11 comments/ 82931 views/ 34 favorites Not That Kind of Girl By: ElspethMoans *Disclaimer - Please do not skip this!* This story is pure fantasy, and as such includes scenes of graphic non-consensual sex that some readers may find offensive. They are of a stronger nature than many within this category. You have been warned! Thank you to readers thus far for their feedback...much appreciated. ****************** 'I'm not that kind of girl,' Sarah thought, but she found herself nodding nonetheless. The big blonde guy beside her at the bar smiled and squeezed her hand in reassurance. "I'd just like to get to know you," he said. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips, for the second time that evening. He tasted the same as he had an hour before; spicy, dangerous. Sarah smoothed her hands over her sweater and swallowed nervously as Matthew stood up from his barstool, towering over her tiny frame. "I'll get your coat," he said, disappearing into the hot, crowded bar, squeezing between couples dancing close to the loud, pounding beat. Sarah really wasn't this kind of girl, the kind of girl who goes to dark, noisy clubs, kisses strangers, and agrees to "go somewhere a little more quiet" with those strangers. She spent most of her days in the cool, orderly environs of her music library, and while a PhD in music history with an emphasis on baroque instrumentation would hopefully get her a plum research or teaching gig....it didn't get her far with men. In fact, Sarah had slept with only two men, both long-term boyfriends, good, kind-hearted, loving men. Just last week, after two years, she'd broken it off with Samuel, a reedy, lily-white clarinetist she'd met in the stacks. She was sad, really she was. But two brief kisses with this beefy new stranger Matthew had made her stomach clench and her panties moisten more than two years of clammy kisses from Samuel. The memory of Samuel's high-pitched cry when he came inside her, immediately followed by "are you okay? was that good for you?" still made Sarah wince. Sarah was a good girl. She studied hard and braked for small animals and believed in sex with people you loved. But as long as she could remember, late at night under the covers with her fingers playing between her legs, Sarah had fantasied about big, strong, muscular, intimating men, men who pinned her to the bed with their huge hands and took what they wanted and never asked "are you okay?" So when she showed up to this unfamiliar club for a friend's birthday and spotted Matthew in an adjacent booth, her whole body shivered and clenched and wanted. Just this once. 'Maybe...maybe if he notices me,' Sarah decided. And Matthew had. And Matthew was here, now, holding her coat out for her like a perfect gentleman. 'Maybe we won't even have sex,' Sarah thought. 'He just wants to get to know me. He seems like an honorable guy.' Sarah shrugged on the soft white peacoat and took Matthew's outstretched hand, following him outside into the sharp fresh air and lightly falling snow. ****************** Sarah bolted awake and realized she had dozed off in Matthew's little Corolla, lulled to sleep by the warmth of the heaters, Matthew's deep, resonant voice, his gentle caress of her hand with his big fingers, and, truth be told, the few-too-many jack and gingers she'd consumed at that bar. The sudden cessation of movement had startled her awake. "We're here, little bird," Matthew chuckled. Sarah looked out the window to see, not the apartment building on a busy city street she was expecting, but a dingy, deserted motel, the kind where the door to each room exited onto a long, outdoor walkway, the kind that had a "vacancy" sign blinking. "This is where we're going?" she said, confused. "Sorry about that," Matthew rumbled. "I haven't been able to stay in my apartment for a week, there were burst pipes. This was the only place my landlord was willing to pay for. It's not so bad." Sarah experienced a moment of sudden fear. 'What am I DOING,' she thought. 'I don't even know this man. I don't know his last name. I don't know where I am. I'm going into an empty motel in the middle of the night with a perfect stranger. Oh god oh god what was I THINKING...' Matthew seemed to sense her terror and took her comfortingly into his arms. "Hey now," he murmured, his big hands tucking the top of her head below his chin, then wrapping tight around her tiny waist. "If you don't want to stay, I'll take you home right now, no hard feelings. But I think you and I have something special...this feels so right." Sarah nodded against the hard plane of his chest, and he took her face in his palms and raised her lips up to his. This kiss was hot, wet, and wanting, and when it ended she found herself up on her tiptoes, her whole body pressed into his. Matthew smiled, released her, and walked across the parking lot to the motel, Sarah scurrying along behind him. Matthew unlocked a door and let it swing open, ushering Sarah in ahead of him. The room was lit only by a dim nightlight half hidden, so it took her eyes a long moment to adjust, to read the unidentifiable shapes in the room, draped over chairs and lounging on the bed, shapes that rustled and uncurled into huge, unquestionably manly forms. In the time it took her to register that the room was already occupied, Matthew had shut & deadbolted the door, wrapped one arm around her waist, pinning her arms to her side, and clamped over her mouth with one hand. Sarah's involuntary scream was effectively muffled and she heard chuckling reverberating around her throughout the room. "Took you long enough, Matty boy," said a voice. "We were getting bored." Sarah squirmed and screamed and struggled in Matthew's arms. "But this looks like a good one," said another voice, and Sarah thought, panicking, 'how many are there. HOW MANY ARE THERE?!'" Now listen closely, little bird," Matthew whispered, his hot breath close by her ear. "I brought you here so my friends and I could have a little fun. And if you are a good little girl, and stay quiet, and do what we ask, we can make this a lot of fun for you too." The hand around her waist slid slowly up and cupped her small breast. His thumb began to rub softly across her nipple, over and over, following the cadence of his words. She felt it through the fabric of her sweater, the fabric of her bra, that thumb rubbing softly back and forth, back and forth. "And if you scream and struggle and fight us, this won't be any fun for you at all. And I think we all deserve a little fun, don't you?" He blew into her ear, then bit her earlobe, gently. "Do you understand me?" Sarah's heart was skittering madly in her chest. There was no escaping this room. There were four? - five? - innumerable men here to keep her quiet. Agreeing to her own rape, however terrifying, might be her best option. She nodded, haltingly, and Matthew took his hand away from her mouth. "Let's see what she looks like," one of the men said, and she felt hands suddenly everywhere - lifting away her soft, baby blue sweater, pulling down the waistband of her jeans, tearing away her bra, her panties. It happened so quickly, and she was pushed around and shoved backwards, and within a matter of moments she was lying across a hard, lumpy motel room mattress, naked. The voices around her were approving - of her small, firm tits, of the hard expanse of her belly, of the soft rounding of her hips, of her full, swollen lips, of her tiny, delicate wrists and ankles, even her long, thin blonde hair, which one fellow took a handful of and roughly pulled back to get a better look at her face. When she tried to cover herself, both hands were snatched roughly away and pinned to the bed. When she tried to close her legs, they were wrenched open and held