The Stranger Ch. 01

Dominik looked at me and said, "Just do it." He fluttered his hand and giggled.

We were having lunch in Laguna Beach. It was the Saturday before I headed to Vegas for the convention. I shook my head. "I can't, sweetheart. I just can't."

"You can, honey. You just don't want to admit it."

Dom was the one male friend I'd kept since getting married. He was gay and Mike didn't consider him a threat. It wasn't that Mike forced me to get rid of my male friends after we married, it was just clear he wasn't happy about them. I was involved with several of them sexually (Mike knew this) and I wanted to be faithful. He was fucking at least three women when we met and while it wasn't my preference, we knew where we stood; we were seeing other people, and dating left some doors open. When he popped the question, however, we became exclusive in the bedroom. We were Even-Steven.

But a lot had happened since we'd wed and while we enjoyed an active sex life for most of the past seven years, our physical relationship had cooled over the last two and we often resorted to fighting or simply ignoring each other over making any attempt to rekindle what we'd once had. We were both busy parents with full-time jobs. In the effort to be superheros to our kids, we had grown distant intimately.

"Gwen, honey, he filmed another man fucking you and jerked off in the process." Dom made the universal jack-off sign with his hand and the guy at the next table gave him a look.

I crossed my arms and pouted. "Don't forget, I agreed to it."

"Yes, and if I recall, you didn't hate it." Dom was right, I had enjoyed the experience immensely. The stranger had awoken a part of me I thought was dead and had helped get things back on track for me and my husband in the bedroom. He said, "If you want to see what's happening on some hookup sites, I say you have a God-given right to check it out." He sipped his white wine spritzer and eye-fucked the guy, smiled and twinkled his fingers at him. "Your hubby has all but given you permission." Not too long ago, I told Dom about what happened on our anniversary weekend last month. Most of it, anyway.

Nodding at the guy, Dom stood and said, "I'll be right back, baby cakes. This strong young man is going to give me a blow job in the men's room. Want to watch? You can see how real men use their cocks."

I shooed him away with a flick of my hand. "Have fun. I'll be here."

As Dom introduced himself and strolled away, I envied his freedom. His life, particularly his sex life, seemed so carefree and fun. I thought it probably bordered on whimsical. Although I knew that it often looked greener on the other side of the fence and he'd shared with me his inability to find a long-term partner, which made me sad. He would make someone happy, someday. But today he'd get a blow job from a stranger and that would be enough.

The waiter came, dropping some more bread and asking if I wanted another glass of wine. I did. He was in his mid-20s and looked great. Briefly thinking about a summer fling I'd had with a waiter shortly after my 19th birthday, I turned my attention from his drum-tight butt to a couple dining a few tables away.

They appeared to be in their early 30s and seemed completely in love. Her wedding band twinkled with diamonds as she brushed some hair away from his face. They were sitting across from each other and she'd removed her flip flop. With her foot resting between his thighs, she massaged his crotch with her toes over his linen pants. The woman's eyes flicked to mine and she grinned. She was completely unashamed of her public display of affection for her suitor. I wanted to return her smile but couldn't.

Watching her toes wrap around his noticeably hard cock, I thought about how deceptive people can be and how hard we all try to hide our true selves from others. For all I knew, she was cheating on her husband with this man. Or maybe he was cheating on his wife. Maybe he liked it when she wore a strap on and fucked him in the ass, or perhaps she enjoyed being slapped as he roughly fucked her. And then the night my husband proposed his idea came rushing back.

A few weeks prior to our anniversary, Mike turned off the TV and we made our way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It was a Sunday evening and the kids were down for the night. We were exhausted from another breakneck weekend around their activities and homework, my mother's birthday and dinner out with friends.

Throughout the afternoon as we laid on the couch watching football, I had managed to nurse down a bottle of wine while Mike drank beers. We were enjoying a night of ignoring each other which was better than a night of bickering or outright screaming.

Stripping naked as he walked into the bathroom, Mike dropped his clothes into the hamper and started brushing his teeth. Watching me in the mirror as I undressed down to my panties (I haven't felt comfortable sleeping naked since having children), he mumbled around the brush, "I wan choo wah anthoo maw wuck woo."

"Don't be an idiot," I said. "Take the brush out of your mouth." I was too tired for games.

