Random Connections Ch. 03

The phone rang:

Peter gave it a brief glare, then looked back at his reflection admiringly. The phone rang again and again, demanding his attention until he could ignore it no longer.

"Fuck it." He muttered, carefully walking across the bedroom. Why his wife had to have the damn thing in here as well as downstairs was beyond him, much of her was, and he'd given up trying to be the man about the house, exploring alternative avenues of pleasure when alone.

He reached the phone and greeted the unwelcome caller with irritation, surreptitiously caressing his body in the lingerie he'd borrowed from his wife's wardrobe, while looking in the full length mirror, wobbling slightly in the high heeled shoes that pinched his toes but made him feel so much sexier. Luckily for him, she too was a well built woman and her clothes fitted him well enough. Tonight he was wearing a particular favourite; her red corset and matching garter belt that held up his stockings, which he always bought himself, and panty hose which felt so good next to his skin. He briefly stroked his erection, soothing his annoyance and keeping his arousal hard, mentally promising it the satisfaction it craved soon, while running his hand up to cup his breast, shaved smooth for the occasion; he'd make sure his pyjamas were buttoned up tight tonight to prevent any discovery by her - not that she cared forthatsort of thing anymore. His sex life had been in intensive care for some time now and showed no signs of pulling through the crisis. Although he was hugely aroused by dressing up this way, he'd never acted upon the urge to meet with other men yet. This was as much an act of rebellion at his wife's tyranny as a way of getting a response from his flagging libido.

"Listen to this." A sultry voice breathed, blowing his irritation gently aside to be replaced with mild curiosity as he heard a muffled groan.

"I'm listening." He said, feeling his taut balls gratefully, unsure what he was actually listening to. The groan became a moan that melted into a sigh and rose into a plaintive cry which made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"Have you satisfied all your fantasies?" A sultry voice whispered in his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

"Are you sure you got the right number?" He snapped, squeezing his nipple.

"Oh Yes!" The woman breathed. "There's no mistake."

"Why me" He asked suspiciously.

"Why not? She retorted. "Do you want to know what I'm wearing right now?"

"Not really."

"All i'm wearing is a pair of stockings." She purred. "And something special for my lover."

"I don't really give a fuck." He snapped, tottering towards the mirror to get a closer look at his bulging panty hose.

"Oh I love to give a fuck."

"Well, fuck off then!"

"You sound all tense!" She laughed, taking no offence at his rude suggestion. "You need to get a load off, ease the stress."

'That's true enough.' He thought, watching his reflection stroking his erection.

"I get ratty unless i cum at least twice a day." She went on, talking as though he was an old friend and not a complete stranger, picked at random from the phone book. "I like it best when my man cums inside my pussy or mouth."

"You're a dirty cunt." He said, giving his balls a friendly squeeze. "Does your old man know you're doing this?"

"What do you care, you gay or something?"

"NO! I'm married." He said defensively.

"That matters?" She laughed. My lover's married and likes a good cock as much as i do!"

"You're full of shit." He said, turning to admire the profile of his throbbing cock in the mirror at this revelation.

"I'm full of cum actually." She purred. "He's cleaning it up at the moment like a good boy."

He grinned at himself and wondered if that was true. "Who the fuck are you?"

She laughed lewdly. "The kind of girl your mother warned you about!"

"You filthy fucking cunt!"

"Maybe so...listen to this you dirty bastard."

A shocking sound, like a thirsty dog on a hot day, filled his ear. Peter began to rub between his buttocks as he listened to the tongue, lap-lapping busily in her crack. It paused for a moment and a deep voice moaned; "Mmmm she tastes so good."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, sat on my face, cum dripping down...yummmmmmmmmmm" The man's tongue went about it's lewd business once more and Peter licked at the receiver as though he too could savour the slippery juices.

"Fuck you, you filthy fucker!" Peter sucked on his fingers once more, squatting in front of the mirror as he imagined sitting on the guys face, feeding the plum of his hot nob in that wet mouth.

"Fuck me? You want to fuck me?"

"Fuck off, i'm not like that!" Peter lied, slipping a hand under his balls, rubbing along the smooth incline of his arse.

"Oh yeah, fuck me with your finger baby." The stranger went on, licking slowly. "Fuck me with your tongue too." He added, groaning as she complied with his rude request.