there. "Let's see what she tastes like," said a voice, and she realized in a panic that it was his shoulders keeping her legs apart, his hot breath on her pussy, his tongue - oh god, his tongue - slipping between the lips of her pussy and licking a slow,wet path up to her clit. Sarah cried out and struggled against the men holding her down. The man between her legs used his hands to hold her thighs apart, and to spread her pussy lips even further, baring her most private parts to his active, eager tongue. "Oh god, stop, please," Sarah begged, but his tongue was flicking faster and faster at her hard little nub and she wasn't sure what she was begging for, but her hips were rising up off the bed towards his mouth, and she felt a wild, indescribable pleasure building low in her belly, and when he latched his mouth onto that little nub and sucked, hard, relentless, Sarah realized she was coming, coming violently, coming into the mouth of this total stranger, and overwhelmed, she started to cry. "You have to try this Matthew, she's delicious," said the man, and she felt the bed move and shift beneath her. The shock of another tongue on her sensitive pussy so soon after the first was too much. "Please Matthew please, stop, please, I can't handle this." "Someone shut her up," commanded a voice - this one Matthew's, for sure this time, she thought, and she felt something long and hard and surprisingly velvet-soft shoved between her lips. "Suck on this, little bird," the man laughed, and Sarah choked and gasped as he pressed the full length of his dick into her open mouth. At the same time, Matthew's tongue returned to caressing her wet little pussy. Where the first man's tongue had been narrow and pointed, and he had used the talented tip of it to pleasure her clit, Matthew's tongue was sandpaper-rough, and wide, and he used the flat of it to lick her pussy top to bottom, slow, luscious, long licks up and down until she was squirming and moaning around the dick in her mouth. Matthew pushed a finger into her pussy, then two, then three, pushing hard and fast and merciless inside her. When at last he took her clit into his mouth she exploded, gasping, into orgasm. "I think she's good and ready," Matthew pronounced. "Who's first?" There was murmuring and bartering and good natured banter, and then she felt the huge weight of a man's body press her down against the bed. She felt his enormous penis press against her thigh, and then against her opening. 'Oh god, it's too big, it's too big,' she thought, struggling to close her legs, but the men chuckling around her kept her spread eagled, wide open. Samuel had always entered her gently, cautiously, but his dick had been the size of a pencil eraser compared to the monstrosity that was sliding into her now. "Oh god, she's tight," the man groaned, and then slammed the rest of way into her. He gripped her hips tight as he pulled back out, and then slid right back in again. Sarah had never experienced this feeling - of her pussy being completely filled, stretched to its limit with cock. She found herself moaning in time to his insistent thrusts, and when another dick was pressed between her lips, she swallowed and tongued and licked it without pause. "You're being a good little girl, aren't you," the man between her legs said approvingly, and as though to reward her, his palm slid over her belly, damp with sweat, and he pressed the hard, callused pad of his thumb against her clit. Sarah gasped with pleasure, and began to move her hips in time with his. The man in her mouth came first, his cum spilling over her lips and cheeks, and Sarah followed soon after. Last was the man between her legs who pumped his enormous dick harder and faster and deeper until with a shout, he spurted deep inside of her. "You picked a sweet ride, Matthew," the man said, ruefully, as he pulled his softening dick away from Sarah. "Give her a try yourself!" Sarah was slippery with cum and sweat but the men successfully repositioned her, lifting her up and over Matthew, who had taken her place prone on the lumpy mattress. He gripped her hips and pulled her down roughly into his lap, his hard, thick cock impaling her unexpectedly, and she yelped, eliciting laughter from the men around her. "You got her sopping wet for me, man," Matthew grunted, his big hands grasping at Sarah's hips, his cock spearing her deeper and deeper with every thrust. There was another man behind her now, which made her nervous, but his long, elegant fingers were playing with the soft skin of her breasts, toying with her nipples, pressing into her belly button, and then delving between her legs. The pressure of his fingertip against her clit as Matthew slammed his cock inside her drove her wild. As she felt the frantic sensation of oncoming orgasm take over, the fingertip of his other hand crept behind her and slid gently, but determinedly, into her tiny puckered asshole. The next time Matthew brought her down hard on his cock, simultaneously he impaled her ass with that long, elegant finger. Sarah cried out and tried to squirm away, but Matthew had a firm grasp on her hips. Sooner than she might have guessed, the rhythm of both finger and cock driving in and out of her from both sides, and the continued pressure on her clit, had her gasping and moaning into yet another (her third? fourth?) orgasm. As she came to her senses, she realized that insistent finger had been removed and something much larger was pressing into her little asshole. Hands shoved her down so that her breasts were smashed against the hard plane of Matthew's chest. "Please, no, not there, I'm begging you, I've never - " but her cries were cut off by Matthew's mouth, and he kissed her hard, his tongue licking and lapping at hers as an erotic reminder of where it had been earlier that evening, his hands clutching either side of her head as the dick behind her slid steadily, firmly, all the way into her ass. After the briefest of pauses, they both began to fuck her, two huge, hard cocks sliding in and out in unison, two deep male voices grunting and moaning in pleasure, two - or more than two - sets of hands on her tits, her waist, pulling at her hair, slapping her bottom, as those cocks filled her over and over again.... ****************** The rest of the night was a soggy blur. She wasn't sure how many men took her that night; whether it was the same four men coming back for seconds and thirds, or whether the room was more full than she had realized in that first panicked glance. At once point there was a bright flash, maybe of a car's headlights passing by, or a camera, but her mouth and hands and pussy and ass were full of cock and she took no real notice of it. When Sarah woke up her body was bruised and sticky with dried cum and sweat, some hers, mostly others'. And she was alone. She was tangled in dirty sheets, naked, and the sun was streaming in the window - 'it must be afternoon,' she thought wearily, 'and I should have been at the library hours ago.' When she stood up she nearly fainted - her legs were shaky and weak, and her head was spinning. She walked into the dingy motel bathroom and turned on the shower. She tried to rinse away the memories of the night with the crusted sweat and cum. 