Quid Pro Quo - Reversed

Sorry, this story starts with an AUTHOR'S NOTE. If you want to get straight to the hotness then skip your eyes down past the dotted line. It starts there ; - )

This is a response to my first Quid Pro Quo story. I made the mistake of using the word 'cuckold' in the description and got spanked (not in a good way) for it. I used the word not because I saw it as the essence of the story-an emasculating woman taking sexual revenge, but more because I was looking for a short description to fit limited character space.

That word opened a can of worms. The response for me was bizarre, I didn't understand (thanks to Gatorhermit for not only not being anonymous but for also informing about some of the anger surrounding the cuckold issue) because for me it wasn't about on partner punishing another partner but more about a subconscious sexual desire that was revealed through jealousy.

It was Gatorhermit's idea to flip the story, see what would happen the gender roles were reversed. And I think it works just as well. Let me know what you think.

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He was angry. Not talking to her in the way men did, grunting out responses to her questions and refusing to make eye contact. So she'd flirted a little, it was what she did. He knew that when he married her ten years ago. Hell, he'd loved it ten years ago.

He looked fantastic.

Not that she could tell him now—he'd think she was trying to use sex to make up. He was too angry to make up now. The dark gray suit, the crisp white shirt and matching power tie partly undone. He'd tugged at the knot in frustration. He'd run his fingers through his hair and it now it was all sexy tousled, not in its usual neat part. Damn he looked fine. The edge of anger that accompanied him only made him hotter in her opinion.


"Do you do it deliberately?"


Aaah, he was finally speaking.
"What's that honey?"


"Do you deliberately flirt in front of me?"

"Honey I didn't even talk to him. He talked to me."

"Right," he scoffed, "Just after you looked at him with that 'I really like your ass' look."



It was true; the garage attendant did have a great ass. He was young and gorgeous, but he held nothing to her husband in full fury mode. His mouth curled in a snarl, eyes flashing, chest heaving. She wanted him to fuck her hard. It had been three weeks since they'd had sex and she was as horny as all hell. She'd been on conference for a week and then the kids had tag teamed the flu. He had to be just as horny, just as desperate. It was their monthly date night, the kids had just been picked up by grandma for a sleepover and their dinner reservations weren't for an hour. So maybe, just maybe...



"You can wipe that look off your face. I know what you're doing. Using sex to shut me up. To make it all right. Not tonight. OK? Not tonight." He waved a dismissive hand at her and turned away.

OK, so maybe not.

"Maybe if you were wearing a wedding ring..."

The rest of the argument disappeared down the hall with him as he stormed away. Not that she needed to hear it, she could repeat it in her sleep having heard it so many times over the last ten years. It wasn't as if she didn't wear a ring so she could pick up. She might flirt but she never, never cheated. She couldn't wear the ring, not safely, not working in the lab every day. Sure, she could probably put it on when not at work but, Jesus; she was a scientist not a trophy wife, she didn't care about jewelry—with her job and taking care of the kids, she sometimes just forgot. It didn't mean anything. Truth be told, until he mentioned it she hadn't even realized she'd left her wedding ring in her desk at work.

No way was she telling him that, not if she wanted sex again this decade.

She sighed, wondering whether date night was a complete goner when he finally reappeared from the bedroom. She turned off CNN and put the remote back on the coffee table. She hadn't really looked at him—too busy finding her keys and getting her jacket—so when she got a good look she cursed, "Fuck". He was wearing skin-tight Levi's with the shirt she'd bought him last summer that he'd never worn. It was a short sleeved faded blue cowboy shirt. It had pearl snap buttons. When she'd bought it she'd imagined ripping open those snaps and putting her mouth to his chest. He'd never worn it, said he didn't feel comfortable. He didn't see himself the way she did. He was too uptight. Too serious.

She looked at him and thought, how could he have no idea how hot he is?

Silver belt buckle, cowboy hat and his boots completed the ensemble. Damn, he looked like a Country Music Channel girl's wet dream.

His dark eyes flashed angry as he looked at her and clicked the heel of his boot on the hardwood floor.



He arched a brow and said, "Problem Cass?"


No, no problem at all, other than fact that she was now uncomfortably wet.



She shook her head and watched his ass as he walked through the door. Now was the time to shut her mouth and pray he'd forget he was angry so she could please, please get a piece of that fine ass.



