Suspicious Minds

He reached around with his left hand and began to stroke my clitoris while slowly easing into my pussy. A distant voice again protested that this wasn't supposed to be happening, but the sensations pulsing through me were so strong that they overwhelmed my doubts. I felt every inch of his cock as he slid it into me, and the sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Each slow gliding thrust seemed to increase my need for the next one. I began to moan again.

Suddenly, I felt the greasy finger of his right hand circling my anus. I'd never liked anything back there before, but the teasing felt good, adding a new sensation to the feelings in my pussy. Then his finger began to penetrate me, sliding in and pulling out like a second cock. He began to synchronize his finger in my backside and his cock in my pussy, until both were driving me crazy.

As I settled into the new rhythm, he added a second finger and continued to slide them both into me. The pressure was much greater, almost uncomfortable, but he rotated his hand and slowed his thrusting until it was almost like a caress. At the same time, he continued to stroke my clitoris, and the two sensations seemed to blend. I had the fleeting thought that my body was some kind of musical instrument that Bill was playing.

Whatever melody he had in mind, the tempo was definitely increasing. Between the thrusting of his cock and the fingers in my anus and the stroking of my clitoris with his other hand, I was flying. Just when I thought I was headed for another climax, he abruptly withdrew his cock, and I whimpered at the loss of sensation.

Before I knew what was happening, Bill pulled his fingers from my bottom and began to rub his cock back there. Then he began a slow but inexorable thrust that impaled me as I knelt before him there on the blanket. My moans rose in pitch as the pressure threatened to become unbearable, but through it all he never ceased to stroke my clitoris, and I felt myself twitching.

Then I realized that he was fully inside me, and the pressure wasn't so bad. When he pulled out only to thrust back in again, the fullness almost felt good. As he continued his slow thrusting, I began to feel new sensations growing within me, a need for him to continue, even to accelerate. Something was happening within me unlike anything I'd ever known before, and suddenly my desire was building. I laid my head down on the blanket again, thrusting my bottom even higher.

I closed my eyes tight and lay there, helplessly feeling him pounding faster and faster into me, feeling the sensations growing. I could hear my heart pounding even louder in the background, and I began to chant in time with it, "You're such a dirty girl, such a dirty girl, dirty girl, dirty girl!" Then it all became too much and I screamed once and then screamed again as I exploded. I slumped to fall prone on the ground and passed out.

Sometime later I awoke to find myself lying on my back. I still felt drugged, and I became concerned when I realized I couldn't see very well. I jerked my head around and stared at the dim lights overhead for long moments before it came to me that they were stars.

Groggily I looked around. Darkness had fallen over the meadow. I tried to sit up and felt my head swim.

Bill must have awakened before me because he was already dressed. Then he was helping me get into my clothes, encouraging me to hurry. "It's almost 8:00 p.m.," he said urgently, "Lydia and Marshall will be wondering where we are."

The mention of Marshall's name sent a thrill of fear through me and helped me to concentrate on what I was doing enough to pull my clothes on. Bill almost dragged me to his car and shoved me into the passenger side. Then he drove down the hill and back to the parking lot at the entrance to the park. He helped me get into my car and peered anxiously into my face. "Are you going to be able to drive?" he asked.

"I think so," I replied.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later," he said. He quickly hopped into his car and drove off. I started the engine and slowly headed in the direction of home. I'm not sure how I made it; I was still having a difficult time concentrating. But traffic was light, which was a blessing, and my bottom was so uncomfortable that it helped to keep me focused enough to find my way back.

As I drove, I tried to think about what excuse I could give Marshall. My paranoia began to rise: what if he'd called Sis and found out I wasn't there? I tried to think about what I could tell him, but nothing would come to mind. Finally, I decided to say nothing at all and try to bluff it out.

When I finally pulled into our driveway, Marshall came out to meet me. "Where have you been?" he asked. "It's after 8:00 o'clock. I've been so worried about you."

"I'm fine," I said tersely. "Things just ran a little later than I expected." Then I brushed passed him and went into the house with him tagging behind me.