"You fucking pervert." Peter said contemptuously while leering into the mirror, unsure if he meant the stranger or himself, but certain of the effect this was having on him. His cock bulged manfully through the pantyhose, contradicting everything he said to the stranger who continued to lick noisily into the receiver. Peter held the phone tightly and gripped his balls in a no-nonsense manner, churning the big load he could feel building up. It felt like the man was sticking that tongue in his ear!

"Give me the dildo baby...yeah, put it there, right...in...my arse. Oh FUCK!" As he said that Peter felt his cock throb harder and, placing the phone on the floor between his legs, reached down to tear at the thin material covering his loins until a ragged hole enabled his hot flesh to breathe easier. He dipped a finger into the pool of precum on the tip of his cock and slipped it into his puckered hole, then picked up the phone again to hear the heavy breathing.

Peter could hardly control his own respiration, breathing loudly through his nose as he dug a finger between his cheeks, rolling his balls in the palm of his hand. "I bet you'd like my cock up there now eh?" He rasped, rudely thrusting his finger in and out.

A shocked gasp echoed in his ear and he chuckled. "Oh you can dish it out but you can't take it!" He laughed. "I'd shove my dick right up your fucking arse."

The breathing grew louder in his ear, rising to an angry pitch as he went on: "Take it all you dirty fucker, come on take it." He groaned, seeing his cock oozing a thick rope of precum. Another finger found its way between his cheeks, thrusting deep and hard. "You love it up there don't you?"

"And just who do you think you're talking to?" A familiar voice replied, shocking Peter into confusion.

It sounded like his wife, but it couldn't possibly be her! She was at her friends and wouldn't be back until 11pm at the latest. He thought frantically, staring at the phone as though it was some kind of poisonous snake. There was an ominous click and a steady thump-thump of booted feet on the stair. Transfixed with panic he stared wildly at the mirror, looking over his shoulder as the terrible sound approached the bedroom door. It swung open slowly and he held his breath, watching her apprehensively as she walked in to catch him, literally, red-handed.

"I always knew you were a wanker - and now i know it for a fact." His wife said, entering the bedroom; and as he thought his worst nightmare had arrived, his dreams began to come true.

(*)(*)

He looked down in shame at his predicament, letting her scornful laughter assail him mercilessly. She approached, like a cat stalking a mouse, placing a booted heel between his shoulders, pinning him to the mirror, forcing him to face his perverse alter ego, eye-to-eye.

"I've come home early thanks to Mrs. Lord's troublesome son, Gordon." She informed him

curtly. "Were you talking to him earlier?"

"NO!" He gasped." Certainly not."

"Are you sure?" She spat venomously, grinding her boot into his back.

"Absolutely sure." He said, genuinely bewildered by the question.

"We caught him, just as i found you." She said, apparently satisfied with his answer. "Cock in hand. I was about to call Mrs. Barton when i got home, only to find you talking filth. Now tell me. Why?"

Peter saw there was no other option but to tell all and he did so, leaving nothing out.

Honesty may not always be the best policy, but with an angry wife's boot on his back he felt obliged to throw himself on her mercy - and hope for the best - while fearing the worst.

"And is this why i find you wearing my clothes?- and my shoes!" She shrieked.

"Yes dear." He lied, unable to bring her to the truth of that part of himself.

"So, some stranger phones up, talks filth and persuades you to dress up like...like..." Words failed her and she picked up one of her shoes, hitting him out of frustration as much as anger.

He took it all. What choice did he have? She had him bang-to-rights. Although her wild aim brought the heel of the shoe dangerously close to his most tender spot and the thought of it up there shocked his cock into fresh awareness of the situation. This was actually beginning to turn him on!

"Look at yourself!" She screamed, grabbing his hair, lifting his head up to make him stare once again into the mirror, only this time to look through her eyes at the ridiculous spectacle he really made. A middle-aged man in lingerie, with thinning hair, a pot-belly and a hard-on fit to burst, jutting rigidly upwards at his wife's furious face.

"You're disgusting!" She yelled in his face, flecks of spittle raining over him. "Why would you do this?"

'Because it feels great.' He thought, wisely keeping his mouth shut in order to let her get off steam.

