Eventually she learned to use her tongue more, and to squeeze with just her lips as she sucked, and after a couple of weeks after she had read the sex scenes in my manuscripts, she was happily slurping my dick in the shower every couple of mornings.
She had a very strong gag-reflex though, my lovely wife, and I could never fuck her face like I was so desperate to do to her sister. She had thrown up violently the first and only time I tried that, and I had promised her that I wouldn't do it again, no matter how much I wanted to shoot my cum down her throat.
At least she didn't have any problems swallowing my cum. Maybe it's because I'd already put two kids in her belly. I dunno.
I admit that there were times where I felt like shit for being so obsessed with Sarah. I had a really hot wife who was apparently opening up more and rediscovering her sexuality, and all I could think of was her sister. It actually began to eat me up inside, sometimes.
But let's get back to the party.
"Oh yes," I heard my wife giggle softly at her sister's question. "I don't know why but since he started writing he's been such a stud."
All of this inflated my ego immensely as you can imagine. And knowing how happy my wife was, even while I was cheating on her in my mind, sort of rationalized everything for me. I decided that it was working for us, so, why change? I was still getting more and better sex, and my wife seemed to be happier about it too. So, again, why fix what ain't broke?
I'll tell you why. Because I wanted more.
Because I STILL wanted to fuck my sister-in-law.
I caught her giving me glances every once in a while, that day in the pool. After a moment when I caught her looking at her and met her eyes across the water, I winked at her, and maybe I let my lust show on my face again. Unfortunately this seemed to freak her out. She got out of the pool and went inside to get changed.
It was at this moment that I realized I wouldn't be able to seduce her. There would be no secret rendez-vous, there would be no sneaking around. I had seen in her face right then that there was no way that she would betray her sister.
That night I fucked my wife so hard that she actually begged me to stop at one moment. She was crying. I asked her what was wrong and she told me that it was too much for her to take. She wasn't used to getting it so rough and it had scared her a bit.
I apologized and continued to make love to her softly, trying hard to see only her as my cock drove into her wet and willing pussy. I was frustrated. I wanted to enjoy fucking my wife, but her sister kept creeping into my mind.
I raised her legs onto my shoulders, so I could drive myself deep into her, my balls slapping against her ass cheeks as I rhythmically humped my hips against her and pumped my dick into her pussy. This was a new position for us, that I had wanted to try for years, but had only convinced her to go for the previous month. I grabbed on to her waist and buried my cock as deep as it would go and my wife squirmed and moaned under my renewed assault.
I was careful not to pound her too hard, maintaining a good, flowing fuck and soon enough I was rewarded when I felt the walls of her snatch tighten around my cock once, twice and then she came. Her back arched and her pointed nipples hardened in the musky air above our bed as the pleasure raked across her body, her hands clawing at the sheets as she turned her head and bit into the pillow in order to muffle her screams.
I kept pumping into her, enjoying the show as I fucked her, knowing that my cock was responsible for it until the pressure started building up in my balls, and I shot my load into her warm cunt, her wet hole squeezing the last drop from me until I was spent.
She was gasping for air as she told me how amazing it had been. How much she loved my cock. I smiled at her attempts to talk dirty, told her I loved her, really meaning it with all of my heart, but all the while, her sister's face popped up in my head.
It wasn't going away.
The obsession still reigned and flared up dangerously every time I saw my sister-in-law.
Despite the awkward moment by the pool, Sarah seemed to get over it. She seemed very interested in my creative process, and frequently came over on the weekends to ask me how I did it. I realized that she was a frustrated writer, like I had been at one point.
There was no hidden attraction. No secret that I would be able to share with her, no revelation to come. She just wanted to know how I could do it when she couldn't.
It pissed me off.
My fuck sessions with my wife became more aggressive as a result of my resentment against her sister. Bless her heart (and pussy) my wife seemed to be getting into the rougher stuff, and it worked out. Still, now when I fucked my wife doggy style, pounding her pussy from behind while she had her face buried in the pillows, moaning into them, I still imagined it was her sister, but now it was a darker image.
