11 comments/ 12348 views/ 0 favorites Mr. Anonymous By: Jackiegirl This is dedicated to all my sister authors on Literotica and is for those of you who like to leave nasty little feedbacks for us. You are entitled to your opinion, so am I. My name is Earl Jones and I am a stud! I know exactly what a woman wants and just how to give it to the bitches. Back in high school I could have any one of them I set my eye on. Most of them were scanks though so I didn't bother with them. If I had gone to college it would have been a different story, them college gals are hot! The damn government gives all the college money to them foreigners and underprivileged people that will never amount to anything anyway. A real American like me never gets nothing. Right now the old lady is in bed snoring her whale blubber ass off. Ungrateful bitch, I do all this for her, work my ass off to the pay the fucking bills and she just gets fatter and fatter. She won't even give me a decent blowjob anymore! Jesus I should have married that girl working in the all night dinner. What was her name? This is my personal time. This is when I can get on my computer without her bitching at me and telling me what a jerk I am for not paying attention to her. If the tight ass prude would just spend one night with me on this computer I could teach her how a man really should be treated by his woman. I mean some of these stories are hot. The exhibitionist stories really teach a woman how to dress to please her man. The erotic couplings are ok, but some of them get kind of mushy and lovey dovey. The Loving Wives, now there is the real stuff. If that cow would just spend an afternoon reading them she would find out a thing or two about men and real women who know how to love their man. I have a couple of beers left from that six pack I brought home and half a pack of smokes so I should be alright for a while. These jockeys only have a little yellow in the crotch, I don't need to change them yet. Shit only fancy boys wear them boxer things, wanting their little man to show in their pants. Not me, no way. I want mine tucked away safe. I better turn the sound down low on this thing so I don't wake her highness up. There's the site I like, the one with all the stories. Let's check out the new stuff and see if there is anything worth a crap tonight. God damn, why do they let fagots put stuff on here, Gay, yeah right, I bet they are happy, my ass! Lesbian is ok, I mean I can see why a woman would like pussy too, but not men together, that's sick! Two women with a man is hot, but the other way is just to weird. I mean they could be bumping parts together or touching each other and everyone knows that could make them fagots. Not me. There's that hot fucking cunt author I read. JG, whatever that means. Probably made up just like the stories are. She does write some hot stuff though. Damn, would you listen to this, "I took his cock deep in my mouth and bobbed my head on it", yeah that's the right way girl. Oh yeah! Here's some good stuff, "I reached down and played with my pussy so he could watch," that's the way girl. You're so hot for me that you can't stand it! Oh shit, now she's in fantasy land, "I took his seven inch cock in my hand and stroked it slowly." No one has a little man that big! She is just wishing for something like that. What the hell does she need one that big for anyway? She must just be a crazy slut that's all. Mine is a monster and it measures a full five and a half inches with a little attention. It's so fat that I can just reach my fingers around it. That's a real mans dick. Not one of the bitches I've fucked so far has complained. Shit, I need another beer. There she goes again talking about that seven inch dick slipping into her pussy, She has probably never had more than five in her life, maybe not more than four. I could show her something. Look at this hard monster you bitch, that's what you need. See the way my hands move on it? That's what you need to do. Then you can use your mouth if you're real good and beg me for it. Yeah, I might let you do that. I might even make you let me cum in your mouth so you can taste a real man. God damn, she's sucking another one! How many cocks does this whore need? All she would need is mine if I were there. Oh fuck that feels good! I can see her now on her knees in front of me begging for my little man to nibble on. She's talking about another seven incher. That bitch knows nothing. I know there are no dicks that big. Well maybe some freak-a-zoid, but no real men. I've never looked. I mean it would be just too queer to look at another mans privates, but I know it ain't possible. I did get a look or two in high school when we showered after PE, but I couldn't help that, I mean there were 30 boys in there at once. They were all about the same as me just laying there. Now she's got one on each end of her. She's taking a dick in her mouth and her cunt. What if them guys are really queer for each other? I mean they are seeing each other's little man standing up, that's really sick if you ask me. Oh God! Oh Fuck! Oh you bitch! What a mess, shit! Where's that towel I've got to wipe this off me, oh shit. I'll toss this sucker in the wash before I go to bed. I hope I didn't make enough noise to wake the cow. She would just nag me about staying up late and messing around on the computer. Ha, if she only knew what I was doing. She'd get so turned on that I would have to do it to her. Yuck! That bitch JG really don't know shit about making a guy happy. All that bull about seven inches and her magic fucking mouth. Crap! Anonymous feedback? Yeah I'll give you some feedback you dumb cunt! I think you're sick, a pervert and wierdo for even thinking up this sick stuff. I think you Mother ought to whip your ass and send you to bed with no supper. If you really knew anything about loving a man there is no way you would be writing this sick crap, you'd be taking care of him. Do I want to give my email? No fucking way! If I give you my email my computer will fill up with shit from these wierdos. There will be nasty letters and naked pictures and people wanting my phone number and I don't want anything to do with them sick fuckers. I'll just tell this bitch off. Everyone will know it came from a real man, someone with some good sense. Do I want a reply? Fuck you, I don't need to hear anything you have to say you sick bitch. You should be ashamed for even writing this stuff. Ah shit, the beers all gone. I guess I'll just go to bed. Thank God we have twin beds. Mr. Anonymous The Background He messaged me on another dating site a week ago. Was it really just a week ago? My god. It was a good introductory message -- the rare kind that shows he actually read my profile and connected to specific things in it. He also mentioned his profile on the kink site. My interest was piqued. I took a chance that he used the same screen name on the kink site as the other dating site and did a search. Sure enough, there he was. Along with a list of his kinks, which included "abduction with the intent to defile" and "anonymous encounters" in the first line and a great deal of other kinky items to follow. There was also a list of stories about anonymous encounters and a disclaimer that this wasn't the only way he played. Wow. This might make a few people run screaming, but I have to admit I've had a fantasy about getting fucked by a guy I hadn't met/seen since I came across the idea in a purity test in my teens. (The purity test is almost like a bucket list for me. So many things to do. So little time!) So yeah, wow. Technically, I had seen his face in his profile pictures, but it's never quite the same as meeting someone face to face. And besides, the internet is full of folks who aren't necessarily who they claim to be, so I had no way to know if that was really him. The idea made me hot. I couldn't stop thinking about it. But it was totally fucking insane. I couldn't do it. My control freak wouldn't let me. Too much risk. Insanity! But how could I pass up this opportunity? Wasn't there a way to mitigate the risk? The angel and devil went at me for a week and, at various points, I was sure that both of them had won. I checked to see if we knew anyone in common that could vouch for him, but alas... no. I wondered if I could somehow convince a friend to go with me to watch my back or if Mr. Anonymous would even go for it, but then I realized that would create an audience for me too and that brings in another element that I wasn't up for myself. Ok, then, what if I had a friend meet him first to get a gut check? I talked to a friend who agreed to meet him if this was what I really wanted. I said I did. I talked to Mr. Anonymous and he agreed to meet my friend. And then, of course, I'd have safe calls planned before I met him. Best laid plans... Waiting for stars and schedules to align to make this happen seemed like a not-good torture. I wanted to do it Right Now. But waiting and mitigating some of the risk was the right thing to do. Right? Right. Except, then I was chatting with Mr. Anonymous online and I was getting all hot and bothered again. And guess what? Turns out we were both free for the night. I guess that's when my libido got the best of me. Or certainly the best of my common sense. I messaged my friend and said I was going to go through with it now. He told me not to -- to give him time to follow through with things on his end. I said