Role Reversal

"I know that. I'm pretty lucky."

"You are lucky," she said, "and I'm nervous."

"Why's that? A sexy lady like you nervous around a man who'd do anything to have her?"

"Really? Anything?"

"Yeah, I'd do whatever you asked."

"So, if I told you to take off your clothes, you'd do that? And you'd remember the rules?"

"Like no touching? It might drive me crazy, but I like crazy. If that's the price I'll pay it. Really, I don't see a big downside."

"Start with your shirt."

He obliged her, unbuttoning his short sleeved Oxford shirt. He didn't quite do a striptease, but he did take his time. He was big, with broad shoulders and a thick torso, not athletic, but strong like a working man. She liked what she saw, although she found that making him display himself for her was nearly as embarrassing as it was erotic. His shirt off, he paused to look at her directly, almost as if he were daring her to make the next move. His eyes flickered between hers and her breasts, and her embarrassment spiked. She was sure he wanted to see her breasts, and part of her ached at the idea of showing them. That was a line. "Not yet," she thought.

To cover, she spoke boldly, acknowledging his desire, while maintaining control, although it felt to her like tenuous control. "This isn't about reciprocity. Take off your pants."

With a smile, he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his jeans. He stepped out of them and stood in his socks and briefs, the outline of his erect cock clear to see. The line was a little closer.

"Not bad," she thought, although the socks looked ridiculous, and would look even more so if took off his briefs first.

"Take off your socks."

He leaned on the bed post to remove his socks, moving with masculine physical confidence even in this small act.

"Now the underwear."

He peeled his briefs down from the waistband, bending at the waist to drop them to the floor. The sight of his cock made her resolve to continue waver. Then she became a little angry. Her husband's fantasy was about to put their marriage on the block, making her act out something she would never otherwise do. It wasn't just the idea of adultery. Sex could be a mere physical act, she was sure, although it never had been for her. It went deeper than that, to the heart of how she behaved sexually. She had to think more, to grasp her growing understanding of the situation. Time, she needed time. No line had yet been crossed.

She said. "You just pissed. Go back and wash."

"I washed my hands."

"Yeah, I heard that. Now go wash your cock. Be thorough. Take a quick shower."

He returned to the bathroom and turned on the shower while she thought about her sexual role. "Fuck," she thought, "I have his permission." She became angrier. "Fuck permission -- he wants me to do this." But permission, and even more than permission, knowing this was what her husband wanted, wasn't all she needed. She thought she could reconcile this night with her marriage. Even with all the potential for unexpected jealousy, she was sure her husband would be able to as well.

It was her nature she found it harder to reconcile with. She was rarely the sexual aggressor. Her husband initiated sex nearly all of the time. In fact, that was true of all her lovers. Being propositioned felt good. Even in her long marriage, it made her feel desired. Her husband seemed to enjoy taking charge anyway. He didn't ask so much as tell her that he wanted to fuck. He told her what to do when they were intimate. He often fucked her roughly, mounting her from behind and smacking her ass or pulling her hair. They hadn't always been like this, but had found they both liked fucking this way. Submitting to his strength made her pussy wet faster than gentle, loving foreplay. And it was self-evident that he liked to have his way. But tonight, her husband had guided her into submitting to a role reversal. She had to be the aggressor, had to control this man, to tease him memorably, and ultimately to satisfy him, all in a way that kept him from turning his strength on her.

They had agreed to rules, at her insistence. She would not let him touch her sexually. This was her idea, which she suggested as a way for her to maintain a sense of faithfulness to her marriage. If he was not pleasuring her, if any pleasure she received was incidental, she would solely be acting out her husband's fantasy for his satisfaction, and she could rationalize that she was remaining faithful.

Her husband had not liked the idea initially. He would have liked to know how his wife had enjoyed the other man's touch. But she had been persuasive.

"Honey," she had told her husband, "if I'm doing that much with a man, I'm going to want him to touch me too. My pussy will be sopping. It won't be easy for me to say no if he wants to push the issue."

