Plan C, Phase 08

(c) 2012 Padma Bear

No part of this story may be reproduced in any form, including electronic media, without the written permission of the author. We mean it.

Apparently, this isn't the kind of story that gets a high score around here, but please don't let that deter you. If you haven't read the other parts of this story, you'll enjoy this one much more if you go back and at least sample the earlier parts. The build-up is worth it, trust us! And if you like surprises, don't look at the story tags.

So, this is the end of our little experiment. It's gone on for much longer than we expected -- what began as a private bedtime story has taken months to put down in writing. It might not be for all tastes, but we've put a lot of effort into it, and now that it's done we look forward to your comments on this last installment and on the whole series. We'll try to answer everyone, but please..be nice.

We hope that at least some of you have read like a good mystery -- not ever sure where it will end up. Our greatest hope is that somewhere along the way we've really upset your expectations; especially for those readers who have very fixed ideas about what the correct formula for a Loving Wives story should be. You know who you are!

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Sarah stood at the foot of the bed, facing her husband and Mr. X, regarding them, savoring the moment. She felt a little pang of regret. Not regret for what had happened, or even for how she'd made it happen, but simply in recognition that anything with a beginning must also have an ending. Of course, it was right and proper that this event have a definite end. As she'd told Mr. X at the very beginning, she had no reason or desire to ever see him again. There was one and only one purpose he served -- to satisfy her need to be taken. Once this happened, the experience would be over. This realization only made her appreciate more what was about to happen next more.

"Gosh. You guys really used me well, didn't you?"

Both men nodded, even trading a brief conspiratorial look -- if not exactly as compadres, at least as two men who appreciated each other's taste and good fortune.

"But there was something important missing from that whole arrangement. Can you tell me what it was?"

Her husband, ever the eager student, responded quickly in a slightly cracked voice, "Your clit, Sarah. You didn't get your little clit rubbed."

"That's right. You took me from behind and fucked me hard, and I love to be fucked that way, there is nothing like it. But it doesn't really get me off, does it?"

"No, it doesn't, baby."

"What do you think we should do about that?"

"I guess you need a proper fucking now."

"You guessed right. And who should be doing this fucking?"

"Me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your husband. And your pussy is mine."

"Both excellent points. Okay, how should we do that? Me on top or you?"

He thought for a moment, and she thought she could almost see the image from last night popping in to his head.

"You. I know you love that position, and this way our friend here can get a nice view of your naked bouncing breasts."

"Sounds good. Maybe I'l play with them for him. Why don't you lay down and get ready for me?"

She looked to the clearly disappointed Mr. X and pointed to an armchair facing at a slight angle to the bed. "And why don't you take a seat over there? It's a good spot to watch." She wasn't mocking him, it was simply an invitation.

Mr. X went to the chair and sat down, not taking her up on her suggestion that he jerk off, just watching her, his eyes moving deliberately from her face to her crotch and back again. Her husband settled himself into the bed, and began idly stroking his cock, also watching her, moving his eyes from her face to her pussy and back again.

She turned so that she was facing Mr. X, her back-quarter toward her husband. She remembered the thrill of the encounter in the elevator. How this stranger's unbidden entry had made her feel. The exquisite shame at her loss of control under his finger's insinuations. She moved her legs apart, hip-width; reached between them, running her fingers through her lips, dipping them up and into herself, remembering how Mr. X had shoved his fingers up into her the same way. She felt an urgent need to have that happen one more time. She walked closer to him sitting in the chair.

Beyond her need to be touched again by this man, there was something she needed to know about him, something that required a momentary break in anonymity and created the potential for emotional intimacy -- a kind of intimacy that could be much more dangerous than the physical intimacy of having him in her mouth.

She took his left hand in her right while she continued to feel herself, her well-lubricated finger making small circles around the dense, moist little bump of her clit, getting herself right up to that line and then back again. He had the hands of a pianist -- long, strong, elegant fingers, with well-manicured nails.

Looking at the hand, she made a show of regarding his ring finger. There was a suggestion of where a ring had been, perhaps a faint outline against his late summer tan. She affected a teasing tone.