I wanted to do it anyway and gave him Mr. Anonymous' information. I also told him to send the cops to my house if he didn't hear from me again by a certain time. The Encounter Mr. Anonymous gave me some instructions and told me he'd be over in about 45 minutes. My heart was pounding and nausea came in waves. This was a bad plan. Why had I given him my address? This is how people die. What in the fuck was I thinking? Things to do: * Shower and shave and whatever else I needed to do to feel ready * Turn on downstairs lights * Leave my hood, ankle cuffs, and knife downstairs where he would see them * Turn off alarm and unlock the front door * Insert a butt plug * Leave out at least one insertable/vibe near the bed * Light some candles suitable for wax play and turn out the upstairs lights * Be naked except for undies I wouldn't mind losing * Wear some headphones with music on loud enough to not hear him come up the stairs * Text Mr. Anonymous that I was ready * Lay face down on the bed, eyes closed I spent the next half hour trying to get everything ready per the instructions. My mind was a total jumble. I couldn't execute a simple task without taking several extra steps because I couldn't concentrate long enough. Had I gone mad? I finally sent the text message and got onto the bed. My nausea was increasing by the minute. I couldn't quiet my nerves. Despite the music and noise cancelling headphones, I was convinced I would hear him come up the stairs. I waited. I struggled to contain my fear. My fists bunched in the covers. My feet kicked the bed. My ears strained for sound. Nervous sweat poured from my body. And wetness gathered in my pussy. The hand on the back of my head, shoving and holding my face down, scared the shit out of me. I squealed and jumped out of my skin. I hadn't heard him come up the stairs after all and now the hour of truth was upon me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He pulled the headphones off and whispered very near my ear, "Keep your eyes closed." Oh my god. I hadn't talked to him on the phone. It was the first time I'd heard his voice. I had no idea who this man was. And then, suddenly, he was pulling the hood down over my face. My breathing became very shallow. I was aroused. I was terrified. I'm pretty sure he could smell both on me. He then took my ankle cuffs and wrapped them around my wrists, binding my hands behind my back. I had wondered why he asked for ankle cuffs only. I was surprised when he put them on my wrists. I realized that I could easily slip my wrists out of the cuffs if I needed to. It was a small thing, but it went a long way toward keeping me from calling "Red!" on the entire thing right then. And yet, my breathing was still fast and shallow. He leaned over me again and whispered, "Breathe." I steadied my breaths as best I could. The events that followed are a jumble in my mind. I'm not sure of the order of anything... just that it all happened. He told me he only had one rule: I had to ask permission to cum. He used the knife to cut off my underwear. He said he was going to put the knife inside of me. I felt something hard and cold push into my cunt. He pressed it against the wall of my pussy against the plug in my ass. It couldn't really be the knife, right? That was just a mind fuck. At some point online, he'd mentioned putting a knife inside someone, that there were safe ways to do it. It couldn't be. But what if it was? I held very still and concentrated hard on not clenching my internal muscles until it was removed. There was the sound of his belt coming off and his taunting me about belts. The sound of the rattan cane whistling in the air. Then something landed hard and heavy against the bed near me. Maybe the fraternity paddle? The threat was real. I had no idea how hard he was going to hit me. What if I couldn't handle it? A strap. A flogger. The acrylic tri-cane. All of these things eventually landed on my ass or back. I yelped. I trembled. I squirmed and squealed. I twisted away to no avail. Sometimes, when he worked my back, I was close to climaxing. He used some of these items on the bottom of my feet. Ow! I kept jerking my feet away from him. He just dragged them back and held them in place while he continued to beat them. He fucked my pussy with the dildo I'd left out. I wanted very much to cum, but I wasn't ready to ask for it. I didn't get to. He used the paddle to pound the dildo deeper into me. There was a claw of some sort that he scraped across my back in a grid pattern. Also a Wartenberg wheel. It was hot. I was close to a climax from that too. Most of the sheer terror had dissipated in the first few minutes, though there were occasional flashes of it throughout as each new element unfolded. I was hot and horny. I arched my ass higher into the air for the flogger. He called me out on it. I was too aroused to be humiliated by it. He plugged in my Hitachi and held it to my clit. At first on low and then on high. It usually takes me awhile to climax, but not here, not now. He reminded me to ask for it. It wasn't long before I was begging. And then screaming. And then cumming. Hard. He kept the Hitachi in place and the second screaming orgasm came soon thereafter. Yum. He lay on the bed next to me and pulled me against him. I cuddled up to this stranger that I still had not yet seen. He held me. I fondled his penis as we cuddled. After some time, he noted that he liked that I still had the hood on. I said I still had it on because I still had the opportunity to make this old fantasy of mine come true. He said to do it. I lifted the hood just enough to free my mouth and then moved to kneel between his legs. My mouth found his cock and my tongue danced along it for some time. I realized how much I depend on visual clues to guide my blowjobs and did my best to compensate through my other senses. I felt his legs tremble against me. I heard his breathing shift. He eventually came hard into my mouth. I moved back to cuddle up against him. He asked me if I was ready to remove the hood and I nodded. I was finally going to meet my mystery man face to face. He pulled the hood slowly off. I kept my eyes closed for a few moments, letting them adjust to the light in the room. Then I opened them and looked into the eyes of Mr. Anonymous. He looked just like his pictures, except that his smile was broader. I smiled back at him. It was a delightful experience all around. Hot. Insane. Insanely hot. There was much fun had and so much more to be explored with Mr. Anonymous even though he's not so anonymous anymore. But oh how badly it could've gone. I shiver even now at the thought of it. And my pussy is still soaked. Mr. Anonymous's Wife For those of you that have read my past stories, you'll find this a little different. First, it's written in the first person. You'll see why. Second, it's somewhat tongue-in-cheek. I dedicate it to Mr. Anonymous; you know who you are. So here's to you, Mr. Anonymous. And to your wife, eh? * * * Several months ago, I had gone online to see if any new comments or e-mails had been posted regarding any of my stories. In the process, I scanned through the already existing comments. Some I found amusing, others devoid of content, still others constructive. And then I ran across this nugget, posted in response to my story entitled "Trust Her With Your Kid Ch. 01": "No one can doubt your ability to arouse emotions but they mostly aren't positive ones - in fact hatred is the one you purposely stir most effectively - and thats puzzling as an intent? "Your sheee's characters are always wifey poos who denigrate all possibility of feminitity & motherhood by contract with a largely braindead writer created wuss of a husband. She floats though a plethera of studs debasing herself meaninglessly through your keystrokes without fear of any reality or conscience or consequence. Meantime her loving trusting wimp wanders through fields of flowers looking for - what is he doing anyway? "Now you must think many or most feel like you and are sexually aroused in principal by her whoring and belittling her wimp at every other word. Well mommyfucker(?) your perception is not our reality - well that is discounting the young, weak, jaded sicko's and the hardly firmed jacking subs. "Not that you don't read well it's just that the worn debasing path you favor is a turn off to most - it's like watching a rerun of planned disrespectful unpleasantness - sickly day-sha-vu all over again - sure the jews were marched into the ovens but one suspects that most nazi's eventually were turned off after the sickness bubbled over and over and over. Admittedly a very Poor graphic but shockingly similar predictibility. "So chitown is this all there is? A shame if thats so but life's not only a bitch it's also a choice - yours (and ours). Another Zero that could be much more???" I knew this guy, had seen him before; his comments, at least. I find him annoying. Not "under my skin" annoying but more like how I feel when I see a rat scurry across the alley behind my house. More like the mosquito that won't go away. A minor nuisance. It's not the "Anonymous" handle so much (though it does give me insight into the person's strength of character that, even if the nameless world of the Internet, he can't even give himself a handle; it screams "spineless"). And it's not that he dislikes my stories or their subject matter (many don't, and the fact that they don't has