He spit in the sink and glared at me. This was how it started: one of us would say a thing to intentionally provoke the other. But then his face went flat and a ripple of resentment passed into his eyes. He said, "I want to watch another man fuck you." Furrowing his brow, he corrected himself. "I'm going to let another man fuck you while I watch." He spit foamy toothpaste into the sink. "Was that clear enough?"

I was stunned. Utterly confused, I just looked at him.

Gathering his courage, he asked, "Did you hear me?"

"You're crazy." I squirted a line of paste on my toothbrush, jammed it into my mouth and brushed vigorously. He watched me, paying close attention to my jiggling breasts.

I had developed early and had been busty since hitting puberty. In high school I was rail thin but easily filled a D-cup and had been utterly ashamed of my top heavy-figure. Girls bullied me about them and boys couldn't pull their eyes away from them. It wasn't until college that I became confident in my appearance and learned to love my breasts. But that was a long time ago and gravity, along with feeding two suckling babies took its toll. Their appearance depressed me and a few years ago I'd had some work done.

They are now a size C and the doctor was talented; he had managed to turn back time. Today, my breasts ride buoyantly high on my chest, my nipples - ringed by small strawberry-hued coronas - point upward like firm, pink gumdrops. They are soft and full and move naturally with my body. There are no visible scars, and I love them. I can go braless again, and often do around the house. Mike loves them, too, even when it was bad between us.

"I mean it, Gwen," Glancing at his sex, I saw it thickening; getting fuller. It was obvious the topic was turning him on. When he slowly started stroking it, I rolled my eyes.

"Fuck off." It came out as incredulously as I'd intended and it hid my surprise. He just looked at me; the silence growing like a distant thunder storm. Cocking my hips, I said, "You can't be serious."

"One hundred percent," he said. "And I am not really interested in your thoughts on it."

Now he was scaring me. He had always been an incredibly honest person and it was obvious he wasn't joking. The idea wasn't without some merit. I had masturbated many times to the fantasy of cheating on Mike; meeting a stranger at a convention or seducing the guy who cleans our pool. But this was an entirely different proposal. My husband was willing to sanction my infidelity. This was way out of the norm for him and I was taken aback. "Is that what you really want," I asked.

"Yep."

"Another guy's dick stuffed in my pussy?" He knows I don't care for the "P" word and I used it for effect.

"Yes," he said. "In fact, I plan to take a video of it. Maybe catch his come oozing from your pussy." He used the word for effect. He was standing a little taller now; growing more comfortable with the idea.

I feigned a laugh, as if he might be joking. Waving him off, I said, "You can't be serious." I threw a washcloth at him. "Fuck you."

His jaw set and he didn't back down. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what I want another guy to do to you. I want to see your pussy stretched around his thick cock as he pounds it into you."

I could feel the anger bubbling. Covering her with my hand, I said, "God. Can you please not call her that?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend." Which was complete bullshit. He knew exactly how offensive he was being. "I'd like to see his come oozing from your special place." He put air quotes up around the last two words and I wanted to slap him.

My mother called my vagina my special place and it stuck. To me, it doesn't sound as vulgar as most of the words assigned to the soft folds between a woman's thighs. And while I recognize it's somewhat immature for me to refer to my sex as something other than what it is, I'm old enough not to care what other people think and tonight I sure as hell wasn't in the mood for my husband's goading.

Not by luck, I discovered the first girl I made friends with in college also called her vagina her special place. She'd even named hers and before we parted ways, we'd named mine as well: Claire. Mike knew my special place better than most, but he never knew her name.

Looking between my legs, he said, "It's your pussy by the way, Gwendolyn. And it's not all that special." He could be so mean. "Sure, it's smooth, but let's be honest, honey, it will accept my dick as easily as it will accept someone else's."

If Mike only knew how many others Claire had swallowed before he came into my life. Like some foul bile, spite rose into my stomach and I could feel my heart starting to race. I knew he was egging me on and I could do nothing to curb my anger. Shrugging before turning back to the mirror, he said, "I think you'd like it."

Fighting back tears, I said, "It kind of sounds like you want to whore me out."

"You might as well fuck someone else since you aren't interested in fucking me. Isn't that what whores do? Fuck strangers?"

