“I’m feeling emboldened after some strange woman who looks a lot like my wife came up to me and…” He put a hand to his mouth. “Well, you saw the dirty things she did.”
“What a slut,” said Jen.
Her smile felt plastered on her lips. With it, a strange, rainbows-and-unicorns kind of thought presented itself to her: I absolutely love this man. She’d thought downstairs that her risqué tricks were like something from college, but that wasn’t true at all. College sex, even with Sam, had been amateur hour even when it had been hot and uninhibited. What they had now, after fifteen years of marriage, was an ability to trust and joke even in the midst of the the lust. That was the kind of thing that could only be earned.
And oh, shit, was it hot. The trip upstairs had done nothing to diminish the need inside of her.
Sam walked around the bed and loosely tied each of her wrists and ankles with a necktie, then tied the other end of the tie to the bedposts. She knew she’d be able to pull free if she tried, but she didn’t want to try. The way she was splayed on the bed, she was totally open and at his mercy. It was new, like what had happened downstairs. It was as if a wall had fallen between them, and now everything was just tumbling out.
Sam rummaged in the dresser, and after a few minutes came out with one of her battered pajama T-shirts. It had a picture of Deputy Dawg on it.
“Hot,” she said.
Sam wound the shirt into a long, twisted rope. “Shut up,” he said. “Don’t make me gag you, too.” Then he leaned over, looked in her eyes, and kissed her. He gave her one last smile, then wrapped the shirt over her eyes and tied it behind her head. The world became mostly black, with a reddish glow around the edges.
Jen lay on the bed and waited. It was strangely thrilling to be deprived of her sight, and not know what was coming.
A minute passed. Two minutes.
“Sam?” she said.
Nothing.
She waited. She couldn’t hear anything in the room.
“Sam?”
But still, she heard nothing.
She was just about to twist her head and work off the blindfold when there was a voice in her ear, incredibly close. “Shhhh…” it said. “Not a sound.” He was so close that she could feel his breath in her ear canal. The closeness of his voice shocked her, because a few minutes of sensory deprivation had painted for her a picture of a room that was totally empty.
This is interesting, she thought.
Sam’s voice disappeared.
Jen waited. But again, minutes passed. Her mind re-painted the picture of the empty room, and she was suddenly sure that he’d sneaked out into the hallway, even though she knew she’d have heard it if he had. She tried to feel the room, to sense his presence. And then she found him. Her other senses were becoming more acute; she could tell that he was still where he’d been a moment ago, by her side. She could hear him just being. He was waiting, and soon he’d lean forward and whisper again, or he’d kiss her, or he’d…
There was pressure between her legs — something pushing against the outer lips of her pussy. It felt blunt and smooth and large. Then there was a slipping sensation, and then she felt herself being filled, slowly, inch by inch.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Then she felt the rest of his body as he settled on top of her, her legs coming back and his powerful torso settling between them. When he was all the way inside, she could feel the base of his cock pressing against her clit. For a moment, he just stayed there, unmoving. They were entirely joined.
Her hips moved so that she could rub herself against him, against the firmness around his cock, against his balls, as if she were painting him with her wetness…
But then the presence within her was withdrawn. She felt vacant, imagining herself open and wanting like cave on the verge of caving in. Her legs were still open, and the need to touch herself so that something would still be working down there was overpowering, and she actually pulled her right hand down an inch before meeting resistance and remembering that it was bound.
Then Sam’s voice was in her ear again. It was a tiny whisper, very close.
“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?” he said. It was something they’d never done before the foyer downstairs. It still felt taboo, but she knew it turned him on, and she no longer seemed to care. She’d do it if she could.
She swallowed and nodded.
“Too bad,” he said, and chuckled. Then she could feel his lips on her ear, then on her neck, and something like electricity ran through her. Then he was gone.
She pulled again against the tie on her right wrist. She could slip out of it if she tried, but she told herself that she couldn’t, that she was at his mercy. She felt a strange mixture of lust and frustration… and even a little bit of anger. He knew how turned on she was; she could feel her openness and her wetness. All he’d have to do would be to look, and she was sure that was exactly what he was doing. But she couldn’t tell where he was, and what he’d touch next.
A soft tongue found her left nipple. It circled it, licked at it, gave it a gentle nibble. Then the tongue ran down the swell of her breast to the underside, then drew a long line toward her belly button. In her mind’s eye, his tongue was like a paintbrush, and he was painting her with one long, scarlet stroke. She could see the red paint glistening in the overhead lights in her mind. She could feel it as it evaporated on her bare skin.
His tongue went into her belly button, then continued further down. When it reached her small patch of hair, it detoured to the left, down into the valley between the top of her inner thigh and her outer lips. It went along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, then doubled back the way it had come.
Every inch closer the tongue came toward her throbbing middle was like the turning of a crank. She could feel herself being wound tighter and tighter, and soon she’d snap. Her muscles tensed and twitched. She could feel heat radiating out from inside of her. Her tunnel clenched, wishing it had something to clench against.
