. He resisted the urge to retaliate for the stinging line across his upper legs as he swung the cane ahead of him. Even if he considered the evening finished, it was obvious that his captors did not.
When he returned, this time without assistance, he was greeted by the recording yet again.
“Climb into the middle of the bed, on your hands and knees.” He complied, but hands applied to his body nudged him into a preferred position and posture. The ropes that had held his arms were then fastened above his knees, fixing him into a position with his ass in the air and little chance for movement. A third rope was attached to the manacles still clasping his wrists and used to pull his arms forward. He was then totally unable to move from what he sensed was a most vulnerable position. The cane had been taken out of his hand and he wondered if it was then to be used across his ass, for it seemed in a totally defenseless posture.
But instead of corporeal punishment, hands were pressed to his body, rubbing him, caressing him all over. One went between his legs to massage his testicles and playfully stroke his cock. One swept under his chest to gently, teasingly twist his nipples. Another held the chamois, sliding it seductively over his protruding rear, before passing down and around his legs. It was then used to very lightly wrap around his cock and stroke it tenderly. He groaned at the exquisite sensation, hoping to refrain from uttering anything more vocal and incurring the wrath of the cane.
He felt movement on the bed and sensed that one of the women had left it only to crawl back on shortly. His ass cheeks were pried open and a finger applied a cool ointment to his anus. The finger spread it around his hole and he knew without a doubt that it was lubricant. Had he had any doubt—it would have been dispelled when the finger pressed in, slowly entering his ass. It backed out, only to return, carrying more lube with it. The process was repeated until the finger worked effortlessly in and out of the orifice, sliding with the ease of a machine piston.
It was not a totally new experience for Harold, in many of the intense sexual encounters he had with his wife, anal play was often incorporated. He would have easily been comfortable with the idea of his wife’s finger in his ass at that moment if it weren’t for the question, ‘what’s next?’
Next was a second finger joining the first, along with added lube. The fingers worked in and out, then twisted in an apparent effort to ream the hole larger. The fingers crooked and pressed down, petting his prostate. This caused his bottom to react instantly and he hunched his body to meet the intrusion like a cat in heat. He felt instant fire at the base of his cock and knew that his wife had never provided that feeling in him before. Which woman was doing that to him, and was his wife taking notes of what he seemed to enjoy?
The fingers were removed and there was more shuffling around on the bed as he felt something press against the entrance of his rectum that wasn’t fingers. It was soft and large—pliable and warm. ‘They’re going to shove a dildo in me,’ he concluded, though he was surprised at the size and composition of the toy. He immediately assumed it had been soaked in warm water for it wasn’t cold nor did it have a plastic feel to it. ‘My god, what is it and where did they get it?’
The expert fingering had primed his ass to such intensity that he was unable to resist the insertion of the pliable rod. It easily popped through his sphincter and eased its mass in for a few inches. He emitted a low, guttural grunt as he was overcome with the shear girth of the thing. It filled him with such an over welling sense of appropriateness that he wondered why he had never tried anything like it before. It was slowly withdrawn, then reentered. And yet again. The procedure was repeated and soon had the rhythm of a cock fucking a cunt. He groaned louder as the rod increased the heat in his ass to a fiery magnitude.
The bed began rocking with such intensity that Harold slowly realized the lifelike fake cock wasn’t just being rammed into him with a fist, that there was considerable mass behind the pumping strokes. He also felt hands gripping his hips, getting a greater hold for the driving.
‘Oh god, the bitch it fucking me with a strap-on!’ he concluded.
Not that he minded so much, it felt too good. The realistic cock’s action started creating loud slurping sounds as it plunged in and out of his ass and he surrendered to the incredible sensation. Until the cock drove in so deep that he felt the thighs of his invader begin slapping against his ass. They felt muscular. And he couldn’t feel the straps of the device holding the fake cock.
‘Oh, shit! No! It can’t be!’
But his denial was short lived, for the heat in his ass increased to such fervor that his insides exploded in an orgasm the nature of which he had never experienced before. His bottom was such a cornucopia of white-hot sensation that he couldn’t be sure he was even ejaculating. It all seemed internal.
“Oh, fuck! Oh, shit!” he blurted out, not caring if he was breaking the recently enforced rules. His body convulsed to the point that he felt physically sick.
The deep, hard penetration continued for several more seconds until the person fucking him seemed to reach an orgasm of equal intensity. The fingers gripping his hips dug into his flesh as the motion slowed to a stop with the large cock becoming idle deep within his rectum. But it was quickly removed before he could determine if it was to shrink or not.
Harold lowered his face to the bedspread, exhausted from the ordeal, though he had only been on the receiving end of the effort. He was vaguely aware of motions on the bed until all the bodies deserted it and all was quiet save the loud breathing within the room, his own not alone.
Hands untied the ropes from his legs and he sagged to the bed, landing in a warm, wet puddle beneath his shrinking cock. The handcuff was removed from only one hand and the other arm was pulled over to the edge of the bed. He heard the manacle being attached to what he assumed was the frame of the bed and when he tried raising his arm he found he was chained to the bed. ‘What more do they want from me?’ he thought.
