Caught in the Crossfire Ch. 03

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Just let go.
8.5k words
4.68
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8

Part 3 of the 11 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 09/05/2014
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dresbach
dresbach
391 Followers

Thank you all for your positive comments and emails about the story so far. Unfortunately, there have been more than a few readers sending me personal emails, detailing how they plan rating my story a one star just because of the genre. Thank you...I think...for your honesty, and the heads-up of your intensions (as if there was anything I could do about them). However, I cannot give the same credence for your courage, given that all but one email was anonymous.

As to the main point of this preface: the nature of Nonconsent/Reluctance stories. For those of you unfamiliar with this genre, an excellent summary of the problems facing authors of nonconsent stories can be found at this link: www.literotica.com/s/a-treatise-on-nonconsent. I encourage everyone to take the time to read the author's short, 750-word essay, particularly if you're still considering rating my story low only because you don't like the genre.

Now, for those of you who are familiar with the genre, but find it distasteful and disturbing, I need to remind you that this is afictional (and I emphasis, fictional), nonconsent story, and a rather mild to moderate form of the genre, to boot. Given your emails, it would seem some of you believe this story is, in some way, autobiographical, and that I have personally blackmailed women into having sex, and thus, making me an evil fuck. I can assure you, I have never blackmailed anyone, male or female, nor do I ever intend to. Nor do I want anything bad to happen to anyone, friend or foe. I hate to think what type of messages you might send Steven King, given that the subjects he writes about are vastly more disturbing than mine.

I don't mind you hating my story because of poor writing, plotting, or (just pick any grammatical or stylistic problem of your choice, and apply here). In this regard, letting me know what you don't like in story as a reader, invariably makes me a better writer, and I welcome that. However, you, as a reader, should also expect nonconsent stories to contain a certain degree of emotional, psychological, and/or physical discomfort toward the characters involved. It's the nature of the beast and the main impetus of the genre to begin with. To expect differently is childish.

**

The following week, Jack took Brittany through the same procedure as before: she rented the room, waited fifteen minutes for Jack, and then let him in when he knocked.

Brittany was wearing the same black dress as last time. She complemented the outfit by wearing a deep shade of red lipstick, and accentuated her eyes with the right amount of black mascara, making their green color stand out well in contrast.

Jack smiled to himself, amused. Most of the other wives didn't bother with makeup, at least until they were well into the program. Brittany, on the other hand, seemed to be easing into her role as concubine faster than Jack had anticipated.

On the table was another paper bag full of money. Jack picked it up and felt its heft. It seemed about right. He didn't bother looking inside, knowing all three thousand would be there. Setting the money back down on the table, he asked, "Any trouble with the broker?"

"I got four thousand like you said. I asked for more, but..."

"Like I said, he's not a charity."

She couldn't hide her ire, and blurted out, "Yeah, and I went back a few days later and saw it in his case with a six thousand dollar price tag."

Jack laughed, and said, "The man's got to make a profit."

"Profit," Brittany yelled, incredulously, "That's not profit! That's theft!"

"Alright, just shut up about it. You have other nice things he'll take off your hands and give you a fair price, whether you think so or not. So don't fuck it up by pissing him off, or you'll really be in trouble. Now, take off all your clothes."

She did as commanded. Yet, still wary about her situation, did so facing away from him. When she turned to face him, she had an arm wrapped around her breasts, while her other hand covered her groin, looking every bit like Botticelli's painting, 'The Birth of Venus.'

Jack sat back in the chair admiring the view, and striking the same pose as before: an elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his hand propped up under his chin. "Such a shy girl," he finally said, "You shouldn't be after last week. Drop your arms."

When she did, he saw that she didn't have any pubic hair. He smiled at her, and asked, "Did you remove all of it?"

"Yes."

"Then show me. Sit back on the bed."

Sitting on the bed, she spread her legs so he could see.

There was no hair at all around her groin. Free from any covering, the folds of her outer labia looked thick, almost muscular. Particularly in comparison to her more delicate, inner labia, a small corner of which, peeked out, teasingly, from behind the heavy outers. The whole area of her vulva jutted slightly away from her body—a cute, semi-spherical area that reminded Jack of an apple with the skin removed. It took most of his will power not to bite her sweet, tender offering, or, at least, to reach out and touch I and push that small, tease of an inner fold, back under its protective covering.