"My carpet!" She shrieked, her voice cracking in disbelief at what she saw, an unmistakable stain between his legs that meant only one thing. "You're as bad as he is you dirty wanking bastard!" Her hand smacked down onto his buttocks repeatedly, cracking like a whip in the ensuing silence, broken only by their harsh breathing.

Peter found himself aroused beyond his wildest dreams as her hand landed unerringly on his buttocks, and could only nod helplessly when his wife observed the effect this was having on him.

"Clean it up you fucking pervert." She demanded.

Now he knew her anger was white-hot as she rarely swore like that unless severely provoked, but it merely spurred him on and he shuffled back to kneel like the dog he was to obey his mistress.

"What the hell did i marry?" She asked contemptuously, putting her boot on top of his head and grinding his face into the thick carpet.

Unable to reply, he contentedly snuffled in the mess like a pig scenting truffles, reaching under to give his cock a sneaky stroke. She caught act in the mirror and gave her withering opinion in one word: "MEN!"

Peter couldn't care less what she thought of him by now. He'd crossed his personal Rubicon and intended to see this through to the bitter-sweet end. Her boot released him and he spat out a piece of her precious carpet, licked his lips and kept stroking his inflamed cock, defiantly looking into her blazing eyes.

"I'm going to get off whether you like it or not." He said defiantly.

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "So. The worm has turned?"

"The worm is turned-on."

A flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she gestured for him to continue. "I could use a good laugh. But don't spill any more on my carpet or you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Do you do this every week when i go out?"

"Yes dear." He admitted, shuffling round in order to face the mirror once more, glancing over his shoulder to see her eyes upon him as he jerked himself off.

"What do you think about?" She asked, curiosity vying with disgust in her attitude to finding this side of husband exposed so abruptly in her home.

"All kinds of things."

"That narrows it down a lot." She said sardonically. "Name one."

"Cock sucking for starters."

She winced. "You're so crude."

"Arse fucking too."

"Oh for God's sake." She cried, swatting his wobbling buttocks with her hand. "Stop that!"

"No chance you frigid bitch."

The words hung over him like the sword of Damocles, seeming to echo in the growing chasm between them, before shattering in the face of her wrath. His wife's lady-like demeanour exploded into the demented screeching of a common whore, flailing at him with her hands until his flesh stung under the blows raining down on every exposed part of his body she could reach. And he loved it. Suffering the blows in silence for he didn't want her beating to stop, pumping himself harder in tune with the assault on his body, until she paused for breath, panting wildly. She shook a lock of hair from her eyes, looked wildly around the room and seemed to reach an irrevocable decision, marching over to pluck a bamboo cane from the pot plant by the door which, denied of support, sagged sadly towards the door as though keeping watch for any disturbance to the exotic scene in the room behind it.

His wife stalked back to him in a cold fury. Her teeth bared as though wanting to rend him to the bone for his effrontery. He felt his balls tighten in fear, or lust, it was hard for him to say. It was too hard for him to stop as well. He'd never been this aroused and apprehensive at the same time.

"Now you son-of-a-bitch." His wife hissed. "Tell me why you dress like this!" As she came to the end of the sentence she menaced his buttocks with the end of the cane, sliding it along his crease and under his balls, lifting them briefly before sliding back onto his left

buttock, tapping it with increasing ardour, demanding an answer in a way that promised a world of hurt for any recalcitrance on his part from this moment on.

"Be...because it makes me feel good." He gibbered, fretfully feeling the cane begin to pick up pace, swishing in the air before cracking onto his flesh, stinging like a thousand bees and bringing tears of shamed pain dribbling over his red face.

"And...?" She prodded him between the shoulders with the tip of the cane, scraping it along his spine before descending onto his right buttock.

"And what?" He whined evasively.

"And you like cock sucking! Arse fucking!" She spat the words out like a bad clam and scolded his flesh until he cried out in pained reproach. "How many men have you seen?" She accused.

He looked into her glaring eyes, the reflection not diminishing the impact of their ire and he swallowed his panic with difficulty. What the hell would she do if he told her that? His first impulse was to simply lie through his teeth. Deny everything until blue in the face ('and red on the arse' he thought ruefully). But the evidence before their eyes refuted all his denials and, taking not only his balls, but his very life in hand, admitted her suspicions were correct.