When she got to the car he was in the driver's seat. He didn't like to drive her car—his was at the garage—but in the spirit of not getting in further trouble she got in the passenger side and said absolutely nothing. When he took the wrong turn to the restaurant she still said nothing, thinking that he'd eventually work it out and maybe she'd score some points for not bitching about it.

He actually spun the tires when he pulled into the lot of The Hardball Bar. One of their old haunts, pre kids, pre marriage.


"Aah Jack, honey. We have reservations."



"Fuck the reservations." 

Never in the fifteen years she'd known him had he ever cussed at her. He just didn't. Didn't dress like that and didn't curse. Something was definitely going on. He didn't give her a chance to ask what was wrong. He was out of the car and across the parking lot before she had her door closed.



The Hardball hadn't changed much in the decade since they'd been regulars. Dim lit, bare concrete floor, caged stage with a hard rock band playing at ear splitting level. Jack stood out like a bull among the steers—the wanna-be players. Most of the other men were in dockers or baggy shorts. Jack didn't speak to her, just made his way to the bar and ordered a long neck Mexican beer—nothing for her. Further evidence of his anger as the gentleman in Jack never usually left her untended. He strut over to a table and sat down on a stool, propped his leg on the footrest of the table drank his beer. He looked so hot. Lost in a fog of lust it wasn't until he stroked a hand down the bottle that she realized...



He wasn't wearing his wedding ring—and Jack always wore his ring.



It was a gut punch. The emotion that hit her as her husband, hot as sin, sat there without his ring.



"Jack, honey, where's your ring?"



Dark eyes flashed at her with wicked fury, "Why Cass? Don't you trust me?"

He was quoting one of her own lines right back at her.

"Do I need a mark for you to know that I'm yours?"

And there was another another.


She slumped down in the seat next to him, touched his arm but he turned away. She'd never seen him so angry.

"Jack, what do you want me to do?"


"Get me another drink."


She didn't argue. As she made her way through the slowly building crowd she decided she wouldn't argue, not just because she wanted him but because she probably deserved whatever he wanted to dish out. She'd been a terrible flirt, for years he'd complained about it, begged her to stop, but she never had.

She needed it.

Not because of the reasons he thought. Not because he wasn't enough. Jack thought it was because of the other men, that she somehow needed more than him, but he was wrong.

He was the reason.

She'd never told him that when he wasn't there, she didn't flirt. It was his reaction she craved, not the attention of the other men. His fury, his jealousy, she loved it; it turned her on like nothing else. And now she was paying the price for her sins—for all the years of making him jealous. She returned to the table with two beers to find him flirting with a couple of young girls. Sorority girls from the nearest college—ten years younger than him but they didn't care. They obviously knew a good thing when they saw it. One had her hand flat on the table, leaning into him, barely an inch from her Jack's mouth. Cass shouldered the girl away and placed the beer in front of her husband. He barely looked at her, keeping his eyes on the blond Sorority girl.

"Thanks Cass," he said and took a long sip of his drink. Cass watched the pull of the muscles in his throat as he swallowed. She said nothing, sat down beside him and waited. Waited for her husband to tell the girls that they were wasting their time, to tell them the he was married. He didn't. Instead he laughed, leaned into them, shook his head and shot the girls a predatory grin. Flirted. It was championship flirting, he had them eating out of his hand.


It simmered in her gut—jealousy. Lay there like a pool of heat. Not alone though, there were layers. More, so much more. Lust. Anger. Longing. Need. Desire.

Peeling back the layers of jealousy revealed a wanting that clinched her like a vice.


The blond one took her husband's hand and led him out to the dance floor. Silent Cass watched, taking the last swallow of her beer. The other girl followed them out. She was dark, long dark hair, shining like black silk under the flashing lights. He danced between them, sinuous movement. Lithe and supple he rolled his hips. Jack didn't dance much but when he didn't he moved with natural grace. His mouth slightly open, eyes closed, head tilted back, he looked like sex. The blonde one was at his front, pressing her breasts against him him, pushing him back into the tall dark student who had one hand on his hips and the other cupping Jack's ass.


It should have made her jealous. But it didn't. It made her wet. In her head she could see him, naked between them. Taken by them both, thrusting into one girl and as the other mounted his face. It exploded in her.