"I'm worn out," I said, climbing the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

"What about our dinner at Antonio's?" he asked.

I just ignored him. I was still feeling woozy, and I couldn't have made conversation if I'd wanted to. When I got to the bedroom, I simply kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to undress. "I've just got to sleep," I thought. "I'll deal with my husband and my guilt tomorrow."

Marshall

The weekend started off uneventfully. Marsha and I were up fairly early. We had breakfast together and things seemed almost normal between us. We talked about our jobs and I mentioned that I'd be flying out for an overnight trip on Monday. That wasn't unusual, so I didn't make a big deal out of it, but Marsha seemed a bit distracted and had to ask me twice when I was leaving. I guess her mind was on her visit to her sister.

Soon enough it was time for me to head for the golf course. Marsha told me she'd be leaving for her sister's house shortly. "Say hi to Sis for me," I said as I went out to the car.

Our usual routine was to play the first nine holes, then break for lunch. Then we'd head out for the back nine as soon as the scheduler could put us on. Although it took a long time to finish eighteen holes, it made for a relaxing and enjoyable day, even if I did miss my par putt on the last hole.

It was late afternoon when I got back home. After I'd showered, Marsha still wasn't back, and that left me in a bit of a quandary. I had made reservations for us at 8:00 at Antonio's. We hadn't really talked about when she'd be home, so I didn't know when to expect her. The later in the afternoon it got, the tenser I became. I knew that she would want to get a shower and get made up for our evening out, and that was usually a two-hour process. If she didn't get home soon, we'd never make it.

I sat around for quite some time, growing more and more upset. "She could have at least called me if she was running late," I thought sullenly.

By now it was after 6:00 and there was still no sign of her. I tend to worry anyway, and the later it got, the more uncomfortable I became. I didn't want to call her cell because then she'd think I was checking up on her. I also felt I couldn't call her sister to see if Marsha had left yet. If I did and Sis mentioned it to Marsha, I'd be right back in hot water. Now that things seemed to be calming down, the last thing I wanted to do was to set Marsha off again.

When it was almost 8:00 p.m., I was pacing the floor. Several times I pulled out my phone only to put it back in my pocket. Finally, I made up my mind that if she hadn't come home by 8:00 I would call and the consequences be damned.

Just then I saw headlights pulling into our driveway, and I recognized Marsha's car. I was relieved that she was safe and angry that she was so late. I stalked out of the house and walked over to meet her as she opened her car door. When she stood up, I was shocked at her appearance. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes were rumpled and looked as though they'd been slept in. Her eyes were bloodshot and I thought they appeared dilated.

"Are you okay, Marsha?" I asked anxiously.

"I'm fine," she said curtly. She brushed by me, heading for the door. I scurried after her; I wasn't sure whether she was going to make it, given how unsteadily she was walking.

"What about Antonio's?" I asked as she made her way up the stairs and went into the bedroom.

"Not tonight, Marshall," she said, and as I watched she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the bed without even getting undressed. In seconds she was sound asleep.

I was deeply concerned: the way she looked and acted made me think she was either drunk or stoned. I actually leaned over her face as she lay there, trying to smell alcohol or pot, but all I caught was a trace of her perfume. I went downstairs and out to her car. Again, there were no telltale signs of alcohol and drugs.

Finally, I went back in the house, found some leftovers in the refrigerator and made myself a very unsatisfying dinner. Afterwards, I watched tv for a while before turning off the lights and going to bed myself. But sleep didn't come easily to me. I was angry at her complete lack of consideration and deeply concerned about what she could have been doing. I decided I would have it out with her in the morning.

Although it had been difficult for me to fall asleep, I still got up on Sunday at my normal time. I made some breakfast for myself and waited for Marsha to come down so we could talk, but she didn't appear. When I went up to check on her, she was still sound asleep.

At noon I fixed myself some lunch; again I ate alone. I had just finished when my phone rang. It was Sis!

"Hi, Marshall," she said brightly, "I've been trying to reach my sister but she's not answering her phone so I thought I'd call you. Is she around?"

I was so startled that I didn't know what to say. "Actually, she's still in bed. She got in late last night and has slept all morning," I managed.