no bearing on what I write). I can deal with these people, like Sherlock40; at least he has enough backbone to give himself a handle, and in the end I don't really care if he likes my stories, because I don't write them for him. What annoys me instead about Mr. Anonymous is his prose. His lexicon. What appears to be a fundamental weakness in constructing sentences -- and in some cases even words (witness "day-sha-vu"). And he has left comments on most of my stories. In fact, he comments on many stories involving cheating wives. And his comments follow the same basic theme as the one set forth above. Now, I had had a rather bad day at the office and was a feeling a little aggressive. Like the "Dan" character that appears in many of my stories, I am a consultant, but of a much different stripe. I work in the Loop in one of the federal buildings. But very few people actually know it's a federal building, including most of the federal employees that call Chicago home. It's old and it looks decrepit. But it's not; it is purposely deceiving. Those twenty-or-so people that can get past security without being handcuffed have access to some of the most sophisticated and powerful computing networks in the world. I work in a place that for decades did not exist, was not acknowledged by our government and did not even have a line item in the federal budget. It has been referred to as No Such Agency. Call it what you will, I really work for the National Security Agency, but my paycheck comes from the Department of Agriculture. I confess to knowing next to nothing about agriculture. So, I sat at the desk in the spare room of my condominium, which I have turned into a home office, and decided I had had enough of Mr. Anonymous. I decided I'd track the rodent down, learn a little about his life. Don't get me wrong; I'm not violent. I had no intention of confronting him, threatening him; hurting him (at least not physically). None of that. I was just exploring possibilities. So I leaned across my desk, grabbed the phone, and dialed a switchboard number dedicated to employees of the Department of Agriculture. Or NSA. Whatever. When the operator answered, I let loose a string of eight letters and numbers, and then answered four questions posed by the operator from a random list of computer-generated, pre-programmed inquiries. Having answered the identification questions correctly, the operator transferred me to the extension I requested. It was answered after one ring. "MacMillan." "Hey, it's Max. Got a minute?" "Yeah, sure. What can I do you for?" "Take down this URL." From my computer screen, I read off the URL for "Trust Her With Your Kid Ch. 01." "Oookay," Brent MacMillan intoned. "What am I looking at, and does it relate to something you're working on?" "Yes to the second, and the first should be obvious. Now scroll down, to the comment section. Third from the bottom. I want to know where that comment came from." "Send me an e.mail? So I've got cover?" "Of course. How long will it take?" "Depends on how strong their server is. An hour, maybe two. That all right?" We hung up phones simultaneously. Over the next few minutes, I checked the rest of my stories to see if there were any new comments, and there weren't. I got up and padded into my bedroom, to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Before the bathroom gathered steam, my cell phone rang. I retrieved it from the kitchen and hit "send." "Yeah?" "Got it." It was MacMillan. "Fast." "That's why they pay me the big bucks." I grabbed a pen and pad and started writing. Four minutes later I possessed Mr. Anonymous's real name, his home address and telephone number, his employer, salary, educational background, credit card numbers and expiration dates, mortgage lenders, license plate numbers. My hand cramped. "Okay. That's enough. Send it to me on the network." "Will do." I was about to hang up again. "Oh, hey. Married or single?" "Married. I'll send the DMV's contact cards for both of them." The line went dead and I pondered what to do with this information while I soaked in the shower. * * * Two weeks later found me parked outside a nondescript office building in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. A small accounting firm was situated on the third floor; it employed Mr. Anonymous as a staff accountant. The air-conditioner in the equally nondescript brown Ford Crown Victoria in which I sat, checked out from a government pool, ran full blast, warding off the intense August heat. I studied my surroundings. 'Jeez, what an existence this guy must lead,' I thought to myself. A pretty town with a seemingly stable economy, Sturgeon Bay nonetheless did not appear to be growing. It was what it was and likely would forever be that way. I had the distinct impression that those who settled here were here for the long-haul. And Mr. Anonymous, the staff accountant? Definitely here for the duration. Based upon the data I had seen, he had nowhere else to go. When 5:00 approached, I sat up in the front seat as a few people began to trickle from the building's front doors. A few minutes later, Mr. Anonymous appeared. I knew I wasn't mistaken that it was him. Almost six feet tall, but not quite. Light brown hair cut really short. His gray suit coat was buttoned, a worn leather briefcase dangling from his right hand. My third encounter with nondescript objects this day. I had already scouted his parking location, the information provided to me by MacMillan identifying the make, model and color of his car (and even the lien holder on the loan). I waited a few minutes and then followed the car as it turned out of the parking lot. A few minutes later, Mr. Anonymous pulled into a local watering hole. I followed him in and observed while he drank two beers and consumed a cheeseburger with two friends. They split the bill evenly. This comported with MacMillan's data; every Thursday, Mr. Anonymous's Visa account recorded a transaction at this establishment -- same amount every week, without fail. Two hours after arriving, he returned to his car, headed home. I did not follow him, as I knew where he lived and had, in fact, driven by his modest home on a tree-lined street earlier that day, noting the presence of a blue Chrysler mini-van in the driveway. I had confirmed that Mrs. Anonymous was a stay-at-home wife and mother. Again, MacMillan's data had checked out. I returned to my hotel, turned on my laptop, and connected a mobile device to it that would permit me access to my employer's network via satellite and encryption technology unknown to the private sector. I then did my job for a few hours. I awoke early the next morning, went for a run along the bay, showered, and got back to work. The wonderful thing about working in a remote office -- and anything more than twenty-five miles from the nation's capitol is "remote" as it relates to my employer -- is that I generally keep my own schedule. As long as my work gets done properly and on-time, no one really cares from where I do it. Around 4:00, I logged out for the day, changed, and went down to the pool car. MacMillan's electronic surveillance allowed me to surmise what the Anonymous family would be up to tonight. Just as Mr. Anonymous's Visa account revealed the pattern of his Thursday nights, that same account also revealed a Friday pattern: another charge, almost every Friday, from another watering hole. This, combined with other data I had reviewed, led me to the conclusion that Thursday night was Mr. Anonymous's, Friday night his wife's, and Saturday night was couples' night (owing to charges at various restaurants in and around Sturgeon Bay). I thus guided the Agency car through the streets of Sturgeon Bay, pulling into the parking lot of a relatively upscale establishment, which I gathered from the higher-end sports utility vehicles and the occasional German import dotting the landscape. I sat at the bar and ordered a local lager and the whitefish -- Fish Fridays is something that Wisconsinites apparently take very seriously -- and waited while I ate. At approximately 6:00, three women strolled in. I knew without hesitation that one was Mrs. Anonymous -- I had examined her DMV photograph enough. Their attire was almost uniform: khaki peddle-pushers, open-toed heels and button-up blouses. Only the colors of the blouses differed. The bar began to fill. I had expected the crowd to be regulars, that everyone knew everyone else, and was slightly surprised to find my expectation not met. There was certainly familiarity among some, but not by all. I maintained my seat at the corner of the bar, slowly downing the heavy lager the bartender kept sliding my way. Without being obvious, my attention to Mrs. Anonymous never wavered through the evening. A little after 9:00, a local band began to play on a small stage. A few couples stepped on the makeshift dance floor -- created through the movement of seven or eight dining tables that earlier had been in front of the stage -- joined by still others as the band continued to cover Aerosmith, Yes and other relics from the Seventies. Mrs. Anonymous and her two friends were among them, dancing among themselves, shooing away a few younger men that tried to intercede. And then, about an hour later, an interesting development. Mrs. Anonymous left the dance floor in favor of the bathroom and the other two musketeers returned to their table. Sipping my beer, I surreptitiously watched