"You son of a bitch." I whispered it. "I'm not a whore. I don't want to fuck anyone else." Which wasn't entirely true, but it was the right thing to say.

Thinking for a moment, he grinned and said, "Actually, 'whoring' you out is not accurate since no money will be exchanged. He gets to fuck you for free and all three of us are okay with it. Or maybe just me and the other guy will be okay with it."

And then I suddenly saw the bigger picture. I thought: If doing this will get things right between us, I am all-in. He's using this bullshit aggression to hide behind the fact he was terrified to broach the subject. He never acts this way. He's hurting as much as I am.

And who was I kidding? Having someone watch me as I was being fucked was nothing new. It had just been a long time in the past and it was something Mike didn't know about. I'd kept my sexual history fairly ambiguous and Mike was a gentleman; he didn't ask a lot of questions. I softened my voice; the shock of the idea was dying and it was an honest question. "Honey, is this what you really want?"

He stepped closer. "It is, baby. It really is." His voice had lost some of its edge but the confidence remained. Running a finger down my breast, he fiddled with my nipple, making it taut.

Watching as he played with me, I whispered, "Stop it," and turned away. He'd made me feel unwanted and ugly. I didn't want him to touch me.

He offered a mirthless grin and stepped behind me. He caressed my bottom then jerked my thong upward, roughly pulling it between Claire's lips. I yipped and tried to pivot my hips away but he only yanked harder and I heard a few seams pop; he was going to tear them from my body. I didn't want to be naked in front of him so I held still.

"Honey, bend over and place your hands on the counter."

"No. I don't want to."

"That doesn't matter," he said. He planted a hand between my shoulders and pushed firmly.

He wasn't hurting me (Mike had never raised a hand to me) and I was strong enough to resist. But he was making his point clear and I bent at the waist. "It should," I said, laying my palms flat on either side of the sink.

"But it doesn't, and we both know it."

"Please get the fuck away from me," I pleaded. "Can't you see I'm not in the mood?"

"I don't care."

"You should." I started to cry. "You really fucking should."

"Shush, baby. Just shush now. I'm going to fuck you and you're going to take it." He stroked his dick, which was just average in terms of size, even when fully erect.

"Honey, please don't do this," I didn't sound like a 35-year-old woman. My voice had pitched up and had gone shaky. But even as I said it, I realized I was lying to us both. My appetite for sex remained; it had just been tamped down by this ugly dark stain our relationship had morphed into. I wanted him inside me. I could fuss about it, but we both knew where this was headed.

One morning, shortly after Mike proposed, I found him in the kitchen making coffee. It was long before we had kids and we often strolled naked around our little apartment. Mike was grinding the beans and the room smelled wonderful. I just watched him for a moment, enjoying the way the sunshine coming through the window played across his body.

I walked up to him with a wry smile. Waving a ruler in front of him, I took hold of his cock and slowly stroked it. "If this is the only dick that's going to fuck me for the rest of my life, I better know what I'm getting into." He laughed as I went to my knees. Sucking him until he was on the verge of coming, I laid his cock along the ruler. We both laughed and I told him six inches was all I'd ever really need. A minute later, kissing me as he carried me to the kitchen table, Mike laid me across the cheap Formica top, spread my legs and proceeded to feed Claire her breakfast; all six inches of it.

I was being honest back then and I still enjoy him inside me today. And watching his reflection in the mirror now, all these years later, we both knew he was right; my thought on the matter of wanting to be fucked didn't amount to anything. It was how I was raised.

My mother was very traditional and my father was a pastor. "When it comes to lying with your husband, don't deny him. You'll be better off," my mother had told me moments before I headed down the aisle. "Even if you aren't in the mood, just open your legs. It will be over soon enough."

I had been madly in love when I shared this with Mike on our honeymoon late one night. He had me bent over the railing of the hotel room balcony, my Hawaiian-print miniskirt up around my waist (no need to wear panties on my honeymoon!), a full moon over a quiet bay in Maui. Mike had tugged open the bikini top I wore and my breasts dangled in the warm air; swinging in rhythm to the thrust of his hips. I didn't care if anyone saw us.

We were both drunk and I looked back over my shoulder and said, "My mother said I have to spread my legs and let you fuck me whenever you want it." I giggled, stuck my thumb in my mouth and made my eyes big. "I always do what my mommy says!"