"Well, let the poor girl sleep," she replied. "She must need it. Just tell her I called. Listen, I have to run, so she can ring me back tomorrow. I wish you two would come see me. Bye." And with that she was gone.

What the hell did that mean? Why did Marsha need so much sleep? Why did Sis ask the two of us to come visit her when Marsha had just spent the day with her? Now I was more concerned and suspicious than ever. When was I going to get some answers?

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Marsha made an appearance. She was still wearing the same clothes that she came home in, and, to my eyes, she still didn't look herself. She walked through the den where I was watching tv and headed for the kitchen. When I got in there, she had found some more leftovers in the refrigerator and was hungrily wolfing them down, accompanied by a large glass of water.

When she finished, I sat down at the table with her and said, "Marsha, we need to have a talk."

"Fine, Marshall, but not now. I'm still dog tired and I need more sleep. We'll talk later."

With that she arose and headed back up the stairs to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She never reappeared for the rest of the evening. Finally, I quit waiting and went upstairs to pack my suitcase for tomorrow's trip. I did try to call Sis back, but she didn't answer her phone. I left a message, but had no idea when she might get around to returning my call. Marsha was still sound asleep. Frustrated on all fronts, I went to bed even more despondent than I'd been the previous night.

I went in to the office early on Monday because I had a ton of work to do to get ready for my trip. I didn't trust Marsha to remember that I was traveling, so I left her a note to let her know where I'd be and when I'd be back.

The work I had to get done acted like a tonic for me, helping to take my mind off my worries about Marsha. The fact that I had to go out of town also helped: I knew I had to confront Marsha face to face, and I knew I couldn't do that until I returned from my trip. That knowledge allowed me to push everything that had happened out of my mind until later.

My false sense of relief lasted until mid-afternoon, when my client called to reschedule our meeting to later in the month. Once I'd canceled all my travel arrangements, I had nothing left to do. Having caught up on all my work, my mind was free to fret about my wife and the worrisome state of our marriage. I tried to call Marsha, but only got her voice mail, so I left her a message that I'd be home tonight after all.

"Now what do I do?" I asked myself. Then it came to me: Lydia. I desperately needed to get someone else's view on all the craziness going on with Marsha. Were things really as bizarre and suspicious as I thought, or was my paranoia working overtime? Maybe Lydia could help me sort it out.

I reached Lydia at her office, but she was in the middle of something and couldn't talk. "Listen," she said, "if you're that desperate, swing by our house on your way home this evening. Bill called me a little while ago to let me know he'll be working late tonight, so we'll have some peace and quiet and can talk."

I thanked her profusely. A feminine perspective was exactly what I needed.

Marsha

I couldn't believe I'd slept all day Sunday. Actually, that wasn't true: I'd awakened several times during the day. I thought about getting up to get out of my clothes but decided I didn't want to leave my panties where Marshall could find them, or he'd know exactly what I'd been doing on Saturday. So I simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

At one point, I got so hungry that I had to go downstairs and eat something. Marshall tried to quiz me on where I'd been and what I'd been doing, but I didn't want to have any conversations until I'd had a chance to think out what I was going to say. I brushed him off and went back to bed.

When I woke up on Monday morning and went downstairs, I finally felt like I was back to normal. Marshall had already left for work, and when I found his note reminding me about his business trip, I was relieved because that would give me more time to come up with an explanation for Saturday.

I went on into the office, arriving just a few minutes late. As I worked, I continued to rack my brain about what I could tell Marshall. The thing was, I didn't want to use an excuse; my guilt was so great that all I could think about was confessing my sins and begging for Marshall's forgiveness.

What made it so bad was that I'd cheated twice. I'd heard men say before that they could possibly forgive a one-time slip, but after the second time you were just another slut having an affair. I had to admit that what had happened in Bill's cabana was my fault, even though I hadn't meant for it to happen.

But yesterday was a different story. I'd gone out with Bill to try to break things off and to figure out how to deal with Lydia. The next thing I knew I was on my hands and knees and Bill was fucking my ass! What happened? Did that son-of-a-bitch drug me? There had to be some explanation for that out-of-body feeling and the fact that I slept for almost 24 hours straight.