Her husband liked hearing that, enjoying that it suggested his wife was sexual enough for there to be a conflict between her values and her desires. His cock hardened and the word "slut" came into his mind. He liked that word, although he knew she did not. Was there any complimentary word that conveyed the idea of a sexually driven woman? He didn't think so, although "courtesan" suggested at least some status. In that vein, he loved the thought that she was so skilled as to be able to tease a man over the course of an evening, to pleasure him well enough that he would willingly delay his orgasm -- something he could easily enough claim at any point -- until she chose to give it him. And if that made her as horny as he hoped it would, so much greater the value to him of her staying in control.

She understood his thinking, although to her it seemed like armchair quarterbacking. The risk to her was real. The game was to deny this man satisfaction for as long as possible, while keeping him at as great an erotic pitch as she could. He would have to always believe she would make him cum. What if he lost faith, or patience, and turned from date to rapist? Try as she might, there was no way for her to know exactly what would be in his mind, and in fact, any control she had over him depended entirely on abstract cultural rules which men broke every day. And feminist definitions be damned, would it in fact be rape if the man she so teased lost control and did to her what she would herself want? And if she were so raped, would that violate her wedding vows? It depended on what "No" meant, and she wasn't sure how persuasive she could be.

The mind bending did not end at the rules, but followed through in the definitions. And in the end, it was those definitions that allowed her to play hide and seek with her marriage vows. Over time, she had embraced her sexual submissiveness to her husband, as he embraced his dominance. These had become their intimate identities, roles that their closest friends would have found surprising. In fact, until their relationship had incrementally adopted those definitions, she would not have believed it was possible. Outside their bedroom, she was anything but submissive. Tonight would be her greatest submission to her husband, committing an act that took her beyond what had been her limits. With that realization, it fell into place. She even appreciated the irony that her submission would occur through her playing the dominant role and controlling this man now showering in her bathroom.

When he came back out, she said, "Stop." He did. "Good. Turn around, let me get a good look."

He obliged. She assessed him, inching closer to the line that no longer scared her. Not skinny, not fat. Chest hairy enough to be masculine without being gross. She was glad he didn't shave his pubic hair -- that little boy look was a turn off. Nice cock, circumcised, not too big or small, but hard, definitely hard.

She felt confident enough to step up to him and drag her fingernails down his chest, his belly, coming so close to his cock he must have been about able to feel the air move. He gasped, then reached to touch her breast. She grabbed his hand and said with authority, "No. You don't get to touch me. This is over if you do."

He pulled back his hand and said, "Sorry."

Again, his backing down reassured her. The line was uncrossed, and she meant to keep it that way until she chose the moment. Competing with that control was the desire to look into his eyes and say, "Touch me. Squeeze my nipples so it hurts down to my pussy and I faint from the sensation." But understanding her role now, she closed her eyes until that desire passed and instead said, "Lay down. Face down".

He complied. It was summer, and there was no blanket on the bed. He was lying on a clean sheet. It must have felt cool and smooth against his chest and his cock. She knelt on the bed next to him and started to rub his shoulders. She wanted a sense of his body, wanted to know it more intimately, more gradually. He had powerful shoulders, and she pinched the muscles hard in her hands. He groaned a little. "Do you like that Sailor?"

"I do," he said into the pillow.

She thought, "Sailor? Why did I call him Sailor?" It had just come out. It did make her feel better. Maybe the absurdity of pretending to be a dock-side whore gave her perspective. Maybe she just needed to give him a name that she hadn't known him by before.

She swung a leg over him and straddled his ass, putting a toe on the line. With her hands on his shoulders, she ground her pelvis against his ass, her movements making him fuck the mattress. She thought about how the friction from the cotton sheets must be warming his cock. She sat up, reached inside her blouse and unclasped her bra, removing it while leaving on her blouse. She wanted to feel the cloth of her blouse against her nipples, like he was feeling the sheet against his cock. A violation of the rules perhaps, but a technical one. He was not pleasuring her. She was doing it to herself, masturbating in essence. Her husband never minded her masturbating, encouraged it, in fact. And if you came right down to it, they were her rules, and hers to break if she chose.

