Authors: Ben Boswell
And then Terri suddenly went pale, even more pale than usual, her eyes wide, her head shaking almost imperceptibly. I was about to ask her what was wrong when a man sat down at our table.
I turned and with a gasp, “Chucky?”
He took my hand and shook it firmly, too firmly—like he was sending a message.
“Have we met?” he asked.
Fuck! Busted. I couldn’t bring myself to admit I’d stalked him.
Terri covered me. “Who the hell else would just plop down uninvited?”
He smiled at her. A megawatt smile. “Hey doll, nice to see you too. I’ve missed you. You haven’t been answering my texts.”
Now it was her turn to be flustered.
I tried to save her. “Look man,” I started, and he turned back to face me. “This is a little awkward, you know.”
He grinned. He knew. And he relished it. I could see him working out what to say next. I wondered what his intentions were. Was he thinking of trying to snatch her away from me? Sweep her from the restaurant and ravish her? My prick stiffened uncomfortably at the idea, but I didn’t dare adjust myself and give it away. Still, he seemed to know. He smiled more broadly.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone in a minute,” he said in a mocking tone. “I just wanted to thank you, man.”
I looked at him suspiciously. Where was this going?
He continued. “For letting me get back with Terri. I always said she was the best lay I ever had.”
“Chucky, don’t,” she pleaded.
But he just brushed away her objection. “The first thing you notice is that great rack, but she also has the prettiest pussy I’ve even seen.”
Terri and I both groaned.
He grinned. “Even after ten years and two kids, she still has the nicest, tightest pussy. But what I really want to thank you for is for giving me her ass. Her anal cherry. That’s something I’ll always remember.”
I stared at him in shock. He just laughed. He stood and winked at Terri. “Come see me soon, okay?”
And then he was gone.
“Oh God, Bill, I’m so sorry. He always was an asshole,” she mumbled hastily.
I held up my hand to silence her.
“Bill? Are you okay?”
But I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even begin to process what had just happened. It was mortifying. But I was also furious. At him. At Terri for fucking him. And despite that all, I was rock hard.
“Bill, do you want to leave?”
I nodded curtly and threw a couple of twenties on the table. We hurried out of the restaurant, ignoring the maitre d’s efforts to ascertain what was wrong.
Terri walked ahead of me, repeatedly looking back over her shoulder to offer apologies, expressions of concern. All of that just served to annoy me. She was treating me like a child. And while I was having a childish difficulty controlling my emotions, none of my emotions were those of a child.
We got to the parking lot and found our car. Terri started toward the passenger seat, but I stopped her, grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her face first into the back seat.
“Bill!” she whined. “What are you doing?”
But I was like an enraged bull, and still too wound up to talk. I climbed in after her, shutting the door behind me and draping myself over her. Her dress had bunched up around her waist, and I reached down and tore off her panties.
She yelped in surprise. Her tone became panicked. “No, Bill, don’t. I’m not ready back there. You’ll hurt me.”
I finally found my voice. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in your precious ass. You can reserve that for your boyfriend.”
“Bill, stop.” She seemed less frantic.
I reached between her legs and found her slit. She was wet with excitement. Not soaked, but noticeably aroused. I pressed two fingers into what Chucky seemed to think was the prettiest pussy in Chicagoland.
“You’re wet,” I said accusingly.
“You are. I can feel it. What got you turned on? Was it just seeing Chucky? Or was it hearing him talk about what a great fuck you are? Or maybe you just liked the idea of him talking to me about your pussy and your ass? Is that it, Terri, did it turn you on to hear your lover taunt me?”
“Fuck you Bill,” she grunted. “Get off me. This is ridiculous.”
But it didn’t feel ridiculous to me. I wrenched down my pants and without another word jammed my hard cock into her wet twat. She groaned, but I could feel her getting even more aroused.
“You think you need to prove you’re still a man?”
“Shut up!” I said, pounding into her even harder.
“Bill, slow down a little,” she demanded.
I grudgingly complied. She continued, “If you can’t handle the fact that other men find me attractive, and I find other men attractive, then why did you encourage me to take a lover?”
“I can handle it,” I growled.
“Say it then.”
“Admit that what he said turned you on, not just me,” she demanded. “Say it, or I’m done with all this shit.”
I didn’t know what she meant. What shit? The shit with Chucky? Our marriage?
I stopped thrusting, though I remained inside her.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” I said.
“I don’t care about sorry. I want you to say it. Admit it.”
She was right. Of course, she was. It
turn me on, and not just because she liked it.
liked it. But even thinking that was hard. Saying it out loud seemed almost impossible.
But she was right. Hiding my embarrassment by lashing out at her sluttiness was easier, more comforting.
I sighed. “Okay. You’re right.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to admit you like me having sex with Chucky. And that you like hearing about it.”
“Fuck, okay. I do like it. I like knowing you’re fucking another man.”
Adrenaline poured in as I said the words. I began to thrust inside her again.
“I like all of it. I like when you go to him. I like hearing all the details. I like when you tell me about how you suck him off, how he comes in your mouth.”
I was screwing her harder now, and she was responding, not just getting wetter, but thrusting back against me.
“I like thinking of him taking you roughly. Fucking you in the ass.”
We both moaned together at that.
“And fuck it, Terri, it even turned me on to hear him say it. To hear that arrogant prick brag about how good a lay you are.”
As I said it, I pictured him sitting at our table and his self-satisfied smirk as he walked away. Something about it was just too much. I came hard, gasping.
As I withdrew my cock from her pussy, Terri chuckled sardonically. “Well, anal sex and now getting raped by my husband in the backseat of a car. My bucket list is getting shorter by the day.”
