In the Backseat

This story involves a wife's infidelity. Without any repercussions. If you do not like these types of stories ... please move on to something you do like. However if such stories are something you can or do appreciate - realizing they are mere fiction and fantasy - please enjoy.

*****

It was late into the night when she noticed her girlfriends had disappeared, leaving her at the bar without back-up. Thinking about it over the following days she'd realize she should've expected it. After all, the two single girls often regaled her with stories about random hook-ups, while the married one had recently started up an affair with a co-worker. So why had she agreed to join them for a night out? Why this particular trio and not some other group of friends? That question would haunt her emotional struggles over the coming days.

Her and Tom were going through a rough patch and she'd decided to get out for a night, have a little fun and blow off some steam. So she hooked up with the three girlfriends. And if Tom hadn't been over at his buddy's drinking, he might have taken issue with her outfit. But he was, so he didn't, so she wore what she wanted.

The blue dress clung to the curves of her large C-cup breasts and taut little ass; its low, scoop front displaying ample cleavage and its mid-thigh hem showing plenty of leg. Underneath the dress she wore a pair of lacy, light-blue panties, but her breasts were firm and the dress' material thick, so she didn't wear a bra. For stability's sake she wore a pair of low heels that added very little to her demure height but allowed her to feel confident in her ability to walk after a few drinks. Her bleach-blond hair was cut in a shag and she went mostly make-up free on her fresh, mid-western features, using only a hint of eyeshadow to accentuate her bright eyes and a soft lipstick on her delicate lips.

They'd barely arrived at the bar when men started buying her drinks and asking her to dance. Enjoying the attention, she accepted several of their offers with absolutely no intentions of doing anything inappropriate, no matter how mad she was at Tom.

By the time she realized her friends were gone, there were three men paying her particular attention; taking turns dancing with her and making thinly veiled comments. They were buddies of one another with Frank being the best looking, Bill the best dancer, and Ken the sweetest. During the slow songs they would take the opportunity to hold her close, pressing their bodies against hers. They were all taller than her and she'd lay her head against their chests as the heat of their hands radiated through her dress to simmer against the flesh of her hips, or lower back . . . or her ass during more daring moments. Even though she had no intentions of misbehaving, she did feel certain stirrings being awoken deep inside her and she unconsciously pressed herself back against the men.

With the realization that her friends had abandoned her, she thought it was probably time to make her own exit. She didn't really want to, but knew it was probably for the best . . . considering.

"I guess I should call a cab," she told the men.

"Oh, not yet," Ken pouted playfully. "Stay for just a couple more dances."

"Yea, just a couple more," Frank pressed.

She thought about it for a minute. Now that she was alone, she knew she should leave. It was the proper thing to do. But she was still having fun. And besides, for all she knew her friends had disappeared nearly an hour earlier, so what difference would a few more dances make.

"Yea, I suppose so," she smiled, taking a sip of her drink.

"Great," Ken smiled, then led her onto the dancefloor where the up-tempo of a fast song kept him from pulling her close, although he found plenty of opportunities to touch her hip.

Afterwards Bill allowed her to finish her drink before leading her back out for another fast number. Leaving the dancefloor after that song she realized she was feeling a little fuzzy, her mind drifting into a murky haze. She didn't think she'd drank that much and tried counting how many she had consumed. A fresh drink waited at the table for her, adding to the number. Without thinking she thanked the men for getting it for her and lifted it to her lips, sipping at the cool, refreshing liquid.

Then Frank took her hand and led her to the dancefloor once more. As a slow number started playing he pulled her to him, one hand pressing on her lower back. Draping her arms around his shoulders she laid her head on his chest. Swaying to the music she absently allowed him to slip his thigh between her legs while pressing an obvious bulge against her abdomen.

"Ya know, ya don't have to take a cab," he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "We could give ya a ride home."

"Hmm, that's sweet," she smiled. "But I don't think strange men bringing me home would go over too well with my husband."

"Who says he'd even know? From what you said, he's probably passed out drunk right now. He'd never even see how ya got home."

"Hmm, true," she agreed. "Still, I don't think it'd be a good idea."

