The Chess Player Ch. 1

"Rachael, we have company. Turn around and say hello."

I did as I was told. Turning toward the man who had just fucked me, I smiled.

"Hello."

"Hello. And thank you."

"Thank him," I said tilting my head backward, in the direction of my husband. "I only fuck the ones he chooses."

"Then, thank you, sir. That was without a doubt, the most exciting fuck I've ever had!"

Patrick smiled. "My pleasure. We're going to be here all weekend. Maybe we'll get together again before we leave."

"Call me. I'm in room 243. My name is James."

Patrick didn't say anything else, and James walked toward the door. He opened the door, and as he walked out, he turned to me. "Regardless of who told you to do what... I'll never forget you." And with hat the door was pulled shut behind him. I watched the door close behind the stranger who'd fucked me without any emotion, other then desire. Turning back to my husband, I awaited his next order.

"Rachael, go clean up. And then get dressed. I feel like seeing a movie tonight."

I knew what that meant. Patrick was hot from watching James fuck me, from watching me suck his cock while the man from the night pushed his hot dick into my waiting pussy, my whorish, wanton pussy! It was always like this. First a little exhibition, then Patrick's cock would demand attention, and then, sometimes, like tonight, even as I would satisfy my husband's ravenous appetite for sexual thrills, it would not be enough. It would not be enough until a stranger had humiliated me, had touched, or fucked or placed his cock inside my mouth. It would not be enough for Patrick. And it would not be enough for me!

I knew what my husband wanted me to do, and how he wanted me to dress for the evening. I let the warm water of the shower pelt against my skin, turning it to a shade of deeper red, the shade of a deep blush, if I could still remember what a blush looked like. I allowed my washcloth to linger a bit longer than necessary as I cleaned the cunt the stranger only fucked ten minutes ago. Dropping the cloth to the floor of the shower, I replaced the terry cloth roughness with the tip of my finger.

I found the little nub of tissue I was seeking. My clit was hard, harder even than my nipples. I ran my soap coated finger across the tender patch of passion, and with each stroke I became more excited! Memories flooded my consciousness, bringing vivid images of nights gone by, long forgotten, forgotten till now, and now remembered with stark reality.

I remembered the trucker who had stopped to help me a few months ago as I stood on the side of Interstate 20, looking at the flat wheel on my BMW. I had been standing there only a minute, and I must have looked very vulnerable, dressed in a summer outfit of a loose skirt and tied top. I was wearing sandals, bound with leather thongs, atop of high heels. I remember how the heels looked as the trucker lifted my legs back, back over my shoulders, his massive hands wrapped around my ankles, as his hard, hot cock sawed in and out of my pussy, without stop, without mercy! He had fucked me like a whore, called me a slut as he came in my pussy, and I loved every minute of it! And later, as I cleaned his cum soaked dick with my mouth, with my tongue, my lips, I tasted both of us, and it was sooo good!

And I remembered the man in the mall last month, the man whose wife was shopping in one of the department stores. He looked so sad, sitting there. I had sat next to him, engaged him in conversation, and right there, in the middle of the mall with literally thousands of people passing in front of us, I had jerked his cock to orgasm while covering my actions with my overcoat, which I had settled over both of us. I didn't know the man's name. That wasn't important. What was important was that I could be so sexual, so exciting, that a man would risk his marriage, his family, his entire life just to have my hand on his penis, just to feel my nails as they raked across his exposed cock!

And Patrick had been there when I'd done it! He'd watched the whole show. He knew the minute I'd adjusted my coat over the strangers lap that my hand would disappear under that coat, and the stranger would soon be the recipient of an unexpected carnal pleasure.

My body racked with orgasm as I recalled these things, these collage of men with hard cocks, with cocks shooting come all over me, all over whatever part of me they wanted, my face, my breasts, my ass, my pussy, maybe only my hand, maybe into my hair, but they all used me as they wished, and I used them as only I could!

The shower water stopped! I looked up. It was, of course, Patrick. He had watched me as I lost control again, control of my passions, control of my pussy. It didn't matter. Patrick understands me. And he understands my need to come, and come often. We are a perfect match, and as all good matches, we create the magic that is fire!

"Really, Rachael, don't you think you can wait a little while? You've had six orgasms in the last hour. That's a bit excessive, even for you!"

"Yes. I know. But I was remembering..."

"It's okay, baby, but come on now. You don't want to miss the movies do you?"

He left the bathroom. I toweled off, removed my shower cap and began getting dressed. But first, I checked myself one more time in the mirror. Though the glass was somewhat fogged, I could still make out my fullness. My hard, proud breasts, sticking straight out, nipples pointed even further, perhaps almost another 3/4 inch from the tit itself. My green eyes traveled downward past my flat tummy to the reddish gold hair framing my pussy. Patrick doesn't allow me to maintain a full bush of hair there anymore. Only a fine coat of closely cropped fur covered my snatch, and it was too short to hide my pubes, my lips, my clit. All was there to view, to penetrate with eyes, fingers, cock! The hair was more for cosmetics than for protection. Besides, my pussy never sought protection or mercy. It is the pussy of a whore, and whores deserve no quarter when it comes to fucking!

I slipped my leg into the first stocking and attached it to the pink garter belt I'd already put on. I love the feel of silk stockings. As I smoothed it over my leg, my fingers grazed the soft skin of my upper thigh, and a chill ran down my spine. I knew I could come again, with little to no effort. Instead, I fastened the second stocking to the other garter strap. My pussy was framed now, long garter straps reaching across my thighs, between my legs, and biting into the top of the stockings. And they would cut into the back of my legs if I sat too long on them. That would not be a problem. I knew I'd not be sitting long. More than likely, I would spend the rest of my evening either on my knees or on my back. Movies are like that! Yes, they are.

I stepped into my dress. It was pinkish-peach, and fastened from the front. There were twelve buttons up the centre of the outfit. It was cut low, but not too low, in the bodice, and the back was respectable. It came to the top of my knees, maybe a half inch above. All buttoned, the dress looked rather decent from a distance. But with a few buttons undone, and upon closer inspection, a person could see that I wore nothing over either my breasts or my pussy!

If I stood in such a way as to have light behind me, my entire shape was patently clear to any eyes fixed on me. I had watched many men walk into walls, or trip over their own feet as they watched me enter a building on a sunny day wearing this dress. And I would always stop right in the doorway, looking for some imaginary something in my purse, acting as if I didn't know that the men were seeing the same thing a man usually sees just before he fucks me.

They could see my entire figure, pussy and all!

Completing the outfit was my cream colored pumps. The heels were a bit over four inches tall, and they shaped my already well shaped calves as I walked. Patrick liked these shoes. He called them my "fuck-me, fuck-me" pumps. And he was probably right. I had no idea of how many men had rammed their cocks into my pussy while these shoes were still on my feet!

The image was perfect. At first glance, I looked like a wife. With a bit more study, and a few buttons undone, I looked like a fun date. And with one or two more buttons, and the right attitude, I looked like a bought and paid for woman! Before this night was over, I knew how I'd finally look. Before this night was over, I would look, act, talk, and suck like a slut! I could hardly wait to get out of the room!

I exited the bath, and Patrick was waiting. "You look absolutely beautiful!"

"Why, thank you. How kind of you to say that."

"Sweetie, I'm a lot of things, but kind ain't one of 'em. Let's go!"

We were on our way to the movies. My husband and me, about to engage in the normal kind of things All married couples do. Not!

To Be Continued...