'What a terrible, terrible thing that has happened,' she thought, but even as she tried to convince herself of this, her fingers were sliding into her raw and aching pussy, two fingers, three fingers, four, trying to replicate the sensation of the enormous cocks that had made her pussy so sore. Her underwear was missing but her jeans and sweater were still there. She located her purse and when she opened it to find her cell phone, there was something new inside.It was a polaroid photo. It was clearly her face, her eyes half-closed, but it was impossible to identify the hands and fingers and cocks that surrounded her, invaded her, filled her. ********************** Months went by. Sarah knew it made no sense, but she found herself researching local sports teams, scanning online rosters, searching for Matthew's broad, handsome face, or just hoping for some jolt of familiarity in the faces she scanned. Sarah's friends didn't understand why she kept wanting to go back to that meat market of a club, the one where she met that big blonde guy, and really, nothing happened? Are you sure? So eventually Sarah would sit at the bar by herself, sipping jack and gingers as she watched the door and waited. Sitting at that bar was where she met Jake, a tall, thin computer science nerd who had studied at Harvard. Jake was the perfect guy - always caring, devoted, gentle. The first time they slept together she was disappointed by his size...but not surprised. After a year or so he haltingly confessed his secret sexual fantasy, and she dutifully dug her schoolgirl outfits from high school out of the closet. When he asked her fantasies in return, the image of that polaroid sprung immediately to mind, but she made up something softer...and when Jake gamely pulled her hair the next night it was so timid and ineffective she nearly started to laugh. The next day she pulled the polaroid from its hidden spot inside the pages of a dusty old musical exercise book, and for maybe the thousandth time, as she stared at her image in the photo, her half-closed eyes and wide open mouth and the sweat on her skin and the strain of her arms and legs, she masturbated furiously. 'I'm not that kind of girl,' Sarah thought as she came. 'I'm not.' Not That Kind of Girl I'm dressing "hot" tonight. That's what I do when I'm going out for a night of fun. A short, tight skirt that exposes a lot of leg and shows off my butt, a blouse that is either so tight my breasts are about to burst out or so loose and slinky that it tempts a man to sneak a peek, and, of course, stockings and high ... I mean HIGH ... heels—what more could a girl want? It's everything you need to have absolute power over a man. And that's what I like the most. Tonight, I'm wearing a short black leather skirt. It comes down only a few inches beyond my ass. Very naughty! My blouse is silk and a dark, sensuous blue. My stockings are black, to match my skirt, and they're the thigh-high type—no pantyhose for me. The laced tops of the stockings show even when I'm standing up straight. That will direct men's attention where I want it. And my shoes are dark blue suede 4-inch heels with a strap around the ankles. I'm dressed to kill, but I'm planning to stop short of lethal. There's a fine line between just looking really sexy and looking slutty. I like to be a few steps over the line into slutty. The outfit is already there and I'm a pro with make-up and with my hair. When I finish, I admire myself in the mirror. I know I'll catch the intense attention of every heterosexual man who gets a glimpse of me. Women out with other women will say to each other, "she looks like a tramp," but secretly they'll be wishing they could command the attention of men the way I do. Women out with their men will be monitoring their dates' reactions to me. More than a few of those men will get a "talking to" tonight about not leering at other women. Perfect! It's late when I head out of the hotel room where I'm getting dolled up for the night. I'm not interested in spending a long evening in mindless chitchat with boring strangers in a bar. My fun starts later and my trolling for it starts just about the time others are getting ready to call it a night. I've scoped out the neighborhood. There are a few neighborhood bars near my hotel. I pick one at random and head in. I sashay up to the bar, pretending not to notice the looks I provoke. I ask the bartender for a glass of water. Sounds crazy, huh! But, believe me, this is a never-fail strategy. Within a minute, as always happens, some guy comes up and says, "Can I buy you something more interesting to drink?" Every time this happens, I get the feeling that the guy thinks he's been very creative. I guess it's better than "What's your sign?" or "Do you live around here?" But I've heard variants of it almost every time I do this. I don't care, though. I'm not looking for clever. I'm looking for dominant, confident, assertive. I want the guy who's always sure that he's the alpha male—the lead dog—in the room. And whoever makes the first move is usually exactly the guy I'm looking for. This time, it's a guy named Jeff. I smile at him coyly and let him buy me a drink. We talk for a while. I find out that he's a lawyer—a litigator—and he thinks very highly of himself. At least, that's the front he puts on. The way he talks about himself in the first five minutes tells me all I need to know, and certainly all I want to know, about him. He's the right guy for tonight. I'm confident that things will work out fine. Because it's pretty late, I don't have to listen to his self-promoting banter for too long. Jeff asks if I want to go someplace quieter. This is, of course, a euphemism. The bar's not that noisy. But we both know what it's a euphemism for and, so, it works. "That would be nice," I say, kind of breathlessly. "I don't know the area. I'm just visiting for the weekend." That's always good to say to reassure your prey that he's not in danger of getting "involved" with the person he's hoping to fuck. "I'm staying at a hotel around the corner but we can't go back there." I pause for a moment, then go on, "I'm not that kind of girl." I'm careful to say it flirtatiously, with a little bit of a giggle. Jeff's good. I've got to give him credit. He's clearly smart enough to see that this is a feint—a ruse. But he suppresses any impulse he has to smirk in anticipation of his success. "Aw, come on. What kind of girl do you have to be to invite a perfectly respectable gentleman back to your room just to have a night cap and talk?" I hesitate and he presses. "I can see what kind of girl you are. You're intelligent, independent, and strong-willed: the kind of woman that a man has to respect." Okay, he's laying it on a little thick. What he really thinks is, "You're the kind of woman who will spread her legs for a man she barely knows if he flatters her with empty praise." He doesn't have it quite right, but that doesn't matter to me. "Well, I guess it's okay if we're just going there to have a drink and talk." Jeff's no doubt thinking, "She's so naïve." I'm thinking the same about him. As we leave, Jeff puts his arm around my waist, letting it slip down to my hip. I pull his hand up, but not before letting him cop a bit of a feel of my ass. The other men in the bar, even (maybe especially) the ones with dates, notice us leaving and, no doubt, make a mental note of the record time in which Jeff had scored a date with "the hot slutty chick." It might have been a record time for me, too. I'd only been in the bar about 10 minutes. We stop by the hotel bar on the way in and Jeff buys a bottle of wine for us to take up to our room. In the elevator on the way up, Jeff's free hand finds my ass again. This time, I let him grope a little longer—until we're almost at our floor—before I play the "proper girl" by moving it away. But, as I do, I giggle and smile at him in a way that makes it clear that I'm not saying 'no'—just 'not now'. My room is a nice one—large enough to have a small table with two chairs in the room. I usually try to get a room like this because I prefer things to start at a table instead of on the bed. After we've nearly killed the bottle of wine, I'm still playing coy. Jeff is struggling to figure out how to make the transition