the table for Mrs. Anonymous's return. After ten minutes, I furrowed my brow at her continued absence. I glanced around the bar and thought I caught a glimpse of her blonde head bobbing to the music, caught in the crowd that the dance floor had become. I leaned to the left, hoping to get a better view and . . . no . . . too many people in the way. But a few moments later, a gap opened in the human mass and I was treated to the sight of Mrs. Anonymous bumping and grinding with what appeared to be a dockworker. I smiled absently, and continued my covert observation of Mr. Anonymous's lovely wife. I just realized that I haven't actually described this little angel. There was nothing extraordinary about her, except that she was very likely the embodiment of the pretty small-town wife, carting the kids around to soccer practice in between bake sales and PTA meetings. She stood less than five-and-half feet on a petite frame. Her cotton pants hugged her bottom respectfully, but snug enough to let the casual observer know that she took care of herself. Her blouse was similarly non-revealing, but failed to fully obscure what appeared to be a healthy pair of C-cup breasts, nipples denting her bra and blouse with a faint shadow. Her age was difficult to discern, but I knew from her DMV data that she was thirty-seven. Having consumed a number of mugs of the local lager, my bladder began to protest so I left the bar for the bathroom. Returning, I observed Mrs. Anonymous exiting the dance floor, Dock Boy in tow. She dragged him along by his calloused hand and almost giggled as she past the two musketeers still at the table, sipping what appeared to be Cosmopolitans. Her friends appeared to cheer her on, though I couldn't hear their words through the din of the bar. Mrs. Anonymous pushed open the door, pulling Dock Boy behind her. Now, I decided, was the time to leave. I signaled the bartender for my tab, paid in cash, and made my way back to the parking lot. Plenty of cars, but I observed none leaving the parking lot. I looked first for Mrs. Anonymous's mini-van but couldn't locate it. It then occurred to me that she may have left it at home, in case her husband needed to take the kids somewhere. I then looked for the gray Taurus I had followed from Mr. Anonymous's office the night before. Struck out again. 'Okay,' I thought. 'Time for a grid search.' I walked to the end of the parking lot and turned, slowly and quietly walking up the aisles between the cars. A few minutes and two aisles later, I came up short. Movement in an old Jeep Cherokee -- the kind with the fake wood panels on the sides -- caused me to stop. I squinted my eyes and saw a person -- a man -- in the driver's seat. My eyes scanned to the left, looking for a companion, looking for Mrs. Anonymous. No one. I took a step forward, ready to resume my search, but then stopped again. A blonde head rose into view, from beneath the dashboard. The man in the driver's seat leaned to his right, his lips smashing against those of the woman who had apparently buried her face in his lap. Her small hand rose to the side of his whiskered face and I imagined her tongue delving deep into the man's mouth. They pulled away from each other and the man put the car in gear, backed out of the parking space and swung through the parking lot and into the street. I walked to my government pool car and started the engine and smiled contentedly. Mrs. Anonymous was a cheating whore who denigrated all possibility of feminitity -- I mean, femininity. * * * My observation of her continued over the next few weeks. I skipped Thursday nights; the first Thursday I had observed Mr. Anonymous merely confirmed what the data told me and I didn't need further confirmation. Mrs. Anonymus's Friday night confirmed MacMillan's information, as well. But there was a question unanswered: were Mrs. Anonymous and Dock Boy an item, or was he simply a one-night stand? The next three Friday nights answered that question for me: he was the latter. Well, not quite. But neither were they an item. The second Friday that I observed her, she left the bar with a well-groomed man who appeared to be closer to her own age. The next, she coupled with a kid who I would have guessed had a high school letterman's jacket in his back seat. And then the third and final Friday, Dock Boy appeared to hit a home run again. So, I had a pattern. Thursday nights were for Mr. Anonymous, and Friday nights were for Mrs. Anonymous. And another pattern: Mrs. Anonymous used her Friday nights to float through a plethera -- or a plethora, I'm not sure which -- of studs with whom she cheated on her husband. And a non-pattern: there was no consistency to who she fancied. And I thus had a conclusion: I, too, could fuck Mrs. Anonymous. How divine. * * * My plan was simple: follow the pattern. I'd appear on Friday night. I'd make sure she had a few drinks. I'd ask her to dance. I'd make it last for a slow song, a fast song, a slow song. I'd hold her from behind and let her grind her tight bottom against my crotch. I'd let her grind her pelvis against my leg. I'd let her drag me to the parking lot. I had to wait a few weeks, unfortunately. I had to attend a wedding on Martha's Vineyard and then had meetings in Fort Meade the week after and wouldn't return to Chicago until late Friday night. 'Is Chitown all there is,' I thought, passing through Milwaukee the next morning and recalling one of Mr. Anonymous's comments. 'No, Mr. Anonymous. There's also Sturgeon Bay.' * * * Rather than sit at the bar, I grabbed a table to the left of the dance floor, where Mrs. Anonymous and her two sidekicks always sat. I arrived early to claim it, but drank slowly. The pattern began to re-create itself. Just after 6:00, Mrs. Anonymous strode in, followed closely by Athos and Porthos, as I had taken to calling the other musketeers. Summer had passed and Fall was being ushered in. Mrs. Anonymous had forsaken the ritual peddle pushers and open toed heels for a pair of dark wool slacks and closed-toe heels. Her breasts bobbed slightly beneath a shimmering rose-tinted silk blouse. Waving to the bartender, they took their customary table and, when the waiter appeared, ordered salads, chicken sandwiches and Cosmos for two, a Martini for the other. I sipped an Anchor Steam while they ate and watched as they danced together, the tightly knit group of three spurning the advances of men who dared to dance into the group. Like clockwork, Mrs. Anonymous slid off the dance floor toward the bathroom and Athos and Porthos returned to the table next to me and finished off their drinks. I rose, with beer in hand, and stepped onto the dance floor. I made sure to move toward the far side, closest to the hall that led to the restrooms, and kept the area in my peripheral vision. A few moments later, Mrs. Anonymous appeared. As she neared the end of the hallway, I turned her way and, continuing to move with the music, smiled at her. Her bright blue eyes smiled back, her lush lips following suit not a moment later. But she continued past me with a wave of her manicured fingers, and stopped at the bar. I turned back toward the stage, moving to the music, pondering my next move. I was following the pattern but I understood implicitly that Mrs. Anonymous wouldn't merely fall into my lap, so to speak. I had to instead draw her in. The band moved into a painful version of Led Zeppelin's Tangerine and I was in the process of devising a plan to make her come to me when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Mrs. Anonymous smiling at me. She tilted her head slightly to the right, her pretty eyes alight, and lifted a bottle of Anchor Steam toward me. Mr. Anonymous's Wife I smiled back, sincere as ever, and took the bottle from her. "You shouldn't be buying me drinks, you know?" I teased, leaning toward her so she could hear me over the screeching guitar. "Oh, yeah?" she laughed, playful and coy at the same time. She brushed a lock of hair from her lightly powdered cheek. "Why's that?" "Because I should be the one buying." She arched an eyebrow, then shook her head, moving with me now. "Can't have that," she almost yelled over the noise. "Hubby wouldn't like it if he knew I was accepting drinks from strangers." Again, that playful laugh. It stirred something deep in my loins. I extended a hand and she took it, her hand soft and warm in mine. "Max. Now we're not strangers." "Mary," she smiled. She had replaced her Martini with what appeared to be a vodka and tonic, and sipped it through the straw, her soft, full lips pursing around the plastic tube. "But you're still a stranger." The band ended the tortuous Tangerine only to replace it with Foghat's Slow Ride. "Oh, yippee!" Mary squealed, grabbing me by the hand and leading me to the interior of the throng crowding the dance floor. "I fuckin' love this song!" Her language surprised me; I knew she was an adulterous slut but she appeared so wholesome, so pure, that even knowing her proclivities the word "fucking" was a shock. Her dance moves, however, were not shocking, as I had witnessed them before. Neither were they good. Mary did not have rhythm. Or timing. Or even much grace. But she was sexual. Her hips rotated and ground and rocked, even if it was against nothing. I joined her for the raucously slow ride. As we danced, she shook her body at me, taunting me. She turned and ground her firm bottom against my crotch. I took the opportunity