A Cunning Plan

Yesterday, Mr. X had refused the opportunity to go along with her self-characterization, remaining the perfect gentleman. But her actions and talk had had its intended effect, pulling him in to the spirit of things.

"You'd be a slut, that's true. It would be hard for anyone to deny it."

"Well then, I guess I'll have to live with that." And she thrust two of her fingers in between her lips, burying them as far as they would go. Oh god, she had been craving that feeling!

"Should I touch my clit? Do you want to see me rub my nasty little clit for you?"

"Yes, yes."

"Oh yes, you liked it when I touched my pussy for you yesterday, didn't you?" She said this looking at her husband, getting off on the effect her words were having on him.

She licked the index finger of her other hand, brought her other hand down to her pussy, spread the surrounding skin apart and began to rub her clit quickly, almost painfully. She was actually squirming with lust now, and her panties were getting in the way. So she put her hands into their waistband, lifted her ass up, and thrust them down around her ankles. Then she spread her legs again and began going at herself in earnest.

This was moving along a bit too quickly, she thought. She was so overcome with lust and felt almost out of control. She toyed with the idea of allowing herself an orgasm, just to get through the next few steps without losing her sense of judgement. But she knew from experience that the experience of one massive, shattering orgasm was worth waiting for. She slowed her pace a bit and gathered herself.

"Come over here. Come over her and take a good close look."

Mr. X actually got on to the floor and half-crawled over to her, just to avoid breaking his intense gaze on the space between her legs. He came up to just a meter from her. She continued to move her fingers in and out of her pussy.

"Closer. I want you to be able to smell me."

He crawled further forward and moved his head right between her legs. Then closer, just a hand-width or so away from her pussy, close enough to see the tiniest fold and detail. She stopped stroking now.

"Should I spread my lips for you? Should I let you see the inside my cunt?"

"Please. Yes, please."

She grasped her inner lips between her index fingers and pulled them apart. She now set there in the hotel foyer with her legs splayed open and her pussy exposed as lewdly as it could possibly be to someone whose name she did not even know. After an eternity of seconds, she released her lips, leaving them puffy and slightly gapped.

Now she turned to her husband again.

"Are you going to let him touch it? Will you let this stranger put his fingers on your wife's precious pussy?"

"You said you were a slut, and you're doing a damn good job proving it to us." He turned to Mr. X and said in a kind of lustful snarl, "be my guest."

Mr. X reached out almost tentatively.

"That's it, put your finger on my pussy lips."

He touched her then, and the touch was electric. Not so much the feeling, as the fact of it. She wanted him to shove his finger into her, but she held her resolve firm.

"OK, please take your hand away now."

Then she asked her husband the next question.

"You let him touch me, are you going to let him taste me too? Do you want this stranger's lips on my cunt?"

"Yes. Yes, I want to see that."

She put her hands on either side of Mr. X's head and gently guided it forward until his mouth was nearly on her lips.

"Do it. Lick my pussy slit."

And then she felt that delicious sensation; a tongue sliding up her lips and back down, but this time a tongue that she wasn't used to. She was amazed at how different it felt. Not better, not really worse, just... different.

Then she pushed his face away. She gestured for him to return to his seat. The three of them sat then for a quiet minute or two, collecting themselves, flush with excitement, confounded by the sexual energy that had just been unleashed.

She bent over in her seat, reached down and gathered her panties from between her ankles and slid them up her legs and back around her waist. Then she stood and did her best to smooth out her very ruffled skirt.

"Now, I am going to retire to our room. If either of you gentleman would care to join me, you would be most welcome."

And with that, she turned and walked back up the hallway.

_ Chapter 7: Taking a Ride_

Mary walked to the bank of elevators and pressed the up button, acutely conscious of the proximity of the two men beside her -- one whom she had known intimately for many years, the other a total stranger. She looked up and scanned the floor readouts, looking for the next arrival. Her exterior demeanor was calm, and the three could be taken for a group of out of town colleagues returning to their respective rooms after a busy day. But her cool public shell stood in stark relief to her private experience: The almost clammy wetness she felt from the material between her legs, the weakness she felt in her knees, the tingling she felt in her belly and below, and the field of barely restrained sexual energy she felt emanating from the two men.