The song ended. As she and Frank were leaving the dancefloor another slow number started and Bill appeared, taking her hand to lead her back out. As they pressed their bodies together she was aware of Bill's own bulge pressing against her and she sighed, a warmth flowing through her, making her flesh simmer beneath the clingy dress as her mind drifted back into the murky haze. Somewhere in that haze she recognized that Bill's thigh had worked its way between her legs and that his hand had slid down to cup her ass, applying pressure to push her against his thigh. She thought about how she should stop it, that she shouldn't be allowing such advances.

But she didn't . . . she couldn't.

His tensing fingers felt nice on her little tush . . . so strong and domineering. So she remained with her arms over his shoulders and her body laying against his, the haze thickening. Once the song ended, she tried to push the haze back as he led her to the table where she sipped at her drink.

"I think it's time we got outta here," Frank announced.

"Yea, um-," she started, his statement making her realize . . . something. But she couldn't quite grasp it through the haze.

"Come on, we'll give you a ride." Frank slid an arm around her waist and started leading her toward the door with Bill and Ken right behind them.

"No, um... Where's my phone?" She found a small break in the fog. "I'll call a cab."

"I got your phone right here," Ken told her. "But ya can't trust the cabs at this hour, they rip ya off."

"Besides, what kind of gentlemen would we be if we let a lady fend for herself?" Frank asked as they stepped outside.

Cool, fresh air smacked her in face. It brushed at the sweat coating her flesh and evicted the bar's soiled air from her senses. It also created a thin streak of clarity in the mental fog.

"May-Maybe I should call my husband," she offered timidly.

"And have him drive drunk? That wouldn't be very smart, would it?" Ken declared.

The men led her to a large, older sedan. Ken stepped ahead of her and Frank to open the back door and Frank guided her through it, sliding in after her and pushing her across the seat.

"Bu-But I-," she started to protest.

"It's okay," Frank told her as the door closed. "We'll make sure ya get home."

Bill had climbed in behind the wheel and Ken joined him in the front seat. As the car started moving a twinge of concern pushed its way through the haze. That twinge grew as Frank slid an arm around her . . . pulled her to him . . . turned her toward him.

Suddenly the clarity broadened, scattering more of the murkiness.

And she realized her situation.

"No," she whispered, her body tensing. "Please no."

As he leaned in she brought her hands up to his chest to try fending him off . . . to push him away. But she couldn't. He was bigger . . . stronger. Plus, her mind continued struggling within the fog. Her arms folded between them as he hauled her to him. He brought his lips to hers . . . kissed her . . . hard . . . insistent. In the fog instinct kicked in, and against her wishes she kissed him back. Locking his lips to hers, he opened them slightly and his tongue pried at hers. She tried keeping her lips closed, denying it access . . . but the fog allowed her body to act on its own again and they parted, her tongue rising in greeting as his slid into her mouth, the two appendages swirling over one another. The arm wrapped around her shoulders kept her pressed against him, the hand cradling her bicep. His other hand rubbed at her through her dress, caressing up and down her side . . . her hip . . . her thigh. The earlier warmth was rekindled to flow along her veins and make her body simmer. Her muscles gradually relaxed slightly, the pressure of her hands pushing against his chest weakening along with her resolve.

Yet the discomfort of her arms sandwiched between them offered her the chance at some clarity within the murky fog . . . a chance to assess the situation.

It wasn't good.

Somehow she'd allowed herself to be led into a situation she didn't want. She was in a moving car with three men she'd only met earlier that evening, at least one of whom seemed intent on having his way with her. She wasn't thinking clearly, obviously having drank more than she should have... Or...

Did they put something in my drink?! She suddenly thought.

But the answer didn't really matter at the moment. The only thing that did matter was finding a safe way to extract herself from the situation.

As she desperately tried to think of something, fighting against the murkiness, Frank's roaming hand came to rest on her thigh. Her dress had ridden up and his hand lingered higher on her thigh than she liked, his palm hot against her skin, his fingers dipping under the hem, touching even higher. Self-preservation kicked in and she jerk one of her own hands down to grab onto his and push it away.

Or did she?