from talking to fucking. He's pretty smooth, I think. He suggests getting some music on the TV. As we're polishing off the last of the bottle of wine, a torch song comes on and Jeff gets starry-eyed and says: "I love this song. Will you dance with me?" For all I know, he may have never heard the song before. I'm guessing he was ready to say that no matter what song came on. He figures, "What girl could turn down a request to dance with a sentimental guy to some schmaltzy song?" Well, I'm not the kind of girl to turn him down. But I do put a condition on it: "Okay, but only if you promise that you're not pining for some lost love when you hear this song." "Don't worry, honey. I'm thinking only of you tonight." And I'm sure that's right. I'm also sure that he'll be thinking about me, and this night, for years to come. The "dance" is a high school boy's fantasy: a little rocking back and forth as an excuse for major groping. Now I let Jeff grope my hips and thighs and ass as much as he wants. I don't want his hands on my breasts or in my crotch so I hold him really close. I move responsively to his touch and fill his ear with soft moans of pleasure. When Jeff kisses me on the neck, I respond with a shiver of pleasure and a soft giggle. I nibble his earlobe and let my own hands do some exploring of his ass. He clenches his buttocks in response and I like the feeling of how firm his ass is. The song ends and Jeff lays me down on the bed, crawling on top of me. I let him kiss me and I kiss him back. His tongue invades my mouth, a harbinger of things to come (sp?). He's actually quite good at this. He's masterful without seeming intimidating. He holds my head while he's kissing me in a way that makes me feel desired but not dominated. I reach down and feel Jeff's crotch. His cock is rigid, pressing up against his belt. As well as one can tell through the fabric, he seems nicely endowed. I like a man with a big cock. It feeds into my fantasy of being with a strong dominant man. I'm the kind of girl who likes to fuck strong, dominant men. Jeff's groping toward my crotch, too, but I slide down, moving his target out of range. He's not complaining, though because I'm moving down toward his crotch. I put my lips against his hard cock, separated only by a few layers of thin cloth, and blow my warm breath into his trousers. I feel his hips thrusting gently and hear him moan with pleasure. He's thinking that the night's going better for him than he had any right to expect. He's looking forward to a memorable night, one he can brag to his buddies about. He's going to get a memorable night, alright, but I doubt that he's going to be bragging about it. And, now, the pivot. When I'm sure I've gotten Jeff about as hot and bothered as possible, I push away from him and say, all coyness drained from my voice, "You've got to go now!" "What?!?!" Jeff is dumbstruck. He was, he thought, cruising for an easy score. Now it looks as if the game is being called off, and for no apparent reason. First, he tries being thoughtful and sensitive. He asks me, "What's the matter?" He wants to know if I've been hurt before. I'm pretty sure this is faux sympathy. He's figuring that maybe he can be my consoler and, then, fuck me. "No. It's nothing like that." "Then what is it? Did I do something wrong?" "No. I just don't want to do anything more. You've got to go. I told you before we came here that I'm not 'that kind of girl'." I can see the thoughtful, sensitive strategy melt from the heat of Jeff's anger. First he tries to control it. He says, "Not that kind of girl?!?! I might have believed that at the bar. I was taking a chance. But everything you did after we left said ... no, it screamed ... that you are that kind of girl." "Trust me," I say with a little harshness in my tone, "I'm not the kind of girl you think I am." This doesn't mollify him, of course. He ventures a hypothesis. "Is this something you do?! Do you just like picking up a man, teasing him, then kicking him out? Is that the way you get your kicks?" I don't respond but I try to give him a slightly guilty look that tells him he's right. He embraces his diagnosis. After all, it's an ego-saving one: "He's great! The problem is just that I'm a ball-busting psycho bitch." My feigned look of guilt transforms into a smirk of satisfaction. And I see the anger in his eyes. He's not just pissed off; he's filled with righteous indignation. He feels used and abused. He thinks someone needs to teach me a lesson and he's sure he's just the person to do that. "Listen bitch." He gets up and grabs me by both shoulders and throws me down on the bed. I fall to the bed, lying there helpless. "You don't get to do that to me!" Now he's on top of me, pinning my arms down. "No one gets to do that to me!" He presses his lips to my mouth. I clench my mouth closed and try to turn away from him. Holding my arms down at my sides, under his knees, he grabs my head with both hands and forces a kiss on me. He presses his fingers into my cheeks, forcing them between my teeth and opening my mouth to his tongue. I can't bite him now so his tongue penetrates—violates—my mouth. He's showing me that he can have me at will. "You're going to finish what you started here tonight. I didn't come here to be teased and tossed out." Jeff is trying to unbutton my blouse. As much as I like this phase of the scenario, I need to move to the next one quickly. I do what I usually do at this point. I go limp. I show every sign of having given up any hope of struggling. I am helpless to resist Jeff's aggression and resigned to the inevitable. You'd be surprised how easy it is to convince a man that he's won—that his strength and aggression have left him in a position of unchallengeable dominance. When Jeff concludes that I've yielded to his power, he relaxes. He loosens his grip. Maybe he'd watched a lot of rape fantasy porn where the woman's, "No! Don't! Stop!" quickly becomes "No ... Don't stop!" Maybe he just thinks that, in the end, he's irresistible Whatever. This is a mistake. As soon as Jeff loosens his grip, I twist out from under him. In the split second during which he's frozen in startlement, I grab the syringe from under my pillow and, before he can react, I've injected the tranquilizer into his neck. In the few seconds it takes for the tranquilizer to begin taking effect, I watch Jeff's eyes closely. As he's slipping into unconsciousness, I can see him begin to figure out the predicament he's in. He's no danger to me now but I like watching this transition from domination to subjugation. Letting my voice drop an octave, I say, "Don't worry. I'll finish what I started here." I'm not sure that registers for Jeff or whether he can see the look of satisfaction, and eager anticipation, on my face as he drifts into a stupor. It's a short-acting tranquilizer. I have about an hour to get things ready for the final scene. I have a lot to do, but I work quickly and efficiently. I've had plenty of experience. When Jeff begins to come to, I want him to have an opportunity to take in the nature of his situation all on his own. So, I'm in the bathroom while he begins to rouse. I won't miss out on the fun of watching him wake up. I'll get to see it later on the video. The videocamera on the tripod is usually about the fifth thing guys in Jeff's situation notice. The first thing they notice is that they can't move their hands or legs. They are tied, spread-eagled on their backs, to the four corners of the bed. I'm the kind of girl who likes variety so I do this with wrist and ankle cuffs so that I can easily reposition the guy. The second thing guys usually notice is that they're completely naked. The cool air against their whole body clues them in to that. Then they notice that