As the three of them stood waiting for the elevators, staring at the doors, she thought about how the elevator embodies an essential paradox of modern society. Elevators enshrine our longing for anonymity and privacy within a culture that demands constant social interaction: In an elevator, even people on close terms keep a careful measured distance from one another. But elevators also reveal our fear of intimacy by exposing us to our inescapable vulnerability to others: Within the sudden, complete but fleeting privacy, a space is created where anything can happen. Isn't it remarkable, she reflected, how resilient elevator culture is in the context of broader social changes?

And of course, there was the the most important aspect of an elevator; where it could take you. As the doors slid open, she flashed on the ludicrous image of the lips of her vagina opening in unison with them. A laughably bad simile, but she couldn't deny the directness of the connection. The elevator was a kind of gatekeeper to Phase III, the last phase, the one that would entail the exposure, parting, and penetration of her pussy lips -- and that outcome became even more certain now that the elevator car had arrived.

A group of asian tourists spilled out of the doors, immersed in conversation. She stepped in to the empty space they had left behind, the two men stepping in after her, and then selected the button for the 22nd floor as the doors slid close. She stood near the wall of the car, turning to face them -- and gasped as she felt Mr. X suddenly pressing her into the wall, shoving himself against her, palming her left buttock, pushing his thigh between her legs.

This was a surprise -- for the first time an unexpected complication had intruded into her careful planning. Her first instinct was to push him away, to defend her already mostly imaginary modesty from the advances of a stranger; a stranger who seemed bent on taking her within the space of a public conveyance while her husband looked on.

But as she gathered her response, she found that the stranger's near desperation satisfied a deep craving within her, a craving to be claimed just like this, in an anonymous space with no control over the outcome. Mr. X's actions came out of nearly pure animalistic needs and she realized that there was also something pure within her primitive body that responded to that need. There was something so natural and timeless about this scenario -- to be grabbed by a strong, handsome, intelligent male and then to be fucked by him without her permission, without having a say in the matter at all. So, she found herself momentarily unable -- or perhaps unwilling -- to restrain his near assault and force a return to the plan.

She felt his right hand reach down to the base of her skirt and yank it up, and then she felt the same hand reach up and under her skirt and over her panties, and slip itself back down under the waistband of her panties, force itself between her ass and the wall, and then, still burrowing under her panties, between the gap that his knee had forced between her legs, and then -- oh-my-god-is-this-really-happening -- he shoved his curled middle finger up and into her pussy. He pushed his finger into her hard and fast, pulled it out, pushed it in again and pulled it out, then jammed his index finger alongside of it and pushed both back into her as deeply as he could given the awkward angle of entry. In any other circumstance, his roughness would have been forceful and even painful, a sexual assault that would have left her vagina's lips and interior wall abraded and sore for days. As it was, his fingers had easily slipped into her, and as he began to propel his fingers in and out of her at an awkward but frantic pace she simply felt an intense deep pleasant probing -- almost a testing of her waters, preparing her for things to come.

This whole sequence, from the moment he pushed her against the wall to the moment now of him plunging his fingers in and out of her, had taken almost no time at all. It was disconcerting but perversely thrilling demonstration of just how little protection the thin fabric of her clothes provided, how her skirt afforded easy access to the most private parts of her body, how easy it would be for any man to do what this man was now doing.

But as she began to settle into the rhythm of what he was doing, she found that she was able to regain her self-control. As funny as it sounded, she knew that there was something that was just too inappropriate and seedy about this -- while exciting in its own way, it was not the image that she wanted her husband to keep of this night. Yes, she could tell he was excited by the stranger's unrestrained need for her, and he had not yet made a move to stop him, but she knew that this was at the edge or even beyond it. Besides, it was against the rules. So she pushed Mr. X back from her, reached behind herself and gently plucked his hand out of her, and demurely smoothed down her skirt.