"What would your wife say," she cooed, "knowing you'd been getting your cock sucked off by a married woman you met at a bar?"

She watched a run of involuntary emotions play across his face, all in a few brief moments: a flash of memory and fondness, a wince of pain, and finally a deliberate composure.

"She wouldn't say anything," he said ruefully, a bare trace of amusement on his lips. "She's been dead for eighteen months now."

"Oh." She gasped, her hand dropping his and flying up to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

She felt sudden regret at her assumption that he was a man without his own ethical standards -- and at her presumption in moving beyond the rules that she herself had established.

"Don't be." And now he grinned boyishly. "You're the first naked woman I've seen in all of that time."

"How long were you married?"

He looked at her, baffled.

"Fourteen years."

She had to ask:

"Did you ever cheat on her?"

His pissed-off reply was thoroughly genuine:

"What kind of question is that? Of course I didn't. I loved my wife."

He brought his hand up to her breast level, showing it to her.

"In fact, if you must know, I only took off my ring a few weeks ago. I'd grown tired of my friends pestering me to find a new woman, or to 'at least go out and get layed'. But as much as I like the latter idea, I'm just not ready to face the consequences of the former one. And, women being women, I knew that emotional complications are inevitable whenever sex is involved. I can't deal with that. Not yet."

He paused and laughed.

"But I didn't count on you. Here there aren't any complications. You just happen to be an available slut looking to have her body used but who's tied down with other commitments."

He glanced at her husband significantly, eye-brows raised.

"I get to play with a good-looking, bright, well-put-together woman, and treat her like the bad girl she really wants to be. Get to play with her cunt and then leave, no questions asked. What more could I want?"

And with that he brought his hand to her mound and thrust his fingers up inside of her, adroitly ending the awkward moment -- and replacing it with one that should have been far more awkward but somehow wasn't.

Standing there, legs spread, letting herself be stroked by this strange man, the blinds of the hotel window half-opened, her body exposed, she responded in kind.

"I hope you like my cunt then. I hope you like having your finger up it."

"Yes, it's wet enough. It's slippery... and easy."

He took his finger back out of her and his voice took on a commanding tone.

"Spread your legs."

She sidled her legs apart a bit.

"Farther! I want to see your puffy lips hanging down from your dripping pussy."

He watched her move her legs apart till she was standing there well spread -- as if ready to do a deep forward bend. It felt so vulgar, ridiculous and... satisfying to be standing there in front of him like that. He groped a finger back inside of her.

"You need another finger in there."

She got his drift and joined the game.

"Oh, is my pussy too much for your little finger?"

His ring finger joined his index as they both moved up and around inside of her, freely exploring.

"Yeah," he said, deliberately running it around the outer edges of her pussy. "Your pussy feels a little too open. You need even more."

He pushed the middle three fingers into her, his thumb coming to rest near her clit, his pinkie wedged between her ass cheeks. This time there was some resistance as his half-a-hand pushed her pussy walls apart.

"That's better."

He moved his fingers in and out of her slick pussy.

"But you need more than just fingers up there, don't you?"

"I'm sorry that I can't give you that opportunity," she said, glad to dish it back a bit.

"That's okay," he said, a playfully dismissive tone to his voice, "I like my pussies tight."

She felt that deep weightless feeling in her lower abdomen again as her body responded to the deliberate nastiness of his comment.

Why did it make her excited rather than just insulted? Why did she get so turned on when he said these demeaning, dirty things to her? Was there a mis-wiring in her erotic response system, or did most women secretly get off on the appraisal and judgement of their secret parts, this mix of appreciation and humiliation?

Was this the dirty little secret that bad boys everywhere knew? Every woman had her buttons, and some men had a second sense for where to find them. How did Danny get his finger up Sandy's poodle skirt and under her schoolgirl panties? By telling her her that her little virgin pussy was too tight and that she needed him to fix that for her?

Mr. X began to rapidly move his fingers in and out of her, deliberately using his thumb as an anchor pressed up against her clit, pressuring it more than she would ordinarily like.