they can't make any serious sounds. It wouldn't do to have someone call hotel security to investigate reports of a man screaming for help, so I use a very effective gag. It's kind of high tech—a transformer gag. Right now, it's got a ball in it that fills Jeff's mouth and makes it hard to make any sound at all. But I can swap out that ball for an insert that just keeps him from closing his teeth. Of course, when I use that device, I have to use something else to plug up his mouth and make sure he doesn't make too much noise. Still focused on the immediate condition of their bodies, the fourth thing most guys notice—at least I think they notice it then—is that they're completely denuded of body hair. I like picking up a hairy guy fine—in fact, I prefer hairy guys—but the reason I do is that I enjoy the dramatic transformation that takes place when I shave them and use a depilatory cream to make their bodies look pre-pubescent. I'm really only guessing about the timing of their realization that their body hair is gone. It's not like they tell me. But there's something about the way most guys try to pull their thighs together, as if they could somehow cross them and hide their exposed genitals, that makes me think that they're suddenly aware that they're not covered even by their natural hair. It's only after all of this growing awareness that most guys see the video camera mounted on the tripod with the red recording light flashing. At this point, most of them (and Jeff was no exception here) forget about trying to use their thighs to cover their denuded genitals and begin rocking back and forth violently, trying to break the bonds. Fat chance! I let Jeff thrash for a bit to come to the realization that "resistance is futile." Then I make my entrance. Jeff tries again to talk—well, really, he tries to yell—when he sees me walk toward the bed. His protests would be futile even if he could give voice to them. His muffled attempts are pathetic. I'm completely in charge now; it's Jeff who is helpless and has to simply accept his fate. As I crawl up on the bed, my legs straddling his body, I say, "I'm not sure you heard what I told you just as you were nodding off. I told you not to worry ... that I was, indeed, going to finish what I'd started tonight." Jeff looks confused. I think that he notices that my voice is lower than it was before. Crawling up his body, my thighs rub against his smooth body. It feels delicious. When I get up to his chest, I look Jeff in the eye—my domination of him manifestly evident: "We're going to have some fun tonight." And, with that, I crawl up above his shoulders. His face is now in under my skirt, my crotch inches away from him. He shakes his head violently side to side as he comes to grips with his awareness of my hard cock and full ball sack hovering over him threateningly. The thrashing is fine with me—part of the fun. Then he tries butting his head up to try to hurt me. That's not fine. I hold him down tightly by his hair. When we're both sure that even his best efforts to thrash about are ineffective, I slowly lower myself down on to his face. I think that one of my many favorite moments in the scenarios like tonight's is the moment when my balls and the underside of my cock first touch the guy's face. For my partners, this is almost certainly the first time they've ever been touched by a cock. And for me, every time I do this it feels like a first time. I feel such excitement and energy coursing through my body as I tease both myself, and my partner, with the touch of my cock and balls. I can feel Jeff's breath, now heavy, against the sensitive skin under my ball sack. I wonder whether the hair on my balls is tickling his nose. I move around gently, hoping it is. This is just a tease, of course. Jeff's mouth is plugged with the ball gag. There will be time for oral pleasures later. For now, I just want him to know what he's going to be dealing with tonight. "You like that?" I ask as I roll off to his side. Jeff shakes his head but I ignore his attempt to respond. "You wanted to get under my skirt tonight, right? Now that you have, do you like what you see?" More head shaking. "Well, I hope you do," I lie, "because you're going to get very familiar with it tonight." The last part isn't a lie. I lie down next to Jeff. "What's the matter? You look sad?" He doesn't really look sad. He looks scared and, perhaps, disgusted. But "sad" works better for my scenario. "Is tonight not working out the way you hoped and expected? You liked it when I was blowing in your ear earlier tonight. What's the matter now? Isn't that nice anymore?" I blow in his ear and, just for good measure, stick my tongue in his ear, too. As I caress and nibble at his neck, I run my long, painted fingernails down his chest and abdomen. When I reach his cock, I'm pleasantly surprised. It isn't rigid like it was when he thought he was about to fuck the living daylights out of some cheap slut he picked up in a bar, but it isn't withered, either. It's full, and filling more. I'm not saying that he was turned on *by the fact that* some very convincing transvestite was blowing in his ear and caressing him with hir fingernails. But I *am* saying that he *was* turned on by a very convincing transvestite blowing in his ear and caressing him with hir fingernails. Most guys I do this to are, I've found. You know: touch is touch. "You like this, don't you?" I stroke Jeff's cock gently. His shaking head says 'no', but his growing cock screams 'yes'. As I drag my nails gently over his bare cock, feeling it return to the complete rigidity I'd felt before, my own cock was demanding attention, too. I rock my pelvis, gently humping Jeff's hip. If he's turned off by the thought of another man's cock stroking against him, there isn't any sign of it in his own cock. It remains hard and hot. I move my head down his body, not touching him but letting him feel my warm breath on his bare skin. I stop over his cock, still not touching him with my lips. (I don't give my partners that kind of pleasure. I'm not that kind of gurl, I guess.) I just let him feel my warm, moist breath and yearn for my touch. Not That Kind of Girl "You're excited, aren't you?" I say, bringing myself up to look him in the face again. Ignoring his head shakes, I continue, "You wanted to finish this thing I started tonight. Let's get going." I change out the ball insert from his gag. He tries to make noise while I'm changing the gag so I can get access to his mouth and I put my hand tightly over his mouth. He tries to bite me—gets in a pretty good bite, actually—and I use my other hand to swat his balls hard. He tries to scream out in pain, but my hand is still over his mouth. But he's learned his lesson. There will be no more biting tonight. Before I got my new gag, I used to use a simple ring gag that holds both the jaw and the lips open but gives you access to shove your cock down a guy's throat. But that diminishes the wonderful sensation of his lips pressing tightly against the shaft of your cock. So I was happy when I found a device that reaches into the guy's mouth and holds his jaws apart, but allows his lips to close on your cock. It's a wonderful invention. "Now you be good and you'll have a night you'll remember all your life," I tell Jeff. Of course, even if he's bad, he'll remember tonight all his life, try as he might to forget it. I position myself over his chest again and push two pillows behind his head to angle him up. I get up on my knees to let Jeff have a nice view of me as pull my skirt up to my waist. It must seem incongruous to him. He spent the first part of the night confident that I was a sexy woman, one he wanted desperately to fuck—enough to force himself on her when she said 'no'. Now, he