She tossed the bra to the pillow by his head, wanting him to know what she'd just done. Then she put her hands back on his shoulders and rhythmically ground against him as if she were fucking his ass. The sensation of his ass against her clit and her pussy through her panties was delicious. She thought she might cum. Both she and her husband had cum in this position, although rarely. He was enjoying it, judging by the sounds he made, and she was pretty sure she had begun to cross the border.

She didn't do this for long. It was torture for her, making her long for her husband's cock, making her doubt her ability to follow the rules. And, she was worried he'd cum from the friction. It surprised her to realize she was enjoying the scene too much to end it that soon. She stopped grinding and lay down on his back, feeling her breasts against him through the thin cloth, knowing he would be enjoying her softness on his back.

"Are you having a good time, hon?"

"Oh, fuck, yeah," he said.

"Good. You're mine tonight, and you're going to remember that." She started kissing his shoulder where it met his neck, a spot her husband loved on her. Gradually, she began to bite him there, sucking his skin into her mouth until he groaned and she had left a deep, purple bruise just below the collar line. Her husband did this to her regularly, saying he was marking her as his own. She relished that, his control, the pain that he would push to almost unbearable limits, and afterward, the warmth of the angry mark. Days later she would catch a glimpse in the mirror and begin to moisten. Once in a while, he would bite her shoulder that way as he worked his cock into her ass, marking her and possessing her at one time. This drove her wild, for she had to concentrate on relaxing her ass while he penetrated her, but his mouth on her shoulder occupied almost all of her senses.

Biting and marking this man's shoulder was intoxicating, and she began to understand the power her husband enjoyed when he pinned her to the bed and bit her nearly to the point of bleeding. She shuddered. "God," she thought, "what's it like to actually penetrate someone with your body?"

Slowly, she freed his flesh from her teeth. She listened to his breathing calm. "There's a souvenir for you," she said softly. "Hope your wife won't mind."

"She won't. She knows what we're doing."

"Yeah? What's she think about it?"

"I don't know. Nervous. Horny, I hope. Worried something will change in a way we can't retreat from. We've never done this before, but it's a huge turn-on. I imagine she's very wet and very distracted. I think she'll want to fuck later."

"Good. I hope she fucks you until your cock is raw and it hurts to go on. She should cum ten times to your one. You should pay for putting her through this. And honestly, I want to make you pay a little too."

"Yeah, I owe her for this. And what you've done so far has been amazing. Do what you want."

"Oh, I will. And you'll let me."

She kissed him lightly on the neck, exhaled her warm breath in his ear, and sat up. She began to run her fingernails lightly down his back, almost tickling him. She laughed when he jumped away.

"Lay still, Sailor."

His back was amber in the candlelight, except for the large bruise she'd left. She liked seeing her mark on him. She drew her fingernails slowly and sharply down his back, and again, watching welts grow from her hands as he writhed and gasped. The erotic power of hurting him this way brought on dizziness, as well as a warmth and pleasure in her clit and pussy. She leaned forward and grasped his shoulders hard until it passed.

"Stay put," she said. She went to the bathroom, sat to pee, and removed her panties. Pissing was a relief. Her full bladder had become a distraction as she bore down on him. Going back into her bedroom, she paused at the door. He had not moved, laying on the bed, face down, lightly grinding into the sheets. Her bra still lay to one side of his head.

Kneeling on the bed, she straddled him once more, this time rubbing her bare pussy against his ass. Was this across the line? There was no possibility of penetration. Couples danced with others, slowly and flirtatiously, breast to chest, sometimes groin to groin, and the only differences were the safety of being in public and a couple of layers of cloth. In any event, this was not against the rules. It felt good, but she was doing it to him.

"Um hmm. I'm pretty wet right now. Can you feel that?"

He said softly, "I can."

Moving to the bed next to him, she felt his ass with her hand. Under her touch, he tightened the muscles, then loosened them. She cupped the cheeks, then ran a finger down the crack from top to the base of his balls, lingering a little at his asshole. "You like that?"

"Yeah." He sounded winded.

She continued stroking his ass, absently now, wondering at herself. She shook her head, just a tilt, thinking, "I'm definitely over the line now. What's to lose?"

"Sailor, you ever have a lady finger-fuck your ass?"

"Only one."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I think I'd like doing it. Open the drawer. There's some KY just inside."