His tongue went closer and closer, up the inside of her thigh, the skin unbearably sensitive, almost tickling, and the crank inside of her wound tighter, and his tongue crossed the wrinkle where her thigh met her groin, where her body’s landscape stopped being skin and became Skin, with a capital S, and from somewhere inside she felt something like a rocket preparing to take off, and she wanted to order him to slide something inside of her to fill the unbearable void, and the tongue touched the very, very outside of her pulsing, twitching pussy, and then it was gone, and the room was again quiet.
“No!” she yelled. And she had, indeed, actually yelled it out loud. But nobody, it seemed, was in the room to hear her.
“Sam,” she said. “I can’t take it. Come over here. Come over here and fuck me.”
Another first. She had never, as far as she knew, spoken the phrase Fuck me in her life.
But the room was still and quiet and empty. She fought an urge to rip one of her hands free, tear off her blindfold, reach for the cock she knew must be nearby, and pull it over, and not stop pulling and guiding it until it was deep inside of her.
Then the tongue was back, gently, right where it needed to be.
“Don’t tease me anymore,” she warned.
In answer, he firmed the tip of his tongue and ran it up the length of her inner lips, across her throbbing clit.
Jen gasped.
The tongue stared to move more or less in circles, then flattened out and made broad lapping motions that ran up her entire length, from her ass to her pubic hair. She wanted to speak, to tell him not to stop, but she was literally unable to do so. She felt like she were floating above the bed and no longer in control of her body. She wanted to tell him that she was going to come and come hard, and that this wasn’t the time to play games, and that if he stopped now, she was going to divorce him. But everything she tried to say came out in throaty moans, and so she just prayed that he’d continue, and he did.
The tongue probed,
licked, circled, flicked. It didn’t matter what he did at this point. If he stopped right now, she could make herself come without using her hands. She was that close.
As if reading her mind, for just the tiniest of moments, he did stop, as if he was reminding her that she was wrong, and that her orgasm was up to him.
But then the tongue returned, and it returned in those big, long, wet strokes, and before she could attempt to chastise him for stopping even for a second, one of her exhalations became the low beginnings of a sound that was like growling, and she couldn’t help it, and her body lit up with electricity from her pussy to her nipples to her lips to her neck to her fingertips, down into her toes, and what began as a tightening spread to everything it touched — her abs, her thighs, her hands becoming fists, her toes curling. Her orgasm was like a wave, and for a moment it was too much and she almost couldn’t breathe in or out, but then the wave broke and she finally did exhale, all at once, forcefully, in what could only be described as a scream. Her hips bucked as everything between her legs locked and spasmed. Her pelvis tilted up and down, rubbing herself against his lips, mouth, and nose. She felt it all become suddenly smoother and more lubricated as juices streamed out of her, and it was like a torrent, like she was drowning him.
She’d started to come down, but only slightly, when suddenly the tongue was gone and Sam’s breath was up on her neck, and her clenching, drenched pussy was being filled with his thick cock. She was still twitching with the tail of her orgasm, and so his cock seemed even larger than usual — as if it shouldn’t be there because there was no room, but as if it had to be there for her to squeeze on, the way a man without anesthesia was told to bite on a stick when the pain began. And within seconds, she was coming again as he thrusted into and out of her. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him, around his ass, and pull him against her, deeper into her, but still her hands and legs were bound, and so all she could do was to let the feelings run their course, her body open to his whims.
The waves passed, and suddenly the room grew bright as Sam removed her blindfold.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“I think the neighbors are going to call the police,” he said, smiling above her, his cock still inside of her and moving slightly, as if he didn’t want to let her know, in her afterglow, that his need had returned.
She took three deep breaths, slowly, willing her thrumming heartbeat to slow. The last of her orgasm released her and she fell back to a plateau of still-high arousal. She could come again, easily. She wanted to.
“Untie me,” she said.
He did, and then she rolled him over without releasing his cock from her pussy. Once he was flat on his back, she began to tie his arms to the bedposts. Then she slid off of his lap and walked to the end of the bed to tie his legs.
“You forgot the blindfold,” he said when she sat on his chest, his cock behind her.
“No blindfold,” she said. “You’ll want to watch this.” Then she took two fingers on her right hand, slid them seductively down her front, and slipped them inside of herself.
His hands moved, and this time it was Sam who forgot he was tied.
“You want to touch me, don’t you?” she said.
Sam nodded, his eyes on the motion of her fingers, his face almost pained.
She smiled and said, “Too bad.”
Her fingers slipped out, then rolled back and forth across her clit. Then she sat up on his chest and used her other hand to spread herself open, so that he could see inside. Her other hand continued to work her clit. She watched his face as he watched her. And almost immediately, she felt another orgasm building.
“I’m going to come again,” she whispered.
Sam licked his lips. His eyes moved from her crotch to her face and then back again. Behind Jen, she felt something tap her on her lower back and realized that it was his cock, jerking as a spasm ran through him.
Then, watching his face and feeling his insistency behind her, she did come again, and wondered when the last time was that she’d come this many times. She was exhausted, but still she wasn’t ready to stop.