to slide an arm beneath hers, wrap it around her waist, holding her close. She leaned back into me, her body soft and warm and lush. My thick cock stirred in my pants. "Bet Hubby wouldn't like this, either," I breathed into her ear. I felt her shudder as my hot breath caressed the inner reaches of her ear. "Probably not," she laughed before slamming her ass against my crotch. She peered at me over her shoulder, amusement evident in her liquid blue orbs. "Or that either." My arm, planted firmly on her taut stomach, held her tight against me. I could feel the faint musculature of a well-preserved belly and my fingers roamed the soft ridges. "I love the way your stomach feels," I breathed into her ear again. "No kids, huh?" I knew the truth, but I was leading up to something. Still facing away from me, her ass gyrating against my stiff cock, she sucked the straw between her full lips and held up free hand, extending two slender, French-manicured fingers. "Was it motherhood by contract?" I asked, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the phrase. She turned her head slowly, her brow furrowed in confusion, obviously not understanding the ridiculous question. Seeing my twisted smile, she turned toward me fully, draping her arms over my shoulders. She cocked her head as though still pondering my question, then responded with a faint smile. "Don't ask stupid questions, okay?" I shrugged my shoulders as my hands slipped down her rib cage to her pliant thighs. "Sorry. Not sure where that came from." Slow Ride ended and the band moved right into the opening riffs of Eric Clapton's Cocaine, but then abruptly stopped. "Nah," the singer announced to the crowd. "Let's try this instead." And so began Wonderful Tonight. Mary swayed in my arms, her body pressed tight against mine, and I moved with her. My cock throbbed from the scent of her hair and the softness of her hips and I know she felt it squirm against her firm stomach. As the band tried in vain to replicate Slow Hand, she pressed herself tighter to me and moved to her tippy-toes, her soft lips at my ear. A shiver raced down my spine as she whispered, "Where do you live?" I smirked and lowered by my face to the crook of her neck. "Chicago." She didn't miss a beat. "Hotel?" "Mm-hm." "Take me there?" she asked, her soft, wet tongue sliding beneath my earlobe, tracing the line of my jaw. "My pleasure, Mrs. Anonymous," I boldly declared, which garnered me another weird look from her. But it passed and she dragged me from the dance floor, past her friends (to whom she dutifully waived) and into the parking lot. We stepped through the door, me following her closely, and into the surprisingly warm September evening made bearable by a strong breeze off Lake Michigan. "Your car or mine?" I inquired, knowing from my previous surveillance her answer. "Yours," she smiled at me over her shoulder, "as long as you can bring me back here after." I caught up with her from behind, my strong hands going to her small hips, walking behind her. "After what?" I whispered into her ear, my arms wrapping around her slight waist as we walked somewhat awkwardly. She remained silent as we stumbled toward my car. As we neared it, I pulled the key fob from my pocket and clicked the doors open. On reaching the passenger door, I spun her around and gently eased her against it. My head dipped to her neck and I kissed her softly, relishing her fresh scent, soft skin and the way she shuddered as my wet tongue traced a line at the nape of her neck. "After what?" I repeated, her arms rising and folding around my neck, holding me tight. "After we have sex," she breathed, pulling me tighter to her unfaithful body. My lips found hers urgently and my tongue slipped into her hot mouth, dueling with hers. I pressed myself closer to her, feeling her full breasts compress against my chest. She involuntarily spread her legs, planting her covered vagina firmly against my thigh. "You can have sex with your husband," I informed her, my voice soft, lips softly gliding across her cheek to her ear again. "With me, you're going to FUCK!" She involuntarily humped herself against me. Through my pant leg, I could feel the heat of her vagina spread and she moaned into my ear. "Take . . . me." I quickly spun her back around so that she was facing the car. She braced herself with her arms on the roof of it and I ground my crotch into her firm ass, my hands circling her waist and floating up to her breasts. My fingers strummed across her blood-engorged nipples and she quivered at my touch. I dropped one hand down the front of her blouse, toward her waist, and tugged gently at the soft leather belt she had donned. "Right here?" I questioned, the fingers of my other hand closing softly around her erect nipple, tweaking it. "You want me to take you right here?" "Oh, shit," she groaned as the tight little bud pulsed between my thumb and forefinger. Behind her I was smiling. I enjoyed taunting her. What I enjoyed even more was the knowledge that, in very short order, my fat cock was going to be splitting Mr. Anonymous's wife in two. To speed that eventuality along, I released my grasp on her belt and found the door handle to the car. Pulling her back, I opened the door, and Mrs. Anonymous turned and tucked herself in. As I shut the door, her lust-tinged eyes turned up to me and she smiled at what was to come. I casually circled the car and slid in beside her, turning the ignition over and maneuvering it out of the parking lot and onto the road that led back toward the bay. And my hotel. Beside me, Mary slid her spread fingers down her torso, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse. She appeared to be trying to regain an appearance of propriety, as futile as that might have seemed. She was, after all, in a car with a stranger while her husband sat at home with their children. As we passed between a series of strip malls with chain restaurants and tobacco shops and big box stores, she turned slightly toward me and cleared her throat. "So, where are you staying?" I checked my side-view mirror before changing lanes and then slowed for a red light. When the car came to a stop, I crooked my finger at her, beckoning her closer. I kissed her lightly on her succulent lips. "I'm staying at the Beach Harbor." Her wet, pink tongue delved into my mouth. I took her response as a sign of approval and reached over to again tweak her anxious nipples. "Ever been there?" I groaned into her mouth, my fat cock thickening in my pants. "Mm-hm," she moaned back, twisting in her seat to face me more directly. "Ever been . . . fucked . . . there?" I managed when she dropped a soft hand into my lap, a manicured finger tracing the outlines of my now bulging cock. "Mm-hm." "With . . . your . . . husband?" Mrs. Anonymous almost laughed into my mouth and a horn honked behind us. She disengaged from me when I nudged the shifter into first gear and accelerated through the intersection, trying to catch my breath. She tucked an errant lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear and then answered me. "No, not with my husband." I heard the smile in her voice and looked over to see it replicated in her bright blue eyes. A few minutes later, I turned onto Duluth Avenue and then into the Beach Harbor's parking lot. I easily found a space and switched off the ignition. Before I could reach for my door handle, Mary nearly climbed across the center console, her right hand closing behind my head, pulling me into her. Her soft tongue again slithered into my mouth; I could taste the vodka on her breath as she panted into me. 'What a fuckin' slut,' I thought to myself, almost laughing at the woman's actions, so clearly indicating desperation. But of course that wasn't really a judgment of her. It was, though, precisely what I was looking for in this little angel. I reached around and planted my big hand on her ass, pulling her even further over the armrest; she lost her balance and nearly toppled onto my lap. While her agile tongue continued its military style invasion of my mouth, I gave a quick but sharp spank on her ass and a moan escaped her slender throat. "Like that?" I grunted around our tangled tongues, my hand sliding over the firm globes of her ass, finding the waistline of her wool pants. "Uh-uh," Mrs. Anonymous groaned back. She adjusted herself to regain some semblance of balance, but not of decorum. She brought her knees beneath her on the seat and draped her right arm around my neck; her free hand quickly and easily located what was now a slab of meat in my pants. She wasn't delicate about it either. She didn't trace the outline of my cock against my pants, or gently tweak my cockhead. Instead, she palmed it. She opened her hand wide, pressed the palm of her hand against my fat shaft, and pushed down, the bony heel of her hand compressing against the sensitive underside of my shaft. I wanted this woman in the worst way. And, oddly for me, not simply because she was married. No. I wanted Mrs. Anonymous precisely because she was Mrs. Anonymous. Because she was married specifically to Mr. Anonymous. My hips arched off the leather seat as she continued to massage the base of my throbbing cock. My free hand traced a light line around the waist band of her pants before it slid beneath the fabric. The cheeks of her ass were cool to my touch and I allowed my fingers to squeeze into the pliant flesh. I gripped one cheek and gently