"That will be enough of that, Mister!", she said, managing to mix a measure of conspiratorial camaraderie and matronly admonishment, and then added more sternly, "one more violation of the ground-rules, and this will be over."

She hoped that her natural self-assurance masked the difficulty she was having keeping to the script. Because at this point, she wanted nothing more than to have Mr. X ignore her attempt at levity with a callous sneer, lift her skirt again, yank her panties away from her body until they tore open, unzip his fly, splay her legs against the wall of the elevator and shove his cock into her as deeply and coarsely as he possibly could.

In any case, at that moment the elevator doors slid open again, revealing an empty hallway. The final phase of her plan was about to begin, and she felt a rising thrill as she knew that her greatest needs might soon be satisfied.

As the trio exited the elevator, she turned to her husband, who seemed to have collected himself more or less and appeared to be about to re-assert his own primitive claims, in this case to her status as life-long mate and the mother of his children. "Don't worry," she whispered to him, as she grabbed his hand and brought it over to rest briefly against her mound over the fabric of her skirt and her panties, "no matter what happens next, this pussy is only for you. It's your cock I want inside of it."

_Chapter 8: The Smell of Success_

Mary swiped the hotel room door key, pushed down on the handle, opened the door, and entered the hotel suite, with Hugh and Mr. X following on her heels.

This was it. In some inexplicable way, her experiences over the last two days had caused her to reexamine the way she looked at the world. It was hard to believe that the very detailed images and scenarios she'd been playing with in her head -- in some cases for years -- were becoming real. It made her head spin to contemplate how quickly her idle fantasies had played themselves out once she set things in motion. Everything was happening just as she'd imagined it would in her day-dreams and private masturbation sessions; just as she'd described it when she shared her fantasies with her husband late at night while stroking his cock; just as she'd planned it out simply as a way of entertaining herself while sitting at the bar alone the previous evening.

She walked over to the sitting area next to the bed and kicked off her shoes.

"We don't have to play any more games with my skirt, do we?", she said, as with careless grace she undid the catch and slid down the zipper on its side, shimmied it down her hips a bit, and let it fall to the floor.

She could see herself in the dressing mirror, and noticed that even though she was standing demurely, legs together, she had been wet enough long enough that she could make out a dark patch extending across the underside of her panties.

"It occurs to me that our guest hasn't seen my breasts yet. Though as much as I've enjoyed entertaining -- and frustrating -- you both, the fact is that I'm way past the point of messing around. And I don't think you need more titillating glimpses of my body parts. I'm not really such a tease. My brief career in exposure had served it's purpose, and it's been very exciting for me -- that should be obvious -- but now I need something real, and I need it soon. My guess is that you both feel the same way." She smiled.

"So I'll just undress for you now, just as I do every night in the privacy of the bedroom. You can pretend that you're peeping in at me through the hotel window, if that's the kind of thing that turns you on", she added, with a wink at Mr. X. "But really, you're not peeping, are you? I know that I'm being watched, and yet I'm still going to take my clothes off in front of a stranger. Aren't I shameless? Shouldn't I be embarrassed casually stripping in front of you?"

She made a show of regarding herself ostentatiously in the mirror.

"I don't know," replied Mr. X with a hint of ironic dismissal -- getting into it, playing his assigned role -- "you've already shown me your pussy. In fact, you've spread it wide open for me. Why pretend that you have anything left really worth hiding?"

She rewarded him with a slight, almost shy, smile. She found that she liked the mildly disparaging tone that he was assuming. It made her feel especially naughty; like she wasn't pretending anymore; like all of her many other assets didn't hold any value in this context; like she was just another available pussy; a promiscuous, bored, horny, slightly kinky, secretly submissive, middle-aged, sex-starved barfly. Maybe he really did think she was a slut, but the important thing was that he was ready to act as though she was.

"That's a good little slut. Show me what you wear under your fancy clothes."

She unbuttoned her satin top efficiently.

"You like me watching you undress. You couldn't wait for me to look at your body, could you?"