Harold lay still, listening to what sounds he could distinguish and he concluded that his assailants were dressing. He also hoped that if his wife was not among them, that wherever she was, she would be safe. His mind was so overwhelmed at that point that he couldn’t imagine how she could have organized such a scheme. If she did, she must have been far more than a week hatching it. He had little choice but wait for what ever they were going to do next. If the evening was over and they continued withholding their identity, he wondered when and how he would be released.
The answer to his unspoken question blared out from the recorder loud enough to make him flinch violently. His nerves were very taut by then.
“When the phone rings remove the blindfold and answer it. Do not remove the blindfold or leave before then if you want to see your wife again.”
He heard the security chain bolt slide from its slot and rattle when it was dropped. The door opened then closed quietly several seconds later. All was still in the room so far as he could tell but he couldn’t be sure that all of the people had left the room. Neither could he be sure by then just how many there had been. Two women for sure, but the possibility of a man being with them haunted him more that any other question. ‘Would the key to the handcuffs be within reach when he took the blindfold off?’ he wondered. The temptation to find out was overpowering. But was it worth risking his wife’s well being to find out? His emotions had fluctuate between such extremes during the evening that he didn’t know whether to fear for her safety or contemplate strangling her for her participation in the evening’s events.
Again time seemed all out of proportion as he waited for the phone to ring. After what seemed hours, though he sensed that it wasn’t, it rang. He tore the blindfold off and, though the only light on was in the bathroom; that alone was enough to blind him before his eyes adjusted. The phone was on its fourth ring when he managed to rise and twist around to reach it.
“Yes?”
Again the damn mechanical voice, “You have fifteen minutes to clean yourself and leave. Leave the handcuffs and blindfold on the bed. Do not stay longer than fifteen minutes.” The line went dead. At least there was no dire threat toward his wife in what he hoped would be the final communication from whoever had created the messages.
As Harold replaced the phone receiver on its cradle, he spotted not only the small keys that he assumed would free him, but also his car keys beside them. He let out a sigh of relief. Apparently they hadn’t stolen his car. But what else had they done to him besides taking his sanity and his anal virginity?
His hands trembled as he worked the key into the slot on the chrome handcuff. Once freed of the cuffs and blindfold, he staggered to the window to peek out through the drawn blinds. His car was outside the room, parked near where he assumed the van had been earlier. The van, however, was not there.
Fifteen minutes. That was all the time he had to clean the cum and other goo from his face and body. He went into the bathroom, sat on the commode to wipe his ass with toilet paper. He detected no ejaculate on the paper and had to assume—no fervently hope—that if what he feared had happened to him was true, at least a condom had been used. At no time did he recall any oozing from his anus. Stepping into the shower, he quickly cleaned away all remnants of the evening’s ordeal.
As he dressed, he looked around the room, checking for what his abductors might have left. The ropes were gone. Only the blindfold and handcuffs remained on the bed as he had been instructed. He assumed that at least one of them would return later to collect those.
When he pulled his jacket on, he felt the heft of something in the inner pocket. He checked. It was his checkbook and savings book. He checked further, they had not removed any of his checks from the book. The letter and its envelope were gone, however. No evidence remained of his captors and therefore his ordeal other than various aches in his body and the incredible feeling he had in his ass. He tried to ignore it.
His cell phone was in his pants pocket. When he turned it on, it showed ten-thirty though it felt much later. Dare he call his wife’s phone? Where would she be?
As he was exiting the motel room, he glanced back in. He knew that once the door closed, he would have no further contact with what had happened in that room. Looking around the parking lot, he wondered if anyone was lurking in any of the cars parked there, spying on him. There were a few vans but he knew that vans were popular vehicles for growing families.
Pulling out of the motel’s lot, he turned right, certain that direction would take him back into town. Within a couple of miles, he started recognizing the areas he was passing through and in twenty minutes he was approaching his house. His wife’s car was just where he had expected it to be so much earlier in the evening. He parked behind it and went into the house, having no idea what kind of a reception he would encounter.
“Where in the world have you been?” Harold’s wife greeted him after he entered the living room. She turned and clicked off the TV, then rose to face him. “Well?”
Her face was knotted with a questioning look, tinged with perhaps a note of anger. ‘Damn, she is a good actress.’ He thought. “The game.” He offered, assuming she would then drop the role. He was certainly tired of it.
“Basketball? Well honey, if you were staying for the high school game, why didn’t you let me know. I was getting worried sick.” She approached him, draping her arms around his neck. “Besides, I might have wanted to go. We haven’t been to a basketball game together since college.”
Harold could smell her perfume. It was faint, not at all as if she had just applied it and he wondered how she might have managed that.
She kissed him as she always did in greeting, warm and inviting. When he didn’t return the ardor, she leaned back to study his face. “Are you all right, you look peaked?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“So who won the game?”
“I don’t know.” ‘God, will I ever know?’ he though, wondering about their sex game and not the basketball game.
“You didn’t stay to the end? Well, now that you’re home, shall we have a little game of our own?” She pressed her groin into his and seductively ground her pussy against his cock. “Of course don’t expect anything as good as your game last week. It’s going to take me a while to come up with something to top that. But you wouldn’t mind a little plain old vanilla sex tonight would you?”
Strangely, he wouldn’t mind at all, he could even feel himself getting up for it right then. Besides, he was eager to see if her pussy was shaved. Despite how good her acting was, he hoped that at some point she would slip up. And it would be fun, playing along until the next time.
The End