pulled it to the side, opening her up, and I felt her quake in my arms. My fingers wandered around her backside, edging closer to what I imagined was a tight, puckered asshole. I was waiting for her to object and when she didn't, my fingers continued their quest. I eased one down the crevice formed by her asscheeks, stopped it when I felt the ridges surrounding her anal opening. Still no objection. "Want me to stop?" "Nooooo," she mewled softly, her sweet tongue withdrawing from my mouth, her bright white teeth nipping at my lips. I pushed her away from me, back toward the passenger side of the car. "Let's go, then." I opened my door and, seeing Mrs. Anonymous do the same, began walking toward the entrance to the hotel, an anxious and apparently very immoral housewife trailing in my wake. She caught up with me by the time I reached the main door and we walked, side-by-side, down the hall to the quaint room I had rented for the evening. I stopped at the door and fished the key card from my pocket. I slid it into the reader and, waiting to hear the click, glanced over to her. Her small hands were tucked demurely in her front pockets and she bounced slightly on the balls of her dainty feet. Her eyes met mine and she bit her lip, from nervousness or anticipation I couldn't discern. I smiled at her and pushed the door open, holding it for her. The door swung shut automatically behind us and Mrs. Anonymous began to lead the way into my room. But I had other ideas. From behind, I grabbed the waistband at the rear of her pants and pulled her back toward me. She yelped in surprise and then laughed. When I pushed her up against the door and shoved my stiff tongue into her mouth, she stopped laughing. She instead became frantic. Her hands flew to the back of my head, pulling my mouth tight against hers, her tongue stabbing into me, forcing her to breathe only through her nose. I nudged her legs apart with my knee and then planted my thigh at the apex of her legs, right up against her cunt, and pressed my body firmly against hers. Her hips reacted violently to the pressure that was being applied, even through her thong and the fabric of her pants, to her clit. They rotated around and around, and then jerked and jerked and jerked, repeatedly crushing that little clit against the silk of her thong and my muscular thigh. Our tongues still intertwined, my hands found the front of her blouse and made quick work of the top two or three buttons. I couldn't get a good grasp on the next one so I simply yanked the sides of the blouse apart. I wasn't intent on popping the buttons off -- I just wanted to get to her bra -- but that is what happened, and I heard the last two buttons as they clattered on the tile floor of the bathroom just to my right. "Yessssss," she hissed into me. Apparently, Mrs. Anonymous likes her sex a little on the rough side. I was, of course, happy to oblige. Rather than deal with what appeared to be a B-cup bra trying to conceal C-cup tits, I simply slid my fingers beneath the underwire portion of the bra and pushed it up and over the soft, pillowy flesh, my hands instantly filled. The thumbs and forefingers of each hand easily found her turgid nipples and I squeezed lightly. "Uugghh," Mrs. Anonymous moaned into my mouth, one lithe leg wrapping itself around my ass, pulling her cunt tighter against my straining thigh. "Feels . . . soooo . . . good." I tightened my grip on her thickening nipples and twisted them slightly. Her head jerked and her soft lips smashed into mine with an "Mmph." I almost bit my tongue when she did that and so I pulled slightly away from her. Still holding Mrs. Anonymous pinned to the hotel door, I dipped my head, planting wet kisses along her jawbone, down her neck and across her clavicle. "Lick . . . my . . . nipples," she begged, her hands still fast on the back of my head, her manicured nails digging almost painfully into my scalp, pushing me down. Like a newborn searching for its next meal, my lips easily found a rigid nipple just after it grazed my shaved cheek. My right hand still squeezing and tugging and twisting her left nipple, I sucked the right one between my lips, holding it there deep in my mouth, my tongue washing over it, and Mrs. Anonymous whimpered as an electric jolt coursed through her adulterous bones. Her knees nearly buckled when my teeth clamped down on the rubbery teat. But so did mine; it was like biting into a gummy bear. My hands on her soft tits held her up and when she was steady again -- her nipple still buried in the dark recesses of my sucking mouth -- I slid my hands down the soft ridges of her rib cage to her waist. I pulled the blouse, now hanging from her waistband, loose and away, and then pulled the tongue of her belt from the buckle. When I began to push her pants over her soft hips, I pulled my thigh out from between her quivering legs and she whimpered at the lost sensation. But her thong came down with the pants and I made sure to quickly run a finger along the damp crease of her engorged labia. "Uuuggghhh," she groaned as the soft pad of my index finger slid across her slick, pulsing clit. My finger came away wet in her fluids and I traced it down her inner thigh, bending at the knees so that I was squatting in front of her. I tapped the inside of her right ankle and she lifted that foot so that I could pull off her shoe and then her pants and thong. We followed the same routine with her other foot while she placed her slender fingers on my shoulders, balancing herself, her breath slowing. I didn't allow her breath to slow for long. Instead of standing back up, I went to my knees, at the same time pushing her back upright. I planted soft kisses around her belly button before sliding my tongue along the tender flesh that joins a woman's crotch to her legs. "Ohmigod," I heard her whisper above me. Pressing against her, I lifted her left leg over my shoulder, opening her up, and dipped my head, licking deeper into that soft crease, careful to keep my tongue away from her dripping cunt lips. I tilted my head the other way, moving toward the crease at her right leg, blowing hot breath against her clit on my way. Mrs. Anonymous's knees -- well, knee -- buckled this time, but I caught her again, pinning her ass against the hotel door. Her slender hands dropped to the top of my head, her long nails again against my scalp. At first, I was intent on not allowing her to guide my actions. I wanted instead to lick all around her dripping hole, teasing her clit. But when I tried to glide my tongue up and down her inner right thigh, she was insistent that my tongue be elsewhere. She tugged lightly at my short-cropped hair and guided my mouth to her glistening cunt. My tongue darted from my lips and against hers, burrowing between her slippery labia. "Oh, fuck," she moaned, making fists in my scalp. I flattened my tongue and slowly slid it along her cunt lips. My head tilted backward as I did so and I gazed up this woman's fabulous body: from the soft, trimmed patch of dirty blonde pubic hair, to her taut, tanned belly, between the full, natural tits that were now bunched up between arms that stretched down her lithe body to my head. Her bright eyes were screwed shut, her head resting against the door, and her soft, pink tongue wetting her full lips. Those wonderful lips abruptly formed a wide oval on her classically beautiful face when my flattened and stiffened tongue pressed firmly against her aching clit. "Aaaaagggghhhh!!!!" she screamed, her slender fingers threatening to pull the hair from my head, the flesh from my skull. I winced in pain but didn't let up, twirling my tongue around and around her excited clit. I brought one hand up between her legs and slid first one and then another finger between her saturated cunt lips, then slid them in further, to the second knuckle. Mrs. Anonymous's left leg was still perched atop my right shoulder and the quaking of her luscious body could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was: her first orgasm of the evening. Her slim hips jerked away from the door and crashed against my face, crushing my nose in the process. My eyes watered. I reacted by placing my strong hands on her pelvis and shoving her hips against the door, holding her there. But my tongue assaulted her again, dancing and sliding and beating over and around her fiery clit. Her orgasm continued and she nearly lost balance again. Her left leg slid off my shoulder and her soft foot found purchase on the ground while her hands again found my shoulders. Mrs. Anonymous's feminine juices poured from her cunt, soaking her inner thighs, as her adulterous body lurched against the door, her orgasm subsiding. Mr. Anonymous's Wife As the restrained bucking of her hips slowed, I relaxed my grip on her pelvis and rose. My big hands formed mitts over the perspiring flesh of her heaving breasts and I leaned into her, my tongue snaking into her mouth. "You taste good," I breathed into her. Her hands again found the back of my head and she pulled me into her, laughing softly as our tongues played with each other. "I do, don't I?" We kissed like that for a few minutes, my thigh back between her legs, jammed up against her cunt. This time, it wasn't just heat I felt through the fabric of my pants, it was wetness, her slimy juices quickly saturating my pant leg. A trickle of sweat beaded between her tits and I filled my palms with the warm, damp flesh, her