She had no way of knowing if he'd planned it, or if he just took advantage of the opening she afforded him, but his hand easily shook loose of hers to quickly slip between them to grope one of her breasts. Covering the ample mound, his fingers squeezed hungrily at her through the dress, his palm flattening her nipple beneath it.

"Mmm!" She mewed reflexively, suddenly aware of an ache pulsing within her breasts. She also realized her nipples were stiffening, the hardening buds poking at her dress . . . being rubbed by its material.

Her hand came to rest on her thigh and for the next few minutes she sat there, being groped and kissed against her will . . . but kissing him back at the same time. Her own tongue swirled over his . . . the warmth continuing to flow through her . . .the haze lingering. Then he broke their kiss. Dropping his head down he kissed her neck, his moist lips brushing firmly against its flesh a few times.

"Frank," she breathed, struggling with . . . something. "Ple-Please stop. Please."

His teeth nipped at her flesh, making her nerves tingle . . . making her inhale sharply. Continuing to molest her breast, he kissed and nipped at her neck; his lips warm, moist; his teeth firm. Electricity sparked along her nerves and the ache in her breasts grew. Lost in these sensations she fell deeper into the fog, allowing things to continue without any attempt at resistance until his hand slipped up and his fingers hooked the dress' cup neckline to start pulling it down. This created another streak of clarity in the fog and her hand jerked up to grab onto his wrist again, stopping him.

"Frank, please," she whimpered. "I-I can-can't."

"Yes, you can," he whispered in her ear, his warm breath swirling in the canal. Then he let her pull his hand away from her dress, giving her a second's relief. But then he twisted it and reversed the grip so that he was holding her wrist. Pulling it downward he guided it toward his crotch. "And you will."

Realizing what he was doing, she tensed her arm . . . tried stopping him . . . tried to pull back. But again he was stronger . . . more determined. He dragged her hand down to his crotch and placed it atop the bulge straining his pants.

"N-No... Ooh," she whimpered, tropical gusts wafting through her to fan a smoldering desire as her fingers reflexively scratched at the sizable bulge, the haze closing in once more.

He leaned in and kissed her again. This time when his lips guided hers open she offered no resistance and again raised her own tongue in greeting as his invaded her mouth. His hand returned to her breast and she pulled her body away from his slightly, allowing him freer access. Cupping and squeezing the pliant mound he fueled the ache, made her nipples grow stiffer. As their tongues swirled over one another her fingers continued scratching at his crotch, his cock throbbing under them, the sensation amplifying the tropical gusts.

It took her a moment to realize how much she was actually participating in things . . . how she was kissing him back and how she was grabbing at him even though he was no longer holding her hand to his crotch.

No! Her body tensed up and she yanked her hand up, grabbing onto his wrist and trying to pull his hand away from her breast again.

It didn't budge . . .

Not at first . . .

Instead he tensed his own arm and kept his hand atop her lush mound, his fingers squeezing and molding it through her dress. The ache within her mounds grew, being fueled by his attentions, and her hand's grasp gradually weakened, her body's resolve fading.

When he did pull his hand away moments later she almost convinced herself that she'd forced him to. Again his hand dropped back down toward his crotch, making her think he meant to place hers atop his bulge again. Her mind screamed at her through the haze to release his wrist . . . to put her hand against his chest and push him away. But she didn't. She continued holding into his wrist until it reached his crotch. Then she did release him . . . her hand slipping free to settle atop his hidden bulge of its own accord, her fingers once again scratching.

No, she silently whimpered, realizing her unintended act.

Groping at his crotch, she expected his hand to return to her breast, but it didn't. A second later she realized he was instead undoing his belt . . . unsnapping his pants . . . drawing the zipper down. The realization filled her with new fears and she broke their kiss, her hand retreating to her own thigh.

"Ple-Please no, Frank," she pleaded.

"Oh yes, Baby," he grinned. Using his one hand to push his pants and underwear down enough to release his cock, he grabbed onto her wrist and guided her hand back to him.

Reflexively her fingers encircled the thick shaft and gave it an exploratory tug, a heated sigh escaping past her trembling lip. The member throbbed within her delicate grasp and the tropical breezes fanned embers to life within her loins. Pulling his arm from around her he leaned back against the seat and pushed his clothes down past his knees.