"Very nice," he finally said, while smiling thoughtfully into her eyes, "It looks like a thorough job. Did you use a razor?"

Brittany tried to cover her groin again with her hand, but Jack stopped her with a headshake. Sitting stiffly, she answered, "I used one of those chemical, hair removal products."

"I hope it didn't burn too badly."

She just shook her head.

Continuing to look at her intently, Brittany began sweating as his stare bore down and into her. She had to look away to keep from crying out of anxiety and frustration from being on display.

Seeing her look away, he asked, "When did you fuck last?"

She initially gave him a shocked look that he would ask her such a personal question, then realized she shouldn't be shocked by anything Jack asked or did. Finally, she responded, "A couple of days ago."

"Was it with Santos?"

Another shock face before blurting, "Of course!"

"What do you mean, 'Of course,' using that indignant tone? It's a valid question given your history." She was about to respond to his insult, when he cut her off with another question, "Did he notice when he fucked you?"

She knew what he meant. Dejected, she just shook her head.

"I thought as much. Now, come here and kneel in front of me."

As she knelt on the floor between his legs, he brought his face closer to hers. Thinking he was going to kiss her, she turned her head to the side so that he couldn't kiss her lips. Instead of a kiss, however, she heard him take a deep sniff of air near the nape of her neck. Then he said, "But I notice you're wearing Dior, again. It's very nice."

She didn't respond, but wondered why a man who could treat her the way he was could be as discerning about what she wore, while her own husband, who she loved and was sure he loved her back with equal condor, wouldn't have notice if she had just rolled around in a stable.

Life is so fucking unfair, she thought.

Her head was still turned to the side as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was gentle, so very gentle. When he encountered a little snarl, he slowly worked the hairs free. She barely felt him untangling the strands. Santos would have either left it alone, or ripped his fingers through...

Stop it! Stop comparing, she thought to herself, while stifling a cry.

Jack heard her sniff back a tear, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just have a tickle in my throat. Could we just get this over with?"

"Still trying to rush me, I see. I like your scent, Brit, and the feel of your skin. I can sit here and admire you for a bit, can't I? Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

She shook her head in response, and thought,Why him? Why fucking him? Santos would have shot his wad by...goddamn it, quit comparing you stupid bitch.

She felt his hand moving slowly down her neck, outlining the small indentation in the front where her Adam's apple was. Moving his fingers lower, he traced out her collarbone, gently running a finger along the top toward her outer shoulder, and then below as he traced his way back to her breastbone.

Goose bumps alighted across her skin at each of his touches. Images of the last time she was with him flashed through her mind—images of what she did to him and how it made her feel. She felt the first tingle of arousal between her legs, as his fingers worked lower toward her breasts.

A barely audible, "No," escaped her lips. It wasn't a weak command for him to stop, however, rather a vain attempt for her to keep from becoming sexually excited.

Jack thought she meant something else with her 'No,' and asked, slyly, "No, what?"

She only answered by shaking her head.

Jack traced a finger around her pink areola. Immediately it dimpled and hardened, as did the nipple. Then, he traced a finger around the other, getting the same reaction. "You're more responsive today than last time. I like that."

He heard her breathing increase and felt her heart pumping faster as he continued to trace both her nipples with a bridging, outstretched hand, index finger and thumb touching each simultaneously. Her breathing went even deeper, becoming almost a pant, as he gently cupped a breast and massaged it ever so slightly so that his palm rubbed against her.

"Yes, much more responsive," he commented softly with satisfaction, and then commanded, "Kneel on the bed. Keep your head down and your ass in the air, and wait."

Jack took his time disrobing, staring at her the whole time. He noticed her breath quicken with anticipation as the long moments of waiting bled out.

When he finished folding his clothes into the chair, he told her to spread her knees a little more and flatten her chest tighter to the bed. The action caused her buttocks to jut lewdly backward.

He sat in the chair, looking directly into her groin, admiring the view of her exaggerated, heart-shaped bottom above the muscular, outer folds of her vulva. The cleft of her outer labia glistened from arousal. The visual made his cock stiffen even more than it already was.