"Your mother raised you right!" He swatted my bottom. "Your special place belongs to me, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then say it for me, baby."

I was happy to. Claire had been shared with others - many others - in the past, but at the time, I was happy she belonged only to Mike. "Now be a fucking man," I said, "and put a baby inside me." We climaxed together a few minutes later and coincidentally made our daughter Katelyn in the process.

He'd been using this information to fuck me on his terms for years. And, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I was fine with it. I like a man who takes control of me in the bedroom. It makes me feel feminine and desired. But tonight was different.

Sneering at him in the mirror I said, "Just get it over with."

"God you can be such a bitch sometimes. We haven't fucked in months. I'd think you'd be happier about it."

"I don't like how you're acting," I said.

He smiled. "So what?" Hooking his thumbs into the thin strings on my hips, he tugged my panties over my bottom. They fell to the floor in a satin heap and I stepped out of them. "That's my good girl," he said, his strong fingers kneading my cheeks, opening them so he could look at my butthole. Roughly kicking my ankles apart, he said, "Spread your fucking legs." And then he pushed a finger inside my special place. I whimpered as I widened my stance. The sound echoed off the bathroom tile.

"Shush, you'll wake the kids," he whispered.

But I whimpered again as he plunged two more inside me. Claire was dry and wasn't ready for such an unapologetic intrusion.

He pushed harder, grunting at the effort, and turned his wrist. "Just relax, honey. It feels fine."

It didn't feel fine. "Don't be so goddamn rough with me."

"Ride it out, baby," he cooed. Separating his fingers as he withdrew, he stretched Claire open, "You know how." I bleated like a lamb in distress and pushed toward him, trying to ease the strain on my labia. "Gwendolyn, please be quiet."

I bit into my forearm. I wanted to cry out but wouldn't give him the satisfaction and it might scare the kids.

He said, "Just be patient." Small beads of sweat popped up on his forehead as he worked Claire over. He wasn't gentle in his violation of her.

I grunted as he pushed. "God! Please, Mike. Please!" There was passion in my voice and it startled me.

He pulled my hair, yanking my face upward so we both could witness my expressions in the mirror. He slipped a finger out of Claire and diddled my clit as he thrust. Building speed, he said, "You'll get wet." And he pummeled her until she acquiesced and we heard her making the inelegant slurping sounds. Claire was ready but this wasn't how we normally made love. It was exciting but also frightening and humiliating.

You're also enjoying yourself, I thought. Then, instantly, I felt self-conscious and couldn't look at myself any longer. I was being treated like a whore; how was this pleasurable? The mixture of emotions he'd churned inside me were difficult to assess. Resting my cheek against the cool countertop, he spanked me and grabbed my hair. "No Gwen," he said. "You're going to fucking watch."

I winced and held tightly to the counter as he entered me. "God damnit!"

"Watch," he said. And I did; seeing the uncomfortable expression on my face when he pushed with force. Hissing when he spanked my bottom, he rode me hard, as if trying to break a horse; my breasts dangling, my stiff nipples sliding across the chilled counter in rhythm to his hips. I began to make the small yipping noises I hadn't heard in some time. They sounded alien.

"You're going to let another man fuck you." He drove inside me forcefully and it felt good. He twisted my hair into his hand and I muffled another howl; I didn't want to wake the kids.

"Yes," I hissed. "I'll do it!"

"What are you going to do? Say it, Gwendolyn." He slapped my bottom.

"Let another man fuck me."

"He's going to come inside you."

"Yes."

"I'm going to video his come oozing from your pussy, aren't I?" He was pounding into me like a jackhammer.

"Yes. Fuck yes!"

He pushed hard and moaned. I felt the hot slick of his sperm shoot inside my special place and I collapsed onto the counter; the ice-cold marble a welcome respite to rest my body upon.

Withdrawing his cock, he bent and inspected Claire, roughly peeling her delicate lips open. I heard the little spatters of his come snap against the floor. Shoving three fingers inside her, Mike pushed his tongue into my butthole, which was something he'd never done before. I tried to move away but he grabbed my hips and held me there. After a few minutes, he withdrew his fingers and buried his face in my sopping pleat, his tongue lapping the come from my womb. I wept as he feasted.