The need the desperate need to see it.

To watch him. 


He came back to the table alone. Leaned into her, his scent tainted by the smell of them—young female heat. "Like that Cass? A little quid pro quo flirting? Do you like that?"


She didn't answer. Took the back of his head and brought it down to her mouth. Teeth, tongue, lips, she bit, licked sucked. Took. Took his mouth. Melting into him, she plastered her breasts to his chest. At some point she'd stood. Now he was backed up against the stool. Her hands went to his hips and she pulled him up to sit spread legged on the bar stool.

Wedged between his legs she leaned into him, pressed her breasts against his chest arched up to look at him and said, "Yes. Yes. I like it. I fucking love it."



"Tell me. Tell me," he panted against her mouth.



He rested his forehead against his; she closed her eyes and let it out. Let out the need that she hadn't even known was fermenting inside her, "I want to see you fuck them. I want to watch, watch you take them. Watch you. Watch you come with another woman and watch her come on you."



She feared opening her eyes—dreading his reaction. Would he hate her? Reject her? She felt the soft brush of his fingers against her cheek. He cupped her face and said softly, "Cass. Babe, look at me."



She opened her eyes. What she saw in his hot gaze seized her, seized her gut with lust. He was looking down at her, eyes glazed, mouth open. She knew that look. He was turned on. Turned on by her words.
"Me too," he whispered and she took his mouth again.


When they finally pulled apart he held her face and said, "Not them though. I don't want girls. I want a woman."


"You choose. It has to be your choice."



He nodded.


"You want to do this? You really want to do this?" Cass looked at her husband with an intensity that she hadn't felt for years. He smiled and said, "Yes Cass. I want this."

He pulled her hand to the front of his jeans, right there in the bar and pushed her fingers, forcing her to cup his erection. She massaged the heel of her hand into his cock and stroked her fingers across his balls. He was rock hard and ready. He pushed her hand away, brought it up to his mouth and kissed the palm, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin.

He left her at the table, moved like a man in heat. Female eyes snapped up all over the bar to watch him, unable to look away. He leaned against the bar and they came one by one. Three tried, three failed but the fourth he let stay. She watched him talk and laugh, making jokes and smiling.

And then, then Cass watched him kiss her.

Another woman, a stranger held her husband, kissed him, backed him up against the bar and ground her body into his.
She throbbed, from head to toe. She was one pulse of heat. Skin tight, mouth dry never had she felt such all consuming need. He looked over the stranger's shoulder at her. A question in his eyes as he ran his hands down to cup the stranger's ass. Cass met his eyes and nodded. He nodded back at her.

Cass saw him talk to the stranger, their heads close, her hands hooked around her husband's neck. They both looked out back to a door just behind the bar area and then she saw Jack nod. The stranger took her husband's hand and started to lead him through the crowd; he looked back over his shoulder and smiled when he saw Cass following. 
Cass caught the door just before it closed, held it for a moment to make sure that she wouldn't be seen and then followed them through. She could hear them up in front of her, the stranger was leading Jack into caged storage area. Rows of boxes and stacks of wooden boxes lined the floor. Cass slipped inside the cage as they were busy kissing. She positioned herself behind a stack of cartons that hid her, but still allowed her to see her husband.
She looked out to find the stranger on her knees.

On her knees on the bare concrete floor, with her head at Jack's crotch. She'd unfastened his jeans and had her whole hand in the open button fly. Cass sucked in a shocked breath as she saw the stranger pull out that plum tipped hard cock and guide it to her glossy pink lips. Jack hummed in pleasure as she sucked. He groaned, threaded his fingers through the stranger's hair and let his head fall back. Cass watched the stranger's head bob up and down on that spit slick shaft and she had to touch herself. She was so wet—hot and sticky. Her fingers pushed inside easily, lubricated from just seeing her husband's cock go in and out of the stranger's mouth. She curled her fingers deep inside and stroked her clit in slow circles with her thumb as she watched her beautiful sexy husband enjoy the stranger's blow job.


With her other hand she unbuttoned her blouse to let it hang open. Slipping a hand into the cup of her bra she pinched her nipple in time with Jack's moans.