Her sister wasn't that into it anymore. Not like I had fantasized for the past couple of years. Then she'd been a willing participant in my fancies, but no longer. Now the fantasy began to take a darker shade.
I began to pitch scenarios to my wife. I began to tell her about certain fantasies, and in her sexual re-awakening she seemed to be opening her mind to anything if I put it the right way.
We tried tying her up one night.
I used a scarf that her sister had gotten her and tied up her hands, but not her feet. Even though I wanted to simulate hate-fucking Sarah, I would never want to hurt my wife, so I took my time and teased her, running my hands all over her body, using some sexy scented oils I bought her and massaging it into her thighs and breasts as she squirmed, helpless. I could tell that she was getting very much into being tied up, her breath coming in ragged pants as I traced my fingertips across her belly.
I didn't however, want to scare her, so I turned her over, raising her backside to me and continued to play my hands across her quivering body. Her pussy was soaking wet at this point, her juices making a dark stain on the sheets, and as I leaned over her, placing the weight of my body on hers she gasped. I rubbed my body against hers, my eyes closed, imagining it was Sarah, my cock was hard and slippery, sliding between her thighs until I raised myself up, letting it come to attention right at the entrance of her love hole.
I whispered into my wife's ears that I loved her, and that I was going to fuck her hard now because she'd been a very naughty girl. I swear that she started cumming right there. As I pushed my way into her in one violent thrust, her pussy was so tight that it felt like I was taking her virginity all over again. She was screaming into the pillow, and I gave her a couple of quick pokes, making sure she was still caught up in her orgasm.
Then I closed my eyes and pictured her sister lying beneath me. The fucking tease. The fucking cunt I wanted to split in two with my dick. It was irrational, it was all in my mind, but I didn't care. Right there all I could process was that that fucking whore was underneath me, so I began to thrust violently into her.
Since her hands were tied above her head, she couldn't move much, and with my weight on top of her she was completely helpless. I drove my shaft again and again into her, grabbing onto her shoulders as I pulled myself deeper and deeper, the slap of my balls against the back of her thighs beating a desperate rhythm in time with her screams and moans.
Before I realized it I had one hand around her throat, cutting off her screams as I pumped myself against her, my balls bursting with cum as I exploded inside her, groaning and grunting.
All of a sudden I came back to reality.
This wasn't Sarah, this was my wife! Fuck!
I let go of her throat and was dismayed when I heard her sobs. I had hurt her, again, I thought. I hastily turned her over, apologizing over and over, but I was surprised when I met her eyes.
They were glazed over with lust. She hadn't been sobbing. She'd been trembling while she moaned.
"Oh. My GOD!" She breathed. "That was so fucking intense!"
I breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that she was ok.
"God, what came over you?" She asked me as I untied her. "I swear honey, I thought I was going to die from what you were doing to me."
She held on to me, our bodies slick with oil and sweat as she seemed to be trying to press all of her body against mine.
"And when you called me a fucking slut, where did that come from?"
I froze, afraid that I might have even called out Sarah's name in the midst of fucking her. My wife apparently didn't notice, since she kept talking.
"I thought it was so hot. I want to be your slut, baby. I love you so much!"
And there it was. My heart breaking for my wife. I had just fucked her silly, all the while thinking about her god-damned sister. I felt like the lowest piece of shit in the world.
Though you'd never be able to tell my wife thought any of it from the look in her eye. Tears welling up, she told me how incredibly happy she was. How she'd always been afraid that she pushed me away with her resistance to mix it up in the bedroom. How incredible it felt to finally let herself go, and be mine in the way she always suspected I had wanted her.
I kissed her tears away and told her how much she meant to me. That I wanted her more than ever, and that there was no other woman in the world I would rather shove my cock into.
I intentionally kept what I said to her very dirty, since she was also making an effort, and she laughed and kissed me hard and before long she had made my dick hard again. Then she did something I would have put money on that she would never do. She grabbed my dick, still coated with her sticky juices, lowered herself down across my body and wrapped her mouth around my shaft.