is confronted by a contradiction. He still sees my slender thighs in black, lace-top stockings. He sees my "breasts" in a silky, feminine blouse. My hair, my make-up, my nails and jewelry—everything about me—says: hot, sexy woman. But, then ... there is hard cock and these two large, hairy balls, staring him in the face—pointing right to their target: his sweet, moist mouth. I move forward toward him. I'm going anguishingly slowly. I want desperately to feel my cock fill and distend his unwilling mouth. But I want even more to savor the feeling I'm having now and to allow Jeff the time to anticipate with despair what is inevitable. My pleasure is intensified by my awareness of his anguish. Jeff tries to deny me entrance to his mouth with his lips. It's a foolish strategy. With is jaw spread, there is no way his lips can stop me and, after all, it feels even better to force your hard cock past tightly puckered, warm, wet lips. I enter him slowly, watching first the helmet then the shaft of my cock disappear through the hole in the frame of the gag and then into his mouth. At first, I don't enter deeply. I like the feeling of the ridge of my cock sliding back and forth across his lips. I like watching it, too. When I start going deeper, Jeff coughs and gags a bit. I slow down, taking it kind of gently. Before long, he'll be taking my whole cock; I'll be deep in his throat. I'll work up to that slowly, though. There's no sense in making him gag and throw up. As I'm working his mouth gently, probing ever more deeply with each stroke, I reach back and run my fingernails across his cock once more. He's softened significantly but I feel him beginning to harden again now. Good, I'll make him associate the pleasure he's feeling in his cock with the pleasure his mouth is giving me. It doesn't take long for me to work Jeff's throat open so he can take my whole cock in. When I get him to this point, I press in and hold the position so he can feel my pubic bone pressing against the gag and his mouth. My pubic hairs are going up his nostrils. But he isn't gagging or sneezing. He's doing exactly what he should—pleasing my cock—even if he's doing it under duress. Mouths feel great and I love coming in some unwilling guy's mouth. But just shooting your load in a guy's mouth isn't quite enough domination for my tastes. There other pleasures to be enjoyed. So I pull out of Jeff's mouth, a bit reluctantly, to pursue those other pleasures. Jeff gasps for breath as my cock leaves the confines of his mouth. I tell him that if he'll be quiet, I'll leave the ball gag out and he'll be able to breathe better but, if he makes noise, I'll have to put the ball gag back in his mouth. When I ask him if he's going to be quiet, he nods. It's the first time his head has moved up and down, instead of back and forth all evening—at least since I took charge. I unfasten Jeff's legs, one at a time, and refasten them to his outstretched arms. He's doubled up, heels over head, with his virgin asshole exposed at an inviting angle. Making sure Jeff can watch my every move, I put on a condom. I'd love to feel my cock in his ass bareback but, you know, a gurl can't be too careful. Besides, there are fun things to do with a spent condom. I drip some lube onto Jeff's rosebud. He twitches and his sphincter clenches as the cold drops strike him. I'm going to take my time now, too. I'm up on my knees below him, he can see the top half of my body, which is all girl. I want to watch him watching me as I open his ass, first with my fingers and then with my cock. This is fun! I ease one finger in gently, working it back and forth and wiggling it around a little. With my other hand, I stroke his balls and his perineum with my fingernails. I like to see his dick twitch while I'm fingering his asshole. Jeff takes two fingers pretty easily and my stroking of his scrotum and his dick has him at full mast again. He's not going to get any relief tonight, but he's going to have the most sustained hard-on he's ever had. It will be one of those "for an erection lasting more than four hours, call your doctor" hard-ons. His ass feels really tight around three fingers. That's great. "The better to feel you, my dear," I think. I slide my fingers out, wiping the excess lube around Jeff's asshole and line up my bursting cock for entry. He's looking at me with, maybe not terror but certainly displeasure, in his eyes. "Relax," I say. "You're going to love this." Probably not but, really, who cares? I love the feeling as my cock, rigid with desire, presses against a guy's sphincter. I love the pressure I put on it and the way his asshole looks as it is pressed in, just before it begins to yield. But, even more, I love the yielding. Both the feeling and the image of a tight, virgin (and resistant) asshole opening up to the pressure of my hard rod are exciting in ways I can't put into words. Once I'm all the way in, I begin to really fuck Jeff, setting up a nice rhythm and still teasing his cock and scrotum with my finger nails. For the most part, he's looking away from me, just trying to get through this. But from time to time he looks at me. I always smile when he does and that makes him turn away again. Too bad. I like the thought of him looking up at me while I fuck him. But I know that he's got that image burned in his retinas. He'll be replaying the image, against his will, for years to come. I decide that this is the position I want Jeff in when I cum but before that happens, I want to fuck him from behind, doggy-style, like he's my bitch in heat. This takes a little more rearranging with the restraints, but I'm a pro. (Well, not literally. I don't get paid. I do it for the love of it so I guess I'm literally an amateur—but a really proficient one.) I cinch Jeff's knees tight to his elbows and his hands are still tied to the top of the bed. This effectively immobilizes him and puts his asshole up high in the air for me to take. My cock slips into his ass pretty easily now. He's loosened up from my fucking him and, also, I think he's given up the thought that by clenching his asshole shut, he can exclude my cock. It's great to hold him by the hips and fuck him like this. This is more animalistic, less intimate, than fucking face to face. I like holding his hips tight while I please myself in his asshole. From time to time, I reach under him to feel his cock. It's hard and pointed up against his belly. When I'm fucking him hard, I can hear it slapping his abdomen. All good fun, of course. But eventually it's time to get serious. I get Jeff back in position for the finale: on his back, arms bound to the headboard and legs bound up over his head. "Are you ready for me to finish what I started this evening?" Jeff doesn't respond, at least he doesn't reply. His response is to squirm a little, as if he might be able to get away. But there's no chance. "I want you to look at me," I tell him. He looks at me for a second and then looks away. "I can make this hurt worse if that's what you want," I threaten as I put one hand tightly around his vulnerable balls. He doesn't. He looks at me steadily, as I instructed. Then, staring hard into Jeff's eyes, I enter his ass for what I know is going to be the last time. I want this to last for a while so I start slowly. Before long, though, I'm unable to resist really pounding his ass and I start to feel my orgasm building. I decide not to try to delay it. This has been great fun and it would be wonderful to have it last a lot longer, but everything has to end sometime and this seems like a as good an ending as any. I thrust in and out of Jeff's ass in an every-quickening rhythm. He can tell that I'm climbing to an orgasm. I have the temptation to close my eyes but I manage to keep them