We rearranged ourselves and sat somewhat awkwardly side by side in the back seat.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, just startled me.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, of course. The best part was the seat belt buckle digging into my face the whole time.”
She laughed. “You owe me.”
She paused. “Okay. How about this...I want you to drive me over to Chucky’s place. And I want you to stay in the car and wait for me while I go inside and get well and thoroughly fucked.”
“You fucking sl...” I paused and took a deep breath. My heart was racing, my vision shaky. “Okay...okay...” I said calming myself, buying time. Then, “Really?”
She held her poker face for a second, and then grinned.
“No, not really, but I think I have your number, right?” She reached into my lap. Even though I’d just come, I was hard again.
“Can we just go to dinner? I’m starving,” she replied.
We were too embarrassed to return to the chophouse, so instead we drove back toward our house and stopped at an Outback. The steak was mediocre and the wine list even moreso, but we had a great time.
Sturm und Drang
of the evening had cleared away the toxic elements of the situation. Things were lighter between us. Still sexually charged, but without the sort of anger and resentment that had built up. And it wasn’t just on my end.
“Why haven’t you been returning his texts?” I asked at one point.
“I’m not sure I liked the way things were going.”
“No. Well, sort of, but really more between us. I’m worried that we’re not going to be able to pull back. That we’re playing with emotions too powerful and dangerous to control.”
“You were the one who argued that being out of control was a good thing,” I said.
“Yes, but not so out of control that we hurt each other.”
“You mean physically or emotionally?”
“Either? Both? You get so worked up. So crazy.”
I looked down.
She continued. “No, I don’t mean it that way. Like you’re immature or something. The fact that it gets you so worked up is part of what makes it exciting for me, just like the fact that I am so loose with Chucky is exciting for you. But we could so easily hurt each other.”
“So, what do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought for a moment. “If we set ground rules...”
“...then we suck the vitality out of it,” she said, finishing my thought.
I nodded. “I like being surprised.”
“And I like not feeling like I’m following a script.”
“Well,” she continued. “At the very least, we need a safe word.”
“Mangoes,” I offered.
“Exactly. Because when else would the word come up?”
She laughed. “Okay. But there’s another thing.”
“We need to think about the endgame. I’m not talking ground rules, necessarily, and I’m not even talking limits. Let’s keep that open ended for now. But how does this end? Hell, does it end?”
“It has to,” I replied quickly and immediately the issue came into sharp focus. The idea of Terri having sex with another man was a huge turn on. The idea of sharing her with another indefinitely wasn’t. This was about spicing up our relationship, not embracing polyamory.
“I agree. I don’t want this to become a routine.”
“Right. If we’re going to be bored, we can just bore each other like normal married couples.”
I wanted to be the man she wanted me to be. The man who could push her buttons as effortlessly as she pushed mine. But her buttons were harder to reach—at least for me. She needed to be challenged sexually, but I couldn’t do it, not without losing control. My instinct was to nurture. Fantasies aside, I’d never mistreated a woman, at least not without regrets.
Fuck, but the idea of it was so hot. Of possessing a woman. Of taking her. Using her just to satisfy my urges. It is so easy to feel powerless in real life. There are bills and bosses and laws. But close your eyes, and let your mind free, and your imagination is completely unconstrained. Fantasy is freedom, freedom from rules, regulations, and expectations. And that sort of freedom can often get quite dark.
I had a perfect situation. My fantasies of domination seemed to match my wife’s fantasies of being dominated. And yet instead of being complementary, the result was a feeling of deep frustration because whenever I embraced any element of that darkness, the result wasn’t satisfaction, but guilt.
How many times had I fantasized about coming in a woman’s mouth? Shoving her against a wall and taking her from behind? Holding her down, tearing off her panties and hammering her pussy?
And now I’d done it with my own wife, and she’d enjoyed it. But all I felt from it was guilt. I’d assaulted my wife in the back seat of a car.
And then we’d shared a fun, flirty dinner.
I’d won the fucking lottery.
And yet, I felt like shit about it. I couldn’t enjoy playing the aggressor. At the same time, I couldn’t deny her the pleasure she seemed to take from it. I’d seen my wife come to life in a whole different way, and I couldn’t imagine ever asking her to suppress that side of her again.
We’d agreed to continue our game for now, but hadn’t actually discussed next steps. Either he wasn’t booty calling her or she wasn’t responding positively. I wondered if maybe she wanted to me initiate it, to actually call him myself and set up a “date.”
The idea turned me on. I ravaged Terri that night thinking about it. And she noticed.
“What’s gotten into you?” she giggled.
“You’re just so damned hot,” I replied.
She gave me a skeptical look, but didn’t push the point.
I wondered if maybe the fantasy was enough. Maybe we didn’t need Chucky in our lives. Maybe just the idea of him was enough. Except, it wasn’t. To keep the fantasy vivid, I had to feed the flames with new material. I imagined what I’d say to him. To her. I didn’t have his cell—only Terri had it—but I tracked down his work number and wrote it on a little Post-It note that I handled so regularly that the edges became worn.
I came home from work at 9:00 pm after concluding a teleconference with contacts in China. The house was almost completely dark. The kids were already asleep and Terri was upstairs as well. I wondered if she wasn’t feeling well.
As I walked into the bedroom, I noticed that the air was still damp from the shower. I heard the hair drier blowing in the bathroom. And then on the bed I saw an open shipping package from Agent Provocateur. This was all very promising.
A moment later, Terri strode out of the bathroom and I literally gasped. She was a vision in thigh-high stockings and an indigo lace corselet. A garter and g-string thong completed the outfit. She’d styled her hair into those loose spiral curls I always loved, and while her makeup was generally subdued, her lips were glossy, bright red.
She startled as she saw me. Then smiled.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I sort of broke the bank on these.”