You see, after more than a decade of fucking, My wife had never, ever had anything to do with my dick after I fucked her. At least not until I washed it. Her own juices were gross to her. For crying out loud, she never even liked it when I went down on her, making me wash and brush my teeth before even coming near my face. And let me tell you one thing, I enjoyed eating her pussy, but it made her self-conscious and she wasn't really into it, so it was a very infrequent thing. It had been rarer even than the blow jobs she used to give me.
So as her head began to bob up and down on my cock, I closed my eyes and tried really hard to concentrate on her lips, her tongue. Her hair that I grabbed onto as she slurped me into her hot mouth. It was awesome. It also made me really see how much her sexual prowess was increasing. I had never had a finer blowjob.
When I came in her mouth, not even a minute after she had begun to suck my cock, she swallowed most of it, but a lot spilled from her mouth back down around my shaft. She kept kissing my cock and running her tongue over it. She was fucking worshiping my cock. She was acting like the slut I always fantasized about. She rubbed my penis across her face and it spread the mix of my cum and her juices and saliva all over her chin and cheeks as she gazed back adoringly at me.
It was glorious.
Or, it would have been, if I hadn't been picturing Sarah doing the worshiping.
Months passed that way. My wife was becoming the slut of my dreams, but there was always a moment during our love-making when she became her sister in my mind. I couldn't deal with it anymore. I had to know. I had to do something.
The dark feelings of resentment kept growing in my mind. I had to do something, yes, but I no longer wanted her to necessarily enjoy it. The fucking whore, slut was ruining my life.
I know, I know, she wasn't really a fucking whore slut, but I was really at a breaking point. I was tired of having that shit in my mind, even as I still jerked off to her pictures almost daily. I hated myself for it, but I began to irrationally hate her more.
A lot of the research that goes into my novels is done online. It's so easy to find so much information for almost anything. There's no limit to what you can find if you look long enough, and I tell you, there are some sick, twisted perverts out there, and this is coming from a guy who wanted to find a way to fuck his sister-in-law.
So after a while, a plan had begun to form in my head. It wasn't a particularly great plan, I think, but I got the idea from an old Seinfeld episode, if you can believe it.
I was going to 'slip her a mickey'.
Basically, I was going to date-rape her ass.
Yes, I know. The horror. Maybe some of you will close this story now, but if you stay, I want to be perfectly clear.
I know this shit is wrong.
I would KILL anyone who did this to my wife or my daughter.
But I was still going to go through with it.
Don't look for a reasonable explanation. I've grown tired of rationalizing it. Normally I think I'm a good guy. A decent guy. But this bitch has got to get fucked. She's in my brain all the time. She haunts my dreams. She gets under my skin whenever I'm around her.
I have to do this.
It's either this, or lock myself up.
Why don't you see a shrink? you might ask.
Because. I. Need. To. Fuck. Her.
I can't put it any simpler than that.
Are we clear?
Are you going to keep reading?
So like I said, a sketchy plan began to form in my head. I was already clear that I wanted to take her, no matter what. But how to go about it? The roofie was the answer, I thought.
Now, what do you really know about roofies? What you see in movies, TV shows, etc. I'm not going to go into the details of what my research showed. I'm not going to give you a recipe. You're on your own. This is not a how-to guide. This is just a tale of how a bitch got fucked.
Suffice it to say that after weeks of investigations, I thought I finally had a formula for a compound that would do what I wanted. Now, I'm not a fucking chemist, but like I said, there's a lot of shit out there online. I had the workings of proportions and ratios and whatnot. Most importantly, I had a list of ingredients.
Some were easy to get. Home-made even. Some were harder. Luckily for me, I knew someone who could prescribe heavy duty meds.
Sarah's husband. The goofball doctor.
Of course, it's not like I was going to call him up and say 'Hey, I'm looking for a couple of drugs that I can slip to your wife so I can do whatever the fuck I want to her body for a couple of hours.' A more circumspect touch was needed.
I gave him some vague symptoms over the phone. Made up some shit about insomnia and headaches I read about online. He told me to pick up the prescription at his house that night.
Luck was with me as I saw that he had ordered several refills for the different meds, which I ordered all up front. Now I had my complete list of ingredients, but there was still some testing to be done.