open and fixed on Jeff's eyes. I want him looking into the eyes of the gurl that's fucking him when she shoots hir load into his ass. And then I pass the point of inevitability. I roar with pleasure and feel jet after jet of hot sperm shoot along my cock and fill the tip of the condom. When I'm spent, I fall away from Jeff and collapse back on the bed. For some long minutes, I float, oblivious to everything, including Jeff's probable discomfort. But eventually I recover. Jeff's probably thinking that this is all over now. Unfortunately for him, I've only *almost* finished what I started tonight. I climb back on his chest. My skirt is still up around my waist. My cock is soft, but the dirty, used condom is still wrapped around it. There's a teaspoon or two of semen filling the tip. As I move toward Jeff, I see him shake his head with revulsion. He's understandably disgusted at the thought of taking my shit-smeared, condom-covered cock in his mouth. His revulsion is understandable, but his fate is inescapable. I have to hold his head still by pinning his hair to the bed. Then I ease the stinky rubber into his mouth and wipe it all around. He gags—now not from the depth of the penetration but the smell and taste of my cock. When I feel as if the condom is all cleaned off on the outside, I pull out and take it off, being careful not to spill its contents. Instructing Jeff to open his lips but not to swallow, I turn the rubber upside-down and carefully squeeze the cum out into his mouth. This is all part of a closing ritual I've developed: the cleaning off of the shit-stained rubber, then squeegeeing the cum into his mouth. Now, I put my unsheathed cock into his mouth. I'm not going to be able to cum again. I don't recover that quickly anymore. There's just something that really excites me about the idea of swirling my cock around in a mouth filled with my cum. With my soft, but firm, cock still in Jeff's mouth, I tell him to swallow. It's a fantastic sensation to feel a guy swallow your cum around your cock. Jeff's compliant; he's a beaten man now. He swallows without visible protest. Watching, and feeling, Jeff swallow my cum was the perfect coda to a perfect night. I pull my cock from Jeff's mouth and get up from the bed and retie him spread-eagled on his back—a more comfortable position for him. I could leave him in an uncomfortable position but ... well, I'm not that kind of gurl. Retrieving my panties from the bathroom, I make a show of putting them back on in front of Jeff, straightening up my stockings and blouse, and pulling my skirt down so that I am, once again, all girl. My suitcase was already packed and ready to grab on my way out. All I have to pack up is the video camera and tripod. That takes only a minute. Before leaving, I bend over the bed. "There, now ... that wasn't so bad, was it?" I ask in my coy, flirtatious voice. He turns away from me but I put my hand on his chin and turn his face back toward me. He doesn't resist. Like I said, he was a beaten man. I lean close to him and give him a sweet kiss on the lips finishing with a quick tongue penetration. "Thanks, hon," I say pleasantly. "You were great." Of course, I have to take my high-tech gag with me. When I take it off and re-gag Jeff with a simple cloth gag, he doesn't even try to call out. There's no fight left in him tonight. As I walk to the door, he realizes that I intend to leave him tied naked on the bed. He raises a plaintive appeal for me to release him. (He can't really talk clearly with the jaw spreading device in his mouth so he sounds really pathetic.) "Oh, I could untie you I guess. That would be nice. But, really, I'm not that kind of girl." I pick up my suitcase and, with just one lingering glance back at Jeff, his smooth body splayed out on the bed, I walk out and close the door. Tomorrow, the maid will walk in and find him lying there, naked, shaved, tied spread-eagle with a gag over his mouth and a used condom on the bed next to him. He'll complain to the hotel and maybe to the police. They'll find nothing. The room was rented with cash and a fake ID and credit card. There will be no trail to follow. Jeff will finally decide that it's best for him to just try to forget this. Good luck with that! Sometime later, after I've had a few hours with the video editor, Jeff will get his own, personal DVD of tonight's fun. (I always get my dates' real names and addresses from their wallets.) I don't really know what my guys do with these when they get them. But I imagine that they begin by thinking that they'll just throw them away—that they don't want to be reminded of the events of that night. But I'm guessing that many of them, maybe most of them, don't do that. I imagine that they finally watch the video, maybe telling themselves, first, that they might find a clue to my identity. They don't, but they watch do watch them (or so I think). And, when they do, they find themselves getting just as hard watching as they were when the video was made. Maybe they come to use the videos as jack-off material and wind up getting a lot of pleasure from them. I'd like to think that they do; that's just the kind of girl I am. For my own part, I watch these videos frequently. They always make me hard and I love jacking off to them. It's great to relive these wonderful dates, but I always feel the need to go on more dates with new guys. Each one is a little different and I guess I like having "fresh meat to carve." That's just the kind ... well, you know. Not That Kind of Girl Daniel kept his left hand in his pocket while the woman standing next to him at the coffee shop flirted with him. A cute brunette, she definitely seemed interested in him, following him over to a ledge by the wall, trying to keep conversation going. Still unsure whether she'd be the kind to hook up with a married man or not, he slipped his ring off, picked up his coffee cup and held it to her like he was clinking a wine glass for celebratory drinks. Her green eyes immediately fell to there and she smiled. These ones were always trickier. Some women preferred married men, while others saw themselves as 'not that kind of girl'. However, several of those in his experience did turn out to be that kind, without much convincing. She gave her name, Kate, and he offered her his business card, saying to call him any time. Unfortunately, he had a meeting to get to and had to cut it short. For now. He didn't really have a meeting, but this was the way he hooked them. Always leave them wanting more, was the game he'd honed over the past year or so. Two days later, she called and asked if he'd like to meet up with her after work for a drink. Right after, he called his wife, telling her he had to stay late. A last-minute project for a major client had come up. Kate was waiting by the bar of the Xray lounge. He could tell right then she was used to being single, keeping close to the staff in case she needed help fending off some weirdo. Even a trendy, high end wine bar like this got its share. Dressed in a blue minidress that hugged her curves, she smiled shyly the moment she caught sight of him. He guessed she was twenty-three at most. Her body was still tight and hard, her breasts, small and pert. He kissed her cheek, brushing the corner of her mouth, and took the seat next to her. The sooner he played up anything sexual with a new conquest, the sooner the real stuff would happen. They chatted over apple martinis and he learned she worked in marketing. She'd been hired straight from an internship and was new to the city. She talked mostly about herself, which suited him just fine. Less of a chance anything awkward like mention of a wife would come up. A few hours later, he said he had to go - an early day tomorrow - and offered