thickened nipples burning into my palms. "Your turn," she announced after a while, pushing me away from her. Mrs. Anonymous slid down the door into a squatting position. Leaving my shirt intact, her slender fingers worked my belt free and then the zipper, sliding my pants down my strong legs. I quickly kicked off my shoes and she eased the pants off my feet. Turning her beautiful face up toward me, she smiled a bright smile, her hand delving into the gap at the front of my boxers. "Let's see what we have here." Her soft hand dug around for a moment, finding the root of my engorged shaft and then following the tube downward. Her fingers closed around the head and she pulled my length through the gap. "Oh my," she exclaimed, her smile wider. I put my left hand out to the wall beside me for balance when Mrs. Anonymous's soft fist closed around my hardened shaft. She tugged once, then again, and a drop of pre-cum appeared at the slit. She used the pad of her thumb to smooth the fluid down the length of my shaft and then dragged her fist back up, coaxing more of the natural lubricant from my cockhead. She again smeared it around the overheated flesh of my cock. I arched my hips into her slowly shucking fist and groaned as the heel of her hand slid over the base of my cock. I held it there for a moment, then pulled back. I looked down to find her smiling up at me. I nearly shuddered: because I was standing upright and she was kneeling below my quivering shaft, my cock appeared to be laid across her face, stretching from her chin, over her soft lips and cute nose, to between her glimmering blue orbs. My eyes closed to ward off a premature blast of cum in her hair. When I recovered sufficiently, I looked back down to see her still smiling at me, her warm and inviting fist moving at a snail's pace along the length of my shaft. "Other . . . hand," I barely managed. Mrs. Anonymous thought nothing of it and replaced her right hand with her left. She stroked up and down my length once and then again and I groaned from deep in my throat. I put both hands against the hotel door in front of me to keep from falling. A quizzical expression clouded her features. "Would you rather fuck my dry hand, or my warm wet mouth?" she asked, taunting me, not knowing that I had my cock right where I wanted it: wrapped in her soft hand with her wedding ring flashing me in the face. "Your . . . hand," I grunted, my eyes locked on her fist, the speed of my hips increasing. That quizzical look again. "I . . . like . . . seeing your . . . wedding . . . ring . . . on my . . . cock." A sly smile slowly appeared on her beautiful face. Her fingers closed tight around the girth of my cock. Her fist jerked a little harder. With her free hand, she reached between my legs, beneath my quaking cock, and cradled my hanging balls on her soft palm, her fingers gently kneading the nut sac. "Is that why . . . you asked if . . . I had ever been here . . . with my husband?" she asked through gritted teeth. I couldn't answer but nodded my head. "So you like . . . fucking . . . married women?" Again, I just nodded my head, my eyes slamming shut. But that didn't last long. They flew open a moment later when a felt a wet warmness engulf my cock. I looked down my quivering body to see Mrs. Anonymous's soft lips sliding halfway down the length of my cock, the rest of my shaft gripped tightly in the first of her left hand. Her bright blue eyes smiled up at me, causing my hips to jerk into her face, nearly crushing her fist between my pelvic bone and her sucking mouth. Her fist dropped and both of her hands found my asscheeks, her long, French-manicured nails sinking into my flesh, pulling my cock deeper into her wet mouth. "Uuuggghhh," I groaned when I felt the head of my cock slide up against the back of her throat. I pulled back until the crown of my cock caught on her soft lips and then pushed back in again. I stopped when my cockhead ran out of room, ready to pull back again. But Mrs. Anonymous's grip on my ass became firmer and she pulled me into her further. I felt her swallow and my cock slipped into her throat, causing her to gag. "Aagghh fuck," I spat, my forearms braced against the door, my temple resting against it. I jerked my hips back and then forward again, burying myself in the married woman's mouth, and felt her nose press into my pubic hair. She pulled her head back and spat my cock from her mouth, her left fist quickly finding my saliva-soaked shaft. "You call that fucking?" she hissed, tugging violently on my cock. "That's not fucking. This is fucking." Mrs. Anonymous slipped my aching cock back into her mouth and, again grasping my ass cheeks, yanked my hips forward. The head of my cock slammed brutally into the back of her throat and beyond before she pushed me away. Before the head slipped from her smeared lips, she yanked me back in again. Over and over. Soon, my hips were moving of their own accord. I was fucking Mrs. Anonymous's pretty face. Her lips were being crushed in my pubic hair. Her chin was dripping with a mixture of her own saliva and my pre-cum. Her esophagus was being rubbed raw as my cockhead continuously stretched it and she gagged every time I pushed into her. Sweat dripped from my face, down my chest and stomach and across my back, soaking the shirt that I still wore. Cum churned in my heavy balls. I pushed my face and forearms off the door and braced against it with my palms while I continued to abuse Mrs. Anonymous's esophagus. I slammed into her filthy mouth so hard that her head snapped back against the door; the fact that my cock kept driving into her throat kept her there, the back of her sweaty head pinned against the door. Not wanting to give her a concussion, when I pulled out, I dropped one hand to the back of her head to hold it steady. Still I drove my cock into her throat. My balls continued to churn and when she reached beneath my dripping shaft and softly squeezed my nut sac, I thrust one more time into her esophagus and held my cock there. My cock lurched in her mouth and the head ballooned in her throat. I could tell from the way she squirmed that it was causing her some discomfort, but she made no move to dislodge me. Her willingness to endure a little bit of discomfort for my pleasure -- the pleasure of a stranger -- dropped me over the precipice. My balls tightened and sperm coursed through the length of my shaft. It spat out the tip of my cock and splashed against the walls of her throat before dripping into her stomach. She swallowed hard as a second burst of cum poured down her throat. I began to pull back. My balls lurched again. My cockhead, having withdrawn from her throat and now in her mouth, winked open again, coating her tongue in my viscous juice. Before I pulled the rest of the way out of her mouth, Mrs. Anonymous swallowed again, taking my third load of cum into her stomach. When my cock slipped from between her soft lips, she took my shaft in her fist and slowly jerked it. While my breath tried to return to normal, her tongue bathed the head of my cock, collecting the remaining cum that leaked from its tip. "Holy . . . shit," I breathed. "That was . . . fuckin' . . . awesome." Licking the last of my cum from her fingers and then from her lips, Mrs. Anonymous pushed me away and rose to her feet. She grabbed the bottom hem of my shirt and lifted it up my torso and over my head. She dropped it to the ground and padded into the bathroom, releasing the catch on her undersized bra and allowing it to flutter to the cold tile floor. Running the water, she bent over the sink and splashed some on her face. My eyes were locked on her tight little ass as she did this. "Hope you're not done yet," she stated, her eyes on mine in the mirror. I chuckled. "What? You want more?" She merely nodded her head, lust evident in the smoldering blue eyes that peered back at me through the mirror. Slowly, she rolled her soft, trim hips along the bathroom counter. She put her hands behind her, on the countertop, and lifted herself up. Her eyes locked on mine, Mrs. Anonymous spread her legs lewdly. The manicured fingers of her left hand tweaked a nipple before slipping down her sweaty stomach. Her hand smoothed over the downy soft patch of pubic hair that stood guard over her blood-engorged clit. She slipped a slender finger between her cunt lips. "Don't you?" she asked, her voice dripping in lust. "Don't you want this? My pussy? My cunt? Another man's cunt?" My cock began to rise and I stepped over the threshold into the bathroom. "Thought so," she purred as I approached her widespread legs. She reached toward me, her slender fingers attempting to encircle my thickening shaft. A few tugs and I was hard enough to penetrate the sloppy mess her cunt had become. She placed my thick cock head against her blossoming lips and released me, her sweet eyes rolling up to mine in anticipation. A sly smile formed on her soft lips before they parted to speak. "Aren't you going to shove it in?" I jerked my hips slightly toward her, the overheated crown of my cock parting her slick labia and lodging itself inside her wetness. I smiled back. Slyly. She appeared to enjoy a little teasing. She scooted her ass away from me and my cock head fell from her. "Tit for tat," she said in a lilting voice. My hands reached out to her trim waist and pulled her back. "Put it back," I demanded. "Gonna tease me anymore?" I shook my head and groaned when I felt her fist around me again. She swiped my cock head up and down her splayed cunt lips, spreading her lubrication along my length, before seating the crown again. I slowly pushed my length into her. An inch, then a pause. Her lips opened as she enjoyed the sensation of her cunt being stretched, her bright blue eyes locked on mine. Another inch and another pause. She wriggled her hips toward me, trying to suck more of my length into her. "Stop . . . teasing," she whimpered. I pushed another inch into her and held it there. Her lithe legs lifted and locked behind me and I groaned at the sensation of her warm thighs wrapped around my waist and her soft heels resting against my ass cheeks. "I'm not teasing. I'm just taking it slow." "More," she pleaded and I gave her another inch. Five inches in now and the going was getting tighter. 