After mixing up the meds and other stuff that I had put together and figuring out a dosage, I tried it first with our dog. He's a tough, hyperactive Rottweiler named Sam, and I was sure that if I managed to knock him out, if it didn't kill him outright, I could proceed the the next phase of tests.
I know, I know. Kind of a dick move, yeah? But hey, if Sam needed my help to score with an unreachable bitch he'd been obsessing about for years I'd give him a hand too.
So I dosed the dog. I put it in his water.
After about a minute the poor guy dropped like a fucking brick.
I checked him thoroughly, he seemed to be OK. His breathing was a bit labored, but I counted out his pulse like I saw in an online tutorial and it was within normal range.
That first time I just stayed by his side, there in the den, until he woke up groggily. It had been two hours.
He whined at me and cocked his head as if to say 'What the fuck, dude?' But soon enough he was his regular self. I took him to the park and gave him an entire steak, pan-seared, to ease my guilt.
I waited a week, watching him for any adverse effects but there seemed to be none, so I moved on to the next step. I gave him the same dose, but this time when he passed out, I shook him, yelled at him, pulled his tail (which he really hates) and held a blow-dryer to his face.
My good buddy didn't even flinch.
He woke up two hours later, and he looked at me reproachfully. He seemed to sense that things had been done to him, but had no proof.
Now it was time for human testing. Imagine me doing a mad scientist laugh right now.
Given that the dosage depended on body weight, my wife was the ideal candidate. She was taller than her sister, maybe ten pounds heavier, so if it worked fine on her, it should work on Sarah.
All this time I had also been planing a delivery method. I couldn't just slip it into water like I had for the dog, since I tasted a drop and it was pretty bitter. I had to mask the taste. That was when I came up with the Roofie Colada. Yes, now you see the fucking title for the story. Congratulations.
But hold on a minute. I was obsessed with fucking Sarah, but like I've said before, my wife is my life. I could never hurt her, not even in my misguided pursuit of her sister's pussy.
So before I tried my concoction on her, I took it myself.
It was a Tuesday. I had dropped the kids off at school. My wife was at work. I had the whole day to myself. Just in case something went wrong, I wrote a note and put it in my pocket, explaining that I loved them all no matter what, that nothing was their fault, that I was broken. I desperately hoped nothing went wrong. I even gave a little prayer.
"Dear God, please let this work so I can fuck my wife's sister with impunity. Amen."
I took a sip of my drink. The equivalent dosage according to my weight. The rum in the Roofie Colada did well to mask any bitterness. I put on a timer on my phone and stared at it intently.
Don't ask me when I fucking passed out.
"Daddy! Daddy!" My son's voice, a little frightened, raised me from my stupor. He was standing in the living room next to me, shaking my shoulder. My daughter was next to him, staring with tear-filled eyes at me.
What the fuck happened?
My limbs feel heavy, I can barely keep my head up, and my mind is a complete blur. I see my phone and see a timer that says 7:09 but I don't remember what it's for.
I tell my kids that I'm OK, but my tongue is heavy and I just mumble. My son thinks I'm having a stroke, he calls 911.
Fifteen minutes later, the paramedics are giving me a clean bill of health. I feel much better. I remember now what had happened after finding the note in my pocket.
Holy shit, it was too fucking potent.
My vitals are fine, blood pressure is within norm. I'm able to stand up and walk around. My kids are relieved. My wife gets home, crying and there's a lot of explaining (making shit up) to do. She immediately calls Sarah's husband. He rushes from the hospital.
As he does a more thorough examination of me, there's a tense moment where he asks me about the sleeping pills he'd prescribed. My wife gets terribly worried, I tell her it's no big deal, just trouble sleeping. Damn it you asshole, can't you leave me well enough alone so I can continue working on a way to fuck your wife?
In the end I check out. I finally get my wife to calm down, Sarah's husband leaves and we settle down. Unfortunately my experiments are brought to a halt for a week, because my darling wife asks for time off to take care of me. I really am a putrid piece of shit.
Once things are back to normal, I try again, with half of the dose I used. I'm out for four hours, dead to the world. I had put on several timers on phones, computer and alarm clock at different times, right next to my head. I didn't hear a single one.