to drive her home. She followed him to his car. Never yet had a woman told him she'd rather drive herself, walk or call a taxi instead. While she directed him to her place, he occasionally rested his hand on her knee, or brushed against her thigh whenever he shifted gears. Each time any part of their bodies made contact, she flashed him an awkward smile. Outside the low-rise condo building, he pulled to a stop and parked under a tree that sheltered them from the glare of an overhead streetlight. She made no move to exit, another good sign. "I had a wonderful time tonight," he said, putting his hand to the crook of her neck and bringing her face closer to his. Not a twitch of resistance. He pressed his mouth to hers, parting her lips with his tongue. For several minutes they kissed passionately and he placed his hand more firmly on her thigh. His fingers inched up underneath the hem of her dress. They kissed like teenagers, frenzied and excited. Her knees fell apart and he began stroking the flimsy fabric shielding her pussy. It was damp. He slipped his fingers underneath and rubbed her inner labia, then stuck two up inside of her, fucking her with them. Suddenly she sat upright, eyes downcast. He apologised to her, telling her how beautiful she was, and that he would never push her to where she was uncomfortable. In that moment, he could tell. It had been a while for her. She was desperate to be touched, but she was not that kind of girl, not the kind who would sleep with a man she'd just met. They kissed once more and she asked what he was doing this coming weekend. "Out of town," he told her, visiting his mom. Another excuse that always worked. They agreed to meet up the following Tuesday, kissed once more, and she got out of the car. For their next date, he picked her up after work and they hung out for an hour or so at a quiet spot called The Blue Room. Tonight, he kept it to hand-holding and a little kissing. When he said he had to go, she asked if he was free this coming Saturday. Later that night, he told his wife he and some buddies were getting together to watch a game. He had the TV schedule open on his tablet screen. Whenever he provided details like that, he tripled-checked them first. This time he took the minivan. He took her out to dinner and afterwards, they went to see a movie. The entire time, he kept his arm around her shoulder. She was wearing a short dress and he was tempted to place his hand on her thigh, but for now he wanted to show her he was a gentleman. Afterwards, they went for a stroll along the canal. At the end of the trail, they stopped to kiss. Her lips were soft and sweet, yeilding. She began grinding her hips against his growing bulge. "Want to go for a drive?" he asked and she nodded. They held hands as he led her to his van. This time his ring was tucked safely into the change pocket of his wallet. She hadn't yet asked if he was married or involved with anyone else and he had no compulsion to tell her. He drove her up to a secluded spot, a lookout near the top of the mountain. He parked next to a tall oak tree, a vista of the city lights far below. Light from a full moon streamed in through the windshield. They leaned across the gap between them and kissed, then climbed into the back. Lying her down on the seat, he pushed up her dress. No underpants this time. She'd shaved all but a patch above her slit. He got down on the floor beside her and explored her silky nether regions with his tongue, teasing around her clit. For several minutes he lapped and licked, enveloping her pussy with his lips, suckling until she was squirming uncontrollably. Just as she was about to orgasm he pulled away, sat up and unzipped his pants. Thank God for big cars, he thought as they shifted positions so that he was lying on his back. He held her waist as she straddled him and he eased her down onto his shaft. For several minutes she rode him, giving his prick a squeeze each time she lifted up. Her breathing grew more frantic and she came, moaning, her muscles clamping his cock. She threw her head back, her chest heaving. She sat still for some moments, catching her breath. The most awkward part was sitting up and cramming his erect shaft back into his pants again. He hated condoms and couldn't risk coming inside of her. She smiled sheepishly as she pulled her dress down, not offering to finish him off. Not that he wanted her to. Less guilt he'd feel blowing her off, later. They drove to her building in silence for the first stretch. Closer to home, she asked him what his plans were the coming weekend. He hesitated and she began pressing for details. Two weeks in and it felt like she was trying to possess him, now that she'd put out for him. He parked under the streetlamp, right in front of her place. She invited him up, but he told her he had to get home; an early morning helping a neighbour move something tomorrow. "I'll call you," he said, knowing she wouldn't let him kiss her now that his lips had been other places. "Good night." She stumbled out of his car and staggered to the entrance of her building. Once she'd unlocked it, she gave him a quick wave and he drove off. It was only a twenty-minute drive to his house and all the way, his groin throbbed. He parked in the driveway and got out. Late getting home, his wife was right inside the front door when he came in, waiting for him. "How was your night?" she asked, her eyes shining wide in the darkness of the entryway. His heart fluttered. "A little tiring, but okay," he said, trying to sound casual. Pressing her body against him, she whispered in his ear, "What were you up to that would tire you out, hm? You told me you'd be hanging out at the bar,watching the game. Your team lost, by the way." He leaned against the wall next to the doorframe, his head swimming, his pulse racing. She undid his belt, unzipped his pants and freed his erect shaft. Dropping to her knees, she stared up at him as her tongue fell out of her mouth. She gave the tip a long, sensual lick, swirling her tongue all around. "I can taste her, you bad boy," she said, in a tone that sent shivers up his spine. "No condom. What if she got knocked up?" "I pulled out in plenty of time," he said, grinning down at her, aching to plunge it back into her mouth and down her throat. She stood again and kissed him once more, probing his mouth with her tongue. "You licked her pussy, didn't you." "It was so sweet and wet," he said, his breath shuddering. "Tiny little waist, perky little breasts." He held up the two fingers he'd stuck inside Kate and pressed them to his wife's lips. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked off the remains of the other woman's juices. "She does taste sweet. Let me lick the rest of her off of you." She lowered herself again and he clutched her hair in his fists, thrusting his hips as she sucked him off. Later that night, the two of them watched the footage he'd captured from cameras they'd set up all over the inside of the minivan. "She's cute," his wife said, cupping his balls in her fingers. "Are you going to see her again?" "I think she'd asked me if I was busy this Friday." He slumped down against the headboard while she worked his shaft. "Take her somewhere nice for dinner." His wife straddled his hips and began rubbing her slash with the tip of his cock. "Text me if you're not going to be home that night." His breath hitched in his throat as she eased herself down onto him and kissed around his neck. She was soaking wet. "I want you to take your sweet time making love to her. I want to hear everything." She flattened her palms on his chest and began bucking her hips. With a quean for a wife, he had best of both worlds. He got the thrill of cheating, only it wasn't her he betrayed.