This was the moment he like best. When everything they've tried to hide becomes vulnerable to the roguish stares of a stranger; and yet, although embarrassed in the extreme, they all panted heavily with anticipation. Brittany was no different from the others in this regard, although she hide her excitement better than most.

Goose bumps erupted all across her thighs and buttocks, while her chest heaved with ever quickening breaths from nerves and excitement.

Jack knelt alongside her frame, placing one hand on her back. Her skin felt cool as more goose bumps formed around his fingertips. Pressing his hand down firmly while massaging her from the small of her back to her shoulder blades, he could feel her muscles tighten against him. Cupping her vulva with his other hand, he felt a growing warmth. He didn't part her outer folds. Instead, he firmly massaged the bare area, extending his gentle massage up and down each of her inner thighs before firmly massaging her pussy once more.

He worked his hands slowly across their respective areas, occasionally bringing them together at a point along her buttocks where he massaged both of her flushed, firm cheeks, before shifting them away, again. It wasn't long before he felt the muscles in her back loosen. Jack continued the massage while commenting, "I like the feel of your bald pussy. After you removed the hair, did you try it out for yourself?"

Brittany swallowed before answering, "What do you mean?"

"Did you play with yourself?"

She didn't answer right away, then said with false indignity, "No!"

Jack laughed before commenting, "Yes you did, you liar. It's okay if you admit playing with yourself. In fact, I encourage all my girls to play with their pussies when they're away from me. Among other things, it keeps them disinterested with their husbands. Were you thinking of Santos when you touched yourself?"

"No," she answered, almost immediately.

"Chris?"

"No," she answered even quicker, and with an obvious tone of irritation.

"Me?"

There was another long silence, before she said, "No."

"Liar. You're going to have to do better than that if you want to keep secrets for me."

Taking his thumb and middle finger, Jack parted her outer folds.

Brittany's hands clutched at the bed coverings as his fingers dance around her moist vulva.

Seeing her reaction, he smiled to himself and mused,She must have been thinking a lot about me this past week.

Most of the other wives he had, nervous and unaccustomed with him at first, needed a little help with lubricant to get started, but he could feel she was already slick.

Parting her inner folds, he kept a finger along each labia and one centered in the groove, and continued the massage by running his fingers slowly though her cleft. He never tarried too long at any one place and never penetrated her, briefly touching her button at the ending of each descent and only tracing a circular pattern around her opening. It wasn't long before he felt her inner labia stiffen slightly, and her clitoris fully extend from its protective sheath, hard and smooth as a small, polished stone.

Continuing his playful massage, he asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "You were tense at first. Did you like my massage?"

She didn't answer.

"I'll take that as a yes. Does Santos take the time to massage you?"

Hearing her husband's name again, and in the middle of her growing arousal from his subtle massage, invited more acts of comparison in her mind. Santos rarely, if ever, took his time, and he never gave her a massage. He was a good and gentle lover in his own way, always fucking her slowly and thoughtfully, but Jack, with just his fingers...

Goddamn it, stop comparing, she screamed in her mind, trying to block out her own, lustful thoughts.

"I'll take that as a no," Jack quipped after a long silence.

Brittany became irritated she was so easily read. She felt she needed to say something to defend Santos—say anything, even lie. However, she knew Jack would see through it, and so, said nothing.

By now, Jack had stopped his massage, concentrating two fingers on her clitoris, alone. He worked the hard button slowly with a small, circular pattern, barely brushing the surface with his fingertips.

Though his touch was subtle, barely a breath's worth of force, it caused Brittany's clitoris to become super-sensitive. As if every small area of her clit could feel its own, unique sensation, some centered and intense, others indirect and delicate. It wasn't just a general smear of pleasure; she literally could feel his fingers dancing across each part, tip, top, and beneath her hard nub. When she concentrated more on those sensations, each touch to those different areas intensified, causing her arousal to seep out and down her folds. Unconsciously, Brittany lifted her hind end up a little higher in response to his fingers.

Jack noticed the slight shift of her ass, and slipped a thumb deep inside her pussy, while increasing the force of the massage to her clit. The result was wonderful to watch.