He stopped moving his hand.

"Show me how much your wet open cunt needs it. Ride my hand."

It was so embarrassing the way he put it. So demanding. He looked at her appraisingly -- practically smirking -- daring her.

She stood there for a moment, balanced on his upthrust hand, wanting to remain in control, but needing to feel his hand moving inside of her.

And so despite her pride, she began to rotate her hips, wiggling them awkwardly. When that wasn't enough she began to raise and lower herself up and down on his hand. It wasn't enough, god-damn-it! It didn't feel like it had when he was moving his hands. She needed to move faster, began shaking and thrusting herself against his hand -- shameless, wanting only the pleasure of it. Wanting her needs to be exposed.

After a few minutes of this, the effort became too much and she slowed down just as he began moving his hand in and out of her again.

Then she felt his slick pinkie around her asshole, tickling her anus. His light touch felt strangely lovely on her rear-most entrance, and she wanted more. She found herself thrusting her hips forward. He began flicking his little finger across it.

"Oh, you like that, do you? Just how dirty are you?"

She felt discovered, betrayed again by her body movements. He pulled his fingers out and put them back in. But this time he left his ring finger out and let it stray up between her cheeks. Looking in her eyes deliberately, he pushed it slightly against her puckered anus. Her whole bottom was soaked in her own juices, and she was surprised by how easily his finger seemed to move against her, how her nether hole seemed to relax and open slightly.

"Oh, you do like that." he murmured.

She knew that her husband couldn't really see exactly where Mr. X's hands were as they explored beneath her, and it gave her a secret thrill to know that she was being explored this way under his gaze.

Mr. X thrust his finger up to its first knuckle.

"You like having a finger in your ass, don't you?"

She did like it. She did. Oh, she really did. She wanted it, it was true. She bent forward so that her husband could see what was being done to her. She let him go at her like this for a bit more, finding it hard to break the spell he had cast with his dancing fingers.

But she knew it was time to stop this now. She moved her hips up and stepped away from him.

"Okay, that's enough exploring," she laughed, trying to conceal the shy wanting note she knew her voice would reveal.

But really, enough was enough. Time for the final act.

She turned toward her husband, saw with pleasure and anticipation how hard he was. His cock stood up at 90 degrees from his prone body, its heavy veins in high relief. So hard.

She moved to him, bent over him and gently gripped his hips, encouraging him to move down the bed so that his legs were dangling and slightly spread. She got up on to the bed and straddled him -- facing him, holding herself up with one arm while she lowered herself over him -- guiding him into herself with her free hand.

His cock felt so good slipping in to her. It felt even better to fell her clit caressed and rubbed by the length of it as she slowly lowered herself all of the way down, savoring every inch. Despite the insinuations of Mr. X, this cock did fill her very nicely. She didn't feel loose on it. It fit perfectly.

He husband had been waiting for her attention. Waiting also for a chance to get into the talk that he knew pushed her on.

"You like getting on top, don't you? That way you can get the cock exactly where you want it."

She lowered herself all the way, relishing the groans he made, joining them with her own.

"Ungghh. Ummmummmumm."

"That's right, grind away. Get yourself off."

She moved forward, pressing her tender, full clit against his pelvic bone, levering his cock around inside of her, forcing it against the walls of her vagina, moving the tip around deep inside of her. She shoved into him as deeply as she could, feeling it touch her, tickling her deepest interior needs, at the same time mashing her clit into him even harder.

She worked up and down on his cock, moving slower and faster -- getting into a rhythm, interrupting it, then starting again, putting him into an almost trance-like frenzy.

"God damn it, are you going to make me come or what?"

What she especially liked about this position was the exquisite control it gave her over the pace of the action and over her husband's arousal. She started exercising that control; moving slowly then.

"Is that what you want to do all night? Get your wet slutty pussy off over and over again?"

She moved slower and slower, and as she did so she began twisting his nipples and then nibbling at them. She got to the point where she knew that one little movement at just the right angle of attack would get him off, and one other movement -- well, it just wouldn't quite. She was making him desperate. And that's where she wanted him.