Jack groaned out praise, "Fuck yes. Fuck you're good at this. Suck it. Suck my cock. Yes."
The stranger held Jack by the root of his cock, slowly drawing her mouth up and down on his shaft.

"Best. Best ever!" Jack cried out.

It was. It was the best blow job she had ever seen. The stranger had hiked up her skirt, leaning forward on her knees and pushing her butt out. Cass bit her lip to hold back a groan as she watched Jack lean down and pinch the stranger's nipple through her tank top. She moaned moved back to a pallet filled with of sacks and curled her finger, beckoning Jack to join her. He did, he followed her, laying down on the pallet and pulled her on top of him. She rode his face and curling her body to better suck his cock, getting a better angle to take more of it down her throat than before.

Jack attacked the stranger's pussy with his tongue and fingers, spreading her wide and stroking his tongue in and out of her rhythmically.
The stranger stopped sucking Jack's cock and arched her back, her tits bouncing right in front of Cass.

"Yeah. Yeah!" she cried out, "Lick that pussy. Faster. Faster. Don't stop! Yeah, gonna come. Gonna come!"

Then she wailed and shuddered, grinding down hard on Jack's face hard as she came. Sated, she collapsed on top of Jack, nuzzling his groin with her face.
It didn't take her long to recover and she renewed her attack on Jack's cock. Her hand gripping the base, mouth sucking hard with her other hand massaging his balls, Cass knew how much Jack loved that. He cried out in pleasure. She knew her husband so well, she watched his face, knowing that he was so close. So was she. She flicked her clit hard, watching, watching him.

He cried out again, jerked his hips and then she saw her swallow, the muscles of the strangers neck work as she drank down his cum.

Drank her husband's cum.

Cass too almost came. She had to pinch herself hard, almost to the point of pain to stop herself. She didn't want it. Not yet.

Jack laid there smiling as he watched the stranger button up his fly, stand up, and then pull her panties back up her legs. When she was done, she crouched down to kiss him—a deep lingering kiss.

Cass heard the stranger say, "Are you sure that's it?"

Jack smiled and said, "Yes. Let yourself out. It will take me a while to recover. You wrecked me babe. I'll be out soon."

Then she kissed him passionately again. Her hips swayed with that 'just been fucked' look as she left with one seductive glance over her shoulder. The stranger walked straight past Cass's hiding place, too come drunk to even notice her. When she heard the door click shut Cass came out. Jack was still laying down.

Without a word she straddled him. Her mouth came down hard, tasting and smelling the stranger's pussy on his mouth. She licked him clean. Pushing apart her thighs he didn't even bother to remove her panties, just shoving them aside with rough urgent fingers. The material tore at the crotch, hanging loose. Jack's cock had fully recovered. She pushed down as he arched his hips up. She needed this too much for finesse. No foreplay. No words. No explanations. She didn't care. Didn't care about anything, anything other than fucking him right now. Nothing else existed other than his cock inside her tight wet sheath and his pussy flavored mouth. The room echoed with slap of his flesh against hers. She cried out in little yelps as arched up to meet her, fucking her hard. Grunting out each thrust he shoved his cock into her.

She was so wet, wet as if she was already filled with cum. The thought, the thought of Jack fucking the stranger's pussy sent her over. The orgasm charged through her like a jolt, wave and wave of head spinning pleasure. 
She pulled off of him and went down between his legs. His still hard cock slapped wet against her face as she knelt before him. She heard him cry out, "What?" just before she fell upon him with her mouth. He gripped her head, holding her hair with two hands like reins. She sucked on him as hard as she could, faster and faster, until she felt the spasm of his orgasm.

As she thrust his cock into her mouth she imagined that the flavor was not hers. That it was the smell of another woman's sex. She sucked him, ground her mouth to his balls as the scene played in her mind.

Her husband-on his knees, on his back, standing- being fucked, fucked fucked. By one woman, by many women-filling them with his cum. Over and over.

"Cass. Cass. Cass!" he cried out as she felt his sweet cock spasm inside her mouth. Pulling back she used her hand to jerk him off, letting the cum hit her mouth and the swell of her breasts exposed by her open blouse. When he had released his grip on her hair she fell back onto her butt and looked up at him. His dark hair, eyes closed—he was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life. His jeans were unbuttoned, low on his hips, his cock was swollen and red laying flat on his stomach.