Again, her hands gripped the bed coverings firmly, pulling them up into tight, rumpled wads of cloth in her hands. Her face went flush and her eyes wide, while a loud gasp escaped her lips. When he pushed his thumb harder against her walls, another gasp escaped her lips, followed by a soft, "Oh my lord."

After a few more strokes with his thumb and finger, Jack could see her eyes closing, while in opposite, her mouth remained open into a silent, perpetual yell. Jack knew she was close to climax, and removed his hand without comment.

Brittany nearly screamed in disappointment and anger, but before she could swear at him, she felt his hands on her thighs.

Jack had moved behind her, and keeping her in the same kneeling position, pulled her closer to the edge of the bed.

With one easy thrust, Jack's cock slid inside, and although he entered her with a relatively mild push of his hips, air was still forced out of her lungs as a long, low guttural moan.

Seated fully inside her, the soft, acute, pleasurable bliss of before was immediately replaced with the deep sensations of fullness and warmth. The arousal that was centered so sweetly on her clit seemed to withdrawal inward, balling up deep within her groin.

Jack ground his pelvis against her buttocks as a way of lustfully tickling her insides with his member, before he began his pumping.

He kept his pumping methodical at first, pushing into her quick and hard, while pulling back more slowly. Each time he crashed into her, his low-hanging, heavy testicles would swing forward, roughly tapping the area around her clitoris, and sending wonderful jolts of euphoria throughout her groin.

Along with his pumping, a technique Jack always used on the newbies was keeping his pelvis much lower than theirs when thrusting. This caused the underside of his shaft to remain in full contact with their swollen, exposed clitoris, and caused his cockhead to be pushed hard against their inner walls each time he pushed fully inside.

Jack always loved the reaction he got when the slutty wives took his massive tool in the snatch for the first time using that technique. Their moaning was always loud and continuous right from the start, as their eyes went wide from blissful surprise. Yet, Brittany was doing everything she could to hide her growing arousal. She refused to moan, trying to remain silent by biting down on inside of her cheeks even as the deep, lustful pleasure swelled to unaccustomed heights. The self-loathing she felt the last time they made love was back, and growing along with her growing pleasure.

Jack was too experienced a lover to be so easily fooled by her attempts at apathy. She couldn't hide the sounds of her staccato breathing from him, nor the flushed tone of her skin or the thin sheen of sweat that developed on her back. Jack knew Brittany was becoming fully engrossed in the pleasure.

He asked with a chuckle, "Are you always this quiet?"

She responded with a little nod of her head.

"Liar. It's okay to moan. Go ahead and let it out. Just let go."

She didn't want to, and would hate herself for giving in so easily, but somehow his words forced the air from her lungs. She tried to let the air pass out soundlessly, but it produced a loud, but abrupt, guttural groan. The kind of sound one makes when they stifle surprise.

He thrust into her a bit harder. The feelings around her clit and in her pussy intensified, as the ball of euphoria deep within her enlarged.

Brittany tried to stop her sounds of pleasure, but another long, low moan escaped her lips, then another.

"That's what I like to hear."

His words stung her pride. They reminded her why she was here and what she was really doing. She shouldn't be enjoying this, but she was, and it shamed her. More than that, she knew that's what he wanted. He wanted to see the shameful whore enjoying herself. Even more than his own climax, he wanted to hear her in pleasure.

Brittany felt the need to moan again. God, how she needed to let out the burgeoning feelings of mounting arousal, let it all out before she burst, but she can't. She can't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was pleasuring her. She tried to stop it all; tried to tamp down her arousal and force the growing ball of pleasure deep inside her to back down. She pinched her arms until red welts appeared. Bit the loose areas of her hands, leaving deep, red impressions of her teeth in her soft, sensitive skin. She even slapped her own face in an attempt to take her mind off the mounting pleasure.

Nothing worked, however, and it became too much for her to endure in silence. Like trying to swim against an incoming tide, or walk up a steep, loose grade—one step forward, two steps back—and with each step, her strength drained a little more to the point of near exhaustion. No longer having the will to hold it back, she let in all go, and her arousal burst forward, hot and bright, like brandy introduced to an open flame.

dresbach
dresbach
391 Followers