She got an uncanny, mesmerizing, weightless feeling in her stomach every time his gaze or words reinforced her self-constructed image as the mis-behaving wife. A wife who was now standing mostly nude, wearing nothing but her inexpensive everyday underwear in front of a well-dressed handsome older stranger that she had found in a bar. A wife who was obviously offering herself for casual sex without even a pretence of wanting anything else but that. How slutty was that, really? She shivered inside with appreciation for what she was doing, and in anticipation of the next simple step.

She slid her bra off without ceremony. Her breasts were nice and firm and round -- modest, but lovely. Her nipples were large and fully engorged, looking like very over-sized pencil erasers.

The air felt cool on her skin as she remained standing there in her panties. What next? She needed to get Mr. X ready for the following step, without panicking Cal. As usual, she had thought this through ahead of time, and already had a tactic in mind.

She walked toward Mr. X, then slowly got down on her knees; in self-conscious imitation of what she had done with her husband the night before. She undid his belt-buckle, then his trouser button; and then unzipped his fly, easing his trousers down to his thighs. She pulled his briefs down and for the first time got a look at his penis. Like her husband's, it was uncut; unlike her husbands, it was of moderate length and not very wide. But it was also very hard.

"That'll do nicely", she thought to herself as she gazed at it.

She moved her face toward Mr. X's crotch. She paused, opened her mouth wide, and moved forward further until her mouth was just surrounding the head of the cock. She watched her husband's face out of the corner of her eye as she did this. As she had anticipated, he seemed comfortable with her actions so far -- any worry he may have felt eased by his memory of what had happened the previous night, when she had left him hanging after exactly the same maneuver. He gave her a knowing smile, as if to say "Now, let's see how this guy likes your cock-teasing!"

She held her mouth in that position for five or ten seconds. And then... she slowly closed it, pressing her lips around the head of Mr. X's cock, watching Cal's face registering shock; giving her a sharp what-the-fuck look. But it was too late for him to object now!

She congratulated herself on her little ploy as she swirled her tongue around the head of this brand new (to her) penis. She carried on like that for a minute or so, giving Mr. X's cock head a nice warm, wet tongue bath, but never taking him further into her mouth. Then she relaxed her lips and moved her head back away from him. She kneeled there for another half a minute or so, then pulled his pants off all of the way, helped him step out of them, and gestured him to one of the comfortable side chairs across from the bed.

As Hugh had been threatening to voice an objection, she held her hand out, palm raised, bidding him to be quiet.

"Don't worry, darling. Remember, I told you that my pussy was for your cock only, and I think you'll enjoy this next part. Mr. X will just have to sit there and watch."

While she mused to herself about the relative ethics of lies of omission, and the fine line between a bit of creative social engineering and outright manipulation, she climbed up on to the bed and got on to all fours. This too, was a replay of last night. She pulled her panties down to where her knees bent to meet the bed and forced her knees apart to spread her cunt for easier access, incidentally making her panties stretch out between her knees, forming a little inside-out hammock. She knew that Hugh would find the view of her pussy exposed, her lips hanging down between her inviting ass cheeks, and even the tell-tale wet interior crotch panel suspended above the bed between her knees -- these little details materred! -- completely irresistible.

"Take me, Cal. Fuck me in front of this guy. Show him how you bred me. Show him how a slut like me should be fucked."

He pulled his cloths off as quickly as he could, all the time staring at her upturned slightly wiggling behind. Then he moved quickly toward her, clasped her cheeks with his strong hands, and pushed straight in to her in a single animal lunge.

"Urghh! Ngghh. Fuck yes. Fuck yes. Push it into me. Push your long hard cock in to me."

He grasped her cheeks harder, his finger digging in to their soft flesh. He ground into her backside, forcing her ever further down into the mattress as she pushed back against him. Sometimes, when he was very hard, she did feel that she might not be able to take him all in, and she had never felt more like that then she did now. She felt his hard cock seem to hit the end of her, to the point were it was actually almost painful. Sharp. Intense. But she didn't want him to stop, not by any means. The harder he could shove into her, the deeper he could push, the happier she was.