'Doesn't say much about Mr. Anonymous, now, does it?' I thought to myself to some satisfaction. And with that thought, I grasped tightly at her hips, my strong fingers sinking into the damp, pliant flesh, and gave her the rest of me. Eight inches of foreign cock was now stuffed deep in Mrs. Anonymous's cunt, touching and stretching places he had never been. Her breath rushed over her soft lips and caressed my cheek as I leaned in close to the adulterous whore, my hands sliding around to her firm ass, holding her tightly on my cock, not wanting her to retreat. I should have had no such fear. Mrs. Anonymous's lithe legs tightened around me and her arms encircled my neck. She nearly pulled herself up off the bathroom counter and impaled herself on my youthful shaft. But I maneuvered her desperately humping body back to the counter and withdrew, leaving just the head in her dripping hole. "More?" I breathed. "Yessssssssss." I shoved my full length back in her and quickly pulled it out, her slick cunt juices glistening along the seven inches of my cock that were visible. "More!" she nearly screamed, pounding a closed fist against my sweaty chest. I humped back into her yielding cunt and continued to jackhammer the tight hole. She almost fell backward and braced herself with her slender fingers splayed wide on the countertop. Her pelvis was twitching uncontrollably and I had to grab her gyrating hips and hold her steady, or risk her cunt getting jerked off my shaft. I dipped my head low and my wet tongue slithered across a blood-engorged nipple. I captured it between my lips and sucked it between my teeth, feeling her manicured fingers furrow into my hair and scrape against my scalp, seeking to shove the entire tit into my mouth. "Oh, gawd, I love it," she moaned as my teeth clamped down slightly on the thickened teat. My cock was still pounding at her cheating cunt, causing her tits to bounce erratically on her slim torso and it was all I could do to keep her nipple firmly ensconced in my mouth. I lost the battle when I ground my pelvis against hers, crushing her super-inflamed clit between our bodies. I held myself there, rotating my hips in small, tight circles, and felt her wet clit rolling smoothly back and forth against my pubic hair. Her athletic little body jerked once, then again, and she threw her head back, the top of her skull crashing against the bathroom mirror, and her raw nipple was ripped from my sucking mouth. "Uuuugggghhhh!!!!" she wailed before her delectable body stiffened. Her legs locked even tighter around my back, pulling my fat shaft deeper into her delicious cunt. The increase in her cunt's temperature was immediately noticeable, as was the mass wetness that saturated my veiny shaft. "Oh, fuck," she screamed, her slutty body convulsing again, her legs relaxing slightly behind me. "Oh, fuck." I slowed the stroking of my cock to slightly less than the blistering pace I had achieved just prior to her internal explosion and allowed her to catch her breath. I dipped my head again and gently washed my tongue over the reddened nipple. "How's that for more?" I asked between swipes of my tongue. She laughed through ragged breath and pulled my face tighter into her cleavage. "Beautiful," she breathed. With her heart rate returning to normal, I pulled up and away and allowed my cock to fall from her loosened, sloppy cunt. "Aaww," she pouted playfully. "Is your cock done for the night? I sure hope not." I reached for her hand, which she offered, and pulled her from the bathroom sink. She made as though to follow me from the bathroom but I wasn't leaving just yet. Instead, I gently guided her in a pirouette such that she was now facing the counter. I gently pushed between her shoulder blades and she quickly caught on, a lustful smile spreading across her soft lips. "Oohh," she cooed, an eyebrow arched. "Gonna take me like a dog, huh?" I only nodded my head and shuffled up behind her, lodging the length of my shaft in the cleavage created by her toned little ass cheeks. I thrust up and down a few times, enjoying the heat and softness our two bodies created in this illicit coupling. "Ever taken it in the butt?" I asked, almost in a whisper. She merely shook her head at me, her soft blonde locks swishing across her tanned shoulders and upper back. "Want to?" She shook her head at me again. "Sure about that?" This time I got a nod. Oh well. I bent my knees slightly and lined my shaft up with her slick hole. Feeling my cock head slip back into her, Mrs. Anonymous placed her hands firmly on the marble and stiffened her elbows. I wasn't as slow this time. I didn't need to be; she was now sufficiently loosened that impaling her in a single thrust wouldn't cause her great discomfort. And that's what she got. I again put my hands on her luscious hips, nearly groaning as my fingers sunk into her soft, feminine flesh, and shoved myself into her. "Uugghh," she grunted as my pelvis slammed into her upturned ass cheeks and my balls swung into her smoldering clit. Perspiration collected along the musculature lining her spine and slid down her back and into her ass cleavage. Deep in her now, I looked back up and our eyes met in the mirror. She smiled sweetly at me and I pounded into her again. The blueness of her eyes disappeared as they rolled up into her head momentarily before rolling back and settling on my image in the mirror. "You like it like this, Mary?" She nodded her approval at me, grunting as I bottomed out in her cunt again. "Like getting fucked . . . like a dog?" "Mm-hm," she grunted, her eyes screwed shut now, her ass slamming back against me, me fucking her, she fucking me. "Big . . . enough . . . for . . . you?" I managed. "Ugh . . . yes . . . yes . . . ugh." I leaned forward, over her sweaty back, and gathered her dirty blonde tresses in my fist, pulling her more upright and causing her eyes to fly open. With my free hand I reached around her torso and cupped one of her marvelous tits in my palm, feeling its weight as it bounced from my thrusting. "You like . . . fucking . . . me?" I grunted, our eyes locked. "Oohh yesssss!!!" she snarled. "So . . . fuckin' . . . goooood!" I rolled a turgid nipple between my thumb and forefinger and felt it pulse between my fingers. "Better . . . than . . . your . . . husband?" She nodded and whimpered and her cunt flooded my cock with her juices. "Don't . . . care . . . about the . . . consequences . . . do you?" I moaned, skewering her filthy cheating cunt on the length of my cock and twisting hard on the engorged nipple. "Uuuuuggggghhhhh!!!!!" she moaned, slamming her hips back at me. Her cunt had so soaked my shaft that her juices were now running down my swinging balls and my inner thighs. "Don't . . . give . . . a shit!!!" A shift in her hips forced the hardness of her gyrating pelvis along the underside of my cock and I felt my balls lurch. "Why . . . not?" "Uugghh . . . because . . . you're . . . bigger!" I slammed into her again and my eyes nearly rolled into my head. "And . . . thicker!" she wailed. "Oh, fuck," I grunted, my thrusting against her becoming erratic now. "And you . . . fuck me . . . so . . . much . . . better . . . than . . . he ever . . . has!" Mrs. Anonymous thrust her hips back at me and rotated them. It felt as though my cock was going to be twisted off at the root. Instead, I felt my balls lurch again and I grabbed desperately at this nasty little surprise of a woman. My big hands found purchase at her waist and I pulled her back on me, burying my cock in her balls-deep. I then felt a torrent of sperm about to release and tried to pull out, intent on dropping my load across her sweaty, upturned ass. "Cum . . . in . . . me . . . fucker!" she hollered, again pushing her hips back at me, negating the effects of my attempted retreat. "Oh, gawd," I moaned, my body spasming. I buried my cock in her cunt again, my trembling hands nearly slipping from her sweaty flesh. "Yesssssss," she hissed when my cock expanded in her, stretching her deprived hole even further. I pumped once and held her tight, dropping my hips so that the underside of my cock, right there at the root, crashed against her pelvic bone. A thick stream of cum them spewed from the thick head of my cock, splashing against the superheated walls of her spasming cunt. "Uuuugggghhhh," I groaned, nearly delirious. Another bolt of cum burst from my balls, followed in quick succession by a third. My hips kept pumping and my sperm began leaking from her cunt, squishing out around the thickness of my cock, until I was spent, my chest heaving and my breath erratic.