"...but i swear I've not been with any man. It's just a fantasy. Honestly!"

She considered his depraved admission thoughtfully, swatting his buttocks gently in turn until coming to a decision. "I think you're going to enjoy the thrashing you deserve. But not as much as i'm going to enjoy dishing it out. Believe me."

He believed her. The manic gleam in her eye promised him that much. His body tensed as he watched the cane rising higher and higher until it swept down to crack onto his arse. She was a well built woman putting considerable weight behind her hand gripping the cane. Peter gritted his teeth and hung on grimly to the pleasure in his hand while the pain spread through the rest of his trembling body. After ten strokes his moans of pain became groans of pleasure, after twenty he pleaded for her to stop but after thirty, he begged for more.

His wife relentlessly obliged him, swatting his flesh until it seemed to glow, changing hands as her arm tired, wiping beads of sweat from her brow and carrying on the exquisite torture with the other until the cane snapped in half.

"This isn't over." She warned, looking round for something else to use on his worthless flesh.

He groaned, reaching round to rub his arse ruefully while keeping the steady pumping up on his swollen shaft, sneaking a finger into his puckered hole that brought a burst of precum over his hand. He risked a peek over his shoulder and saw she wasn't looking, brought the sticky fingers up to suck on and moaned aloud at the delicious thrill it gave him to taste himself anew.

His wife looked back to see him blissfully engaged and snidely remarked: "Who are you thinking of now?"

"Nobody special." He muttered, rubbing his nipples lovingly.

"Liar!" She stormed back over to him, lifting his head up to force his eyes to meet hers. "Tell me."

"Brian." He finally admitted, unable to prevaricate before her piercing gaze.

"Brian Kilkline?" She said, dazed at the thought of their next door neighbour and her husband together like that.

"Sure. Remember when we went hiking?" She nodded. "Well, he got caught short on the trail and nipped behind a tree to pee. I decided to go myself and got a good look at him. It's been on my mind ever since."

"Sucking him?"

"Oh yes!"

She shook her head slowly and walked out of the bedroom. Peter grinned at her back and resumed finger fucking himself, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand as he closed his eyes and let the fantasy take control once more.

A blinding flash surprised him into the real world again and he saw his wife standing there, camera in hand. "Surprise!" She grinned fiendishly. "Now turn around so i can get a full mug shot."

He did as he was told. What other choice did he have? She had him in the palm of her hand and could break him like a twig. The thought strangely aroused him. Turning to face her he kept wanking as she took a couple more shots before putting the camera away safely, locking the bottom drawer of her dresser and pocketing the key. She smirked at his predicament and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her boots off with a sigh of contentment. "That's better." She breathed, rubbing her stockinged feet. "How much longer are you going to do that?" She asked after watching him for a moment.

"I'm getting close." He replied, feeling his juices beginning to boil up after all the interruptions that night.

"I've warned you once about doing it on my carpet. Don't make me tell you again." She snapped. "Lie down!"

He lay back and thought, not of England, but of Brian's big juicy dick. His wife's foot slid across the space between them and massaged his balls, roughly rolling them under her toes as he jerked closer to a climax, groaning uncontrollably at the delicious sensation of the stockings on his flesh.

"You like that eh?" She noticed, pressing down more firmly. "I can crush them like grapes but that would be too easy for you." She went on, pressing her foot on his balls like pumping the gas pedal of their car on a cold morning. "I wish he could see you now. Maybe I'll show him the pictures some time." She laughed at the wide-eyed expression of panic on her husbands face and wriggled her foot lower. "I can see why you admire Brian actually. "He's all man isn't he?"

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak now his orgasm approached.

"Yes, every inch a man." She said wistfully, playfully prodding his arse before stepping back to unbutton her skirt, letting it slide down her legs then pulling her French knickers to one side. "Do you see this?" She demanded, drawing his attention to the dense patch of blonde hair between her legs.

"Yes dear." He dutifully replied, pulling at his rigid shaft.

She bestowed a wicked smile on him and strode over his supine body to squat delicately on his face, leaving mere inches between his lips and her crotch. "Can you smell it?" She asked, moving slightly away from his searching tongue. "I said smell it you bastard!"