But even then I had to admit that I hadn't been raped. I never fought with him, never even told him no. I just lay there and let him do whatever he wanted to me. I had even enjoyed it -- I'd had two orgasms! That admission was the last straw, and I began to weep as I sat at my desk.

At that moment, my phone rang. When I recognized Bill's voice, all my rage exploded. "You bastard, what did you do to me Saturday? If you drugged me, I'll have you thrown in jail!"

"Marsha," he said calmly, "I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want me to do. I didn't hear any protests out of you. In fact, the only thing I heard was you begging for more."

I didn't want to pursue that line of thought because I knew what he said was true. All I could say was, "Who wanted what doesn't matter now. The only thing that matters is that you've put both our marriages at risk. If Marshall finds out, he'll kick me out of the house, and Lydia will do the same thing to you."

"That's where you're wrong," Bill said smoothly. "Lydia and I have an open relationship. We're both free to have relationships with other people whenever we want."

"That can't be true!" I hissed, not wanting to alert the rest of the office. "She's never said anything about an open marriage to me."

"Of course not. We all know that Marshall would never go for anything like that. Of course, if you're telling me different, we could always bring it up to him and see what he says."

"No!" I gasped. "I don't want Marshall ever to know what I've done. He'd never trust me again."

"Fine," Bill replied, "then we'll just have to be very careful the next time you and I get together."

"No," I cried again, "we're not getting back together. I should never have agreed to meet you on Saturday, and I'll never see you again!"

"I'm afraid you're wrong about that, Marsha. If you don't want Marshall to find out what you've been doing, you're going to have to be a little more cooperative."

And there it was. Now I knew exactly what sort of person Bill really was, and I also knew just how much trouble I was in.

I began to plead with him, "Please, Bill, don't make me do this. I don't want to have an affair, I just want to have my marriage back the way it was. Please, Bill, I'm begging you."

I could almost hear him thinking on the other end of the line.

"Alright, Marsha. I have no interest in a long-term affair. Just one more time, that's all I want. Give me your hot body one more time and we'll call it quits. But it's got to be soon, Marsha. I won't wait very long."

Resignation flowed over me. That blackmailing son-of-a-bitch had me over a barrel. If he were so much as to drop a hint to Marshall, my husband's naturally suspicious nature would go wild and there'd be no way to keep him from finding out the truth. In fact, I thought, at this point if he were to ask me point blank, I'd undoubtedly confess on the spot. There was no way I could go on leading this cheating double life much longer.

But maybe if I went along with Bill this one last time, I could put the whole terrible thing behind me before it became too obvious to hide. Just one more time and then I'd be safe.

The moment I realized I had no other choice, I also realized that I had been given a chance, the chance to get through all this with without Marshall's knowledge. He was already headed out of town; if Bill could do it tonight, I'd be able to start rebuilding my marriage to Marshall free from Bill's lascivious clutches.

"Alright, Bill, one last time. But after that, never again." My voice rose, "I mean it, Bill, if you ever approach me again after this, I'll cut your balls off and take my chances with Marshall."

"Alright, alright," Bill griped, "there's no need to get violent. I said this will be the last time and I meant it. Besides, you might enjoy it, just like the other times."

When I didn't say anything, he went on. "So when do you want to get together?"

"If you can get away after work," I told him, "we can get this whole sordid business over with tonight. Marshall had to go out of town and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. This is the one chance we'll have when he won't be around."

"Fantastic!" Bill gloated. "I'll tell Lydia I'm working late. I'll meet you at your house at 6:00."

"Fine," I said, "but remember that this is absolutely the last time." Then I hung up. After tonight, I hoped I'd never hear that bastard's voice again.

As I sat at my desk trying to regain my composure, something Bill had just said recurred to me. Why would he have to mislead Lydia about his plans tonight if they had an open marriage? "I wonder if he was lying to me about that too?" I wondered. But it didn't really matter either way; the only thing that was important was that after tonight I'd be free of him.