"Okay baby, make me come. You know you need it."

He grabbed her hips and started pulling them back and forth, throwing her around on his cock. She loved this, but resisted him now, moving back to the slower pace she had set, then to a near stop. She rose up slowly hearing his moans then down again, slower still.

"Oh god, I'm so close."

"Me too...did you like that? Did it make you hard seeing another hand playing with my pussy?"

He threw her talk back at her, his words melding with his groans.

"What do you mean, your pussy? It's my pussy, remember? Yeah, I didn't mind letting you show me just how bad you could be. And I didn't mind you embarrassing yourself in front of a complete stranger, showing him how many fingers you could take in your pussy. How slippery and easy your dirty pussy is."

She squirmed, listening to him.

"But you couldn't stop there, could you? You let him stick his finger up your ass."

"Oh god, what you must have thought of me."

"What do you think he thought? Nice woman like you, likes to have her ass teased? And you did like it, didn't you? You liked feeling his finger up your behind."

"I didn't just like it. I loved it. And.."

"You'd like him to do it again, wouldn't you. Isn't that what you're waiting for me to ask you?"

It was. She'd been waiting for this. Needing to make that happen.

"Oh god yes, I'm such a dirty girl, aren't I?"

She reached behind herself and pulled her left ass cheek obscenely to the side.

"What about it? Do you want to play with my dirty little rosebud again?"

Mr. X didn't need a second thought. He almost bounced out of his chair.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind exploring your tight little ass some more."

She moaned, a deep secret groan, as she felt him pulling her cheeks apart, felt his eyes on her most sensitive hole. She felt him run his finger forward toward her seeping pussy, covering it with her juices, pushing them down across her perineum and swishing them around her anus, tickling it again. Then -- whoa -- felt his index finger push into her. Felt his pointer finger one knuckle deep, then two. Felt him twist it around slightly.

"That's it, take my finger."

He began moving it in and out of her. It moved with surprising ease, but a bit more friction than she'd expected. It still felt odd, but pretty good. But it was more the experience of having it done to her than the physical sensation that got her off.

She continued to move slowly against her husband, pressed flat against him, while Mr. X stood over her ass, hands spreading it, finger toying with it.

"Oh, gosh. Wait. Please stop. It's too rough. I'm not sure I can handle that."

Mr. X pulled his finger out slowly and she felt its absence. She continued to move on her husband for a few minutes, sensing the stranger standing awkwardly behind her. Time to assign him his final role.

"This is a little embarrassing...but Cedric, I did a little shopping before meeting you tonight. I wanted to have my ass played with, by you, or..."

"Yeah, and?"

"So I stopped at the pharmacy and bought something. Over there, in the nightstand.." She pointed awkwardly.

Mr. X walked over to the nightstand, his cock pointed absurdly out from his body. He opened the drawer and pulled out a small bag. He looked inside, grinning.

"My, my, what a naughty girl you are." He carried the bag over to her and placed it beside the couple lying on the bed. He pulled out a tube of glide lubricant and began undoing the lid.

She lay there on top of Cedric, craning her head around to look at Mr. X. Watched him dripping it onto his finger.

"No, no, silly."

He paused, looking at her, appraising her.

"Your cock. Put it on your cock."

This was the moment. The moment her plan would succeed or fail on. Failure -- she could live with that. Success? She wasn't certain that either her of her husband were prepared for.

She turned to her husband who suddenly looked a little pale, mouth open.

"Oh baby, this is what I've been waiting to ask. It's what I've really always wanted. Deep inside, you know that. And I know it excites you. The thought of two cocks inside of me has fascinated us. I want to see what it's like. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I want to do it. I want it done to me."

She waited a moment or two.

"But..." she said, unable to repress her conspiring grin, "I'll keep my promise to you. My pussy really is only for you. So I won't let him fuck me like you do..." She moved her body up and down on his cock a couple of time, amplifying the obvious -- that he was indeed fucking her at that moment. "...I want him in my ass."

Cedric's eyes widened. Time to sweeten the deal. She leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. "Plus, it's just the kind of practice I need to take you in there."