He handed it back to her, and she placed a large dollop on her middle finger. "Relax, Sailor."

She stroked the outside of his asshole with her lubed finger, then slowly began to work it inside, pushing first at one side, then the other. He lay still at first, then pushed back against her. When her finger was all the way in, she leaned on him, pushing him down on the bed. The bump of his prostate was under her finger, and he moaned when she rubbed it.

"You liking this, hon?"

"Oh, God damn, yes."

With her left hand, she reached under him, feeling for his cock. She found it, felt it oozing from her massage of his prostate. His cock in her hand erased any doubts that she had crossed the line into the rabbit hole of her husband's fantasy. With a smile she thought, "If this is what my husband wants, I guess I'm good with it." She finger-fucked his ass for a long time, felt him loosening up and finding a rhythm. In the end, she had three fingers in him and he had soaked the sheets.

He groaned loudly, and she said, "What do you want, Sailor?"

"God, I am ready to cum. Please make me cum."

"You want to cum," she said, while thinking, "I have never wanted to cum more in my life."

"Why should I make you cum? Aren't you having fun now?"

"Christ, yes, but, shit, no one has ever made me this horny."

"So, you're really horny and you think I should make you cum."

"Yes."

She pressed down on his prostate, while running the well-lubricated fingers of her left hand around the head of his cock. "I think maybe I should just send you to your wife like this, with a stiff cock and slippery ass, and see what she says. Do you think she'd make you cum?"

He couldn't answer. "Oh, oh, God, I don't know. Shit. Oh."

She leaned down to whisper in his ear. Her nipples brushed against his back through her blouse and sent a tingle down his spine. "Tell you what Sailor. You don't deserve to cum because of what you're doing to your wife. But I will make you cum anyway because the sooner I do, the sooner my husband will fuck me. My pussy is soaking wet from doing this to you, and I'm aching to feel his cock. I've never been bad like this before, and making you cum will be really bad. It's my gift to him, because the worse I am, the rougher he'll want to fuck me. So yeah, I'm going to make you cum. But not quite yet. Roll over Sailor." She pulled her fingers from his ass to ease his movement.

Instead of focusing on his cock, she moved up his torso and took a nipple in her mouth. She sucked it hard, feeling the small bud of it harden. She bit it lightly, then harder, and stopped when she judged the timbre of his moan meant real pain. Teasing him like this was driving her crazy, and the moisture was oozing from her pussy.

"Yeah, I'll make you cum, Sailor. That was the deal. First though, I'm going to give you a taste of what you can't have."

With that, she stood up and unbuttoned her blouse. She took it off, and he said, "You have beautiful breasts."

"Yeah, and you can't touch them. I'll bet you want to squeeze them and suck my nipples, don't you?"

"I'd love to."

"My husband does whatever he wants with my tits." She pinched her nipples, hard, feeling the sensation running down her belly. "I love it when he slides his cock in between them. Sometimes he fucks my tits until he cums on them, or he'll tit-fuck me until he's about to blow, then he moves up and cums in my mouth. I love it when he cums in my mouth, uhmm. Think about my tits all you want, but don't get near them if you want to cum."

She stood up, unbuttoned her skirt, stepped out of it and her panties. "I bet you'd like to get some of this, too, wouldn't you?" She was wearing thigh high stockings, but those she left on. Stepping close to the bed, she turned slowly to give him a view of her ass and her pussy.

"Yeah."

"Too bad it's my husband's. He gets to fuck my pussy, and my ass, too, if he wants. It fills me up when he does. Sometimes I ask him to just fuck me hard, to use me and cum in my ass. I'll bet you'd like that."

He nodded.

"But you're going to get my hand tonight, maybe my mouth, if you're good. You want to cum in my mouth?"

"Oh, yeah," he gasped.

"It's been a long time since anyone but my husband did that, but you keep your hands to yourself, Sailor, and I might just make you do that."

Then she straddled his belly, careful to keep her pussy just beyond his cock. "No touching," she said, though having the head of his cock an inch from her pussy was killing her. She wanted nothing more than to push back and feel him fill her up, and ride him through the orgasms that were right there ready to pop.