Jen rose off of him and, without using her hands, pushed herself back into his cock. It slipped inside of her without any effort or jostling, as if it was meant to be there all along.
“I’m not going to last long,” he said.
“Don’t hold out on my account,” she purred. “I’ve already come four times today.”
Then she realized that it had only been three times in his presence, and that she’d included her earlier session just before he’d come home. Shit. But then, he’d probably lost count himself.
A small smile crossed his lips.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Then shut up and let me ride you,” she said with a playful smile.
“Untie my hands,” he said. And this time she did, because she knew what he wanted to do, and she wanted him to do it.
His hands found her breasts as she rode him, cupping them as if giving them support. She had good tits. She knew it. And Sam loved nothing more than to hold them in his hands.
She ground herself against him, his cock sliding in and out, their hips together doing more wringing than thrusting. Then she did straighten up, because she knew he liked to see her sitting high and to watch his cock move in and out of her, her breasts bouncing and swaying. His hands came away from them, so that he’d have a clear view to watch.
“I’m close,” he said.
Jen tightened, gripping his cock inside of herself, and continued to post up and down on top of him. Everything was so, so wet inside.
Sam tensed as a full-body orgasm seized him. He pushed up into her, gripping her hips, bucking deep inside. Then, after a few moments, it was over, and he came down, and Jen watched him fondly, feeling his cum as it was deposited inside of her.
They rolled over together, conjoined. Sam grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand and pulled out, rolling over onto his back beside her, his cock slick and wet, still twitching and dripping. Jen rolled a quarter turn and draped her arm across his chest, her face in the hollow of his neck.
A quiet moment later, he said, “I should tell you why I’m home early.”
“It wasn’t for this?” she said, smiling.
“No. But it’s a good news, bad news situation,” he said, “and the good news is that we can do this again. And again. And again. The middle of the days are ours now.”
There weren’t many things the bad news could be, if their afternoons could now be spent together. But the afterglow was too sweet, and the thing she knew it had to be simply didn’t matter right now.
“That is good news,” she said.
“And the bad news, unfortunately, is…” he began. But before he could finish, she put two fingers across his lips to silence him. She didn’t realize until too late that those fingers were still wet from when she’d slid them inside of herself, and she laughed when the fingers left twin wet marks on his upper lip.
“Tell me later,” she said.
Screwing in Public
Thad hopped out of his car once he’d finally managed to find a parking spot in the visitor lot, which wasn’t easy. The lots were all full, despite the fact that the campus was small. Ironically, finding a parking spot was much easier at Thad’s college, which had a much larger student population. But here at Kaylee’s, the lots were dinky.
Everything here was on a micro-scale. The internal roads and drives meandered. The dining commons was a single small area in one and only one location. They had a “psychology house” — literally a repurposed house, versus the five large buildings at Thad’s school. Maybe the place was so expensive because it was intimate, but to Thad at least, intimate wasn’t the same as good. “Big” had a lot of variety, and Thad liked to have options.
He got out of his car and slammed the door, realizing once the door was already launched that in his rush, he’d left his keys sitting o
n the console. He grabbed for the swinging door, but it was too late. The door slammed shut, locking him out.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. He might as well catch up with Kaylee, and deal with the car later. He’d left his phone in the car too, but he could use Kaylee’s phone to call Triple A. He at least had his wallet. He’d need it to take Kaylee out for coffee, so that he could try and talk some sense into her… if, that was, she’d talk to him at all. Their last conversation hadn’t gone well, and he hadn’t been able to get her on the phone since. She might still be pissed, and dodging his calls.
Thad began to jog back in the direction he’d driven.
His plan, coming to Kaylee’s campus, was to find Kaylee at her dorm, because it was Saturday and she tended to be a homebody. But on the drive in, he’d seen her walking on one of the campus paths, which meandered across a park-like opening. He thought about rolling down his window and yelling her name, but the chances that she’d respond weren’t good if she’d been dodging his calls. So instead, Thad had decided to go with Plan B: find a parking spot quickly, then run back on foot.
She might be pissed when he caught up with her, yes, but she wouldn’t be the only one. He was pissed, too.
Thad had known Kaylee since they were both eight years old, back at the Playtime after-school program. He’d built a tower out of Lincoln Logs. Kaylee had kicked it over. He’d loathed her for months. Then, quite suddenly, they’d become the best of friends, and that’s how it had been ever since.
Their parents somehow became good friends too, so Kaylee and Thad found themselves constantly thrown together. Their parents would hang out, and the kids would play. As the years went on, the kids played in more grown-up ways, but their friendship endured. Then, when they turned sixteen, they no longer needed to wait for their parents and began hanging out together all the time — sometimes with other friends of his, sometimes with other friends of hers, sometimes with both, and sometimes with neither. Kaylee had boyfriends. Thad had girlfriends. Thad was horrible with girls, so Kaylee helped him. She told him when to chill out and not be so intense with his female prospects (which was often) and when to move forward (Thad was oblivious; he once failed to realize that a girl who repeatedly showed him her flat stomach was coming on to him).
Filthy Dirty Normal, Volume 4 Page 2