"Ple-Please," she whispered, even though her fingers remained wrapped tightly around his stiffening shaft, tugging it to full erection.

Grinning, he brought a hand to the back of her head, his fingers combing into her hair. Then he pulled her head forward and pushed it down. For a moment her vision was filled by the rigid cock her hand was tugging on, her mind screaming with his intention. Then tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image.

"No... No, please," her voice trembled as her mouth approached his sizable cock.

"Suck it," he growled, forcing her face to within an inch of his cockhead before her muscles tensed enough to stop the progress.

"Please no," she whimpered, his aroma enveloping her senses.

"I said suck it, Bitch," he growled, applying more pressure to the back of her head . . . forcing her down the last inch.

Bitch?! Her mind screamed with the word. She'd never been called that . . . not during sex at least. And while she knew she should be upset by it, she didn't have time. Whimpering with the realization that she had no choice but to do as he demanded, she stuck out her tongue and rolled it over the bulbous head. With her hand continuing to tug at the shaft's base she puckered her lips against the tip. His pressure lightened and without any further coaxing she slid her lips down over the head and along the thick shaft. Rolling her tongue along his flesh, she gradually slid her lips down until they met her fingers.

"Fuck yea," he groaned appreciatively, his hand keeping her there for a long minute. "That's a good little slut."

Slut?! The word echoed through her like the other, making her wish she could pull up and slap him. But she couldn't . . . she couldn't argue with him while his cock was stuffing her mouth. And something told her he wasn't going to give her the chance anytime soon.

The pressure on her head relaxed and she pulled up, keeping her lips locked tightly around the shaft. She slid back up to under his cockhead, swirling her tongue over it for a minute, then slid her lips back down to her fingers again. Stopping there she sucked on him for a moment, then pulled back up to under his cockhead again. Up and down she slid her lips, pumping them along his shaft again and again, all the while sucking on it and tugging at the base.

"God, that's good," Frank moaned.

She knew he meant it. She'd heard others express the same sentiment. She was good at sucking cock and she enjoyed it, the feel of the rigid shaft caressing her lips . . . making the nerve-endings tingle with little electrical sparks. She liked the scent of the men . . . the taste of them. And the pleased groans of the men she did it for. Of course, nobody had ever forced her to do it before, shoving her face into their lap. And no one had called her dirty names. Especially not Tom. He was an extremely gentle lover and only ever talked sweet and kind to her during love making.

Thinking about her husband caused a tear to run down her cheek.

And yet . . .

Frank's treatment of her, his forceful assault and rough language, was affecting her . . . sending the tropical gusts rolling through her . . . fanning her embers into smoldering coals. These things were enhanced by the feel of his rigid pole caressing her lips as she pumped them up and down along it.

As the fog partially cleared she realized she was uncomfortable in her present position, bent in half on the seat. She'd accepted that she had no choice in sucking his cock. Now she was hoping he'd let her finish him with her mouth and maybe . . . just maybe . . . not violate her any further. With this hope in mind she decided she needed to be in a better position and she slid off the seat to kneel on the floor boards, her torso resting along the seat and her tits pressed against his leg.

"Yea, that's it, Baby," Frank encouraged her as he scooted further away on the seat, giving her more room. "Get comfy so you can suck my cock proper. Show me what a talented little slut you are."

Hearing that word again elicited a quiet whimper from her as she pumped her lips up and down on his cock. Simultaneously her embers began to crackle and spark, turning into red hot briquettes. She didn't understand why this was happening, she just knew it was . . . that for some reason her body was being aroused by this man forcing her to suck his cock while calling her filthy names. Her breasts ached with the arousal and she shifted to press them firmly against his leg, her body's motion causing her dress to rub at her swollen nipples.

"God. This is so good, guys," he groaned.

His words reminded her of the two men in the front seat. She wondered if they'd make her suck their cocks too . . . or something else. This thought made her embers suddenly burst into flames and she sucked deeper on his cock . . . pumped her lips faster along it . . . her hand tugging and jerking on the base.