Down the Rabbit Hole

Ten happy years of marriage had passed in the blink of an eye. Dylan had met her at sixteen, married here at eighteen and, somehow, a lifetime had gone by and was now threatening him with middle age.

It was an easy life he found himself in. A nicer condo on a high floor overlooking the park. Enough savings that retirement would be planned out in another decade's time. He was in better shape than he'd ever been in his life. His relationship with Molly, the aforementioned wife, was debateably reaching yet another peak.

And yet...

It had started, in Dylan's opinion, quite harmlessly. More from boredom than curiosity, when Molly was in a string of long overnight shifts, and they'd hardly seen each other for days. After finishing dinner alone, he found himself bored by the usual porn as he tugged at himself to pass the time. The same plastic bodies and scenarios and taboos. His options for more obscure choices had been thoroughly used and abused -asses of every race and shape were drilled with tongues, school girls were piled upon and left in ruins, stern older women with cleavage deep enough to lose car keys in made explicit demands from their stepsons, wives were freely shared and degraded. He felt himself being lulled to sleep by the thought of it all.

But, as explorations on the internet so frequently go, he found himself heading further down the rabbit hole.

Shared wives suddenly being shared wives in his city. A moment later, he found himself in forums and meet-up sites, looking at couples posting offers on streets he recognized, reading about the things they wanted to do to any nice young girl that wanted to play. That kept him busy for a time, but then it was only the offers looking for another man he found himself breathlessly pounding away at. One couple in particular demanded that any third party would need to agree to being used equally by man and wife. He scrolled through their pictures, and came in long, spurting ropes across his hands before he could stop himself.

When he woke in the morning, Molly already having returned and left again, he found his cock pulsating wildly again, the inexplicable lust still in full swing, and the images still fresh in his mind. The woman was in her early forties, clad in pink lingerie. The man was older, graying, with a gut and a tight pair of black underwear. The thought of that man's tongue against his asshole as he drilled into the wife... With a few quick strokes, Dylan was grabbing a used sock from the floor and practically filling it.

For a time, these fantasies consumed all else. Not in his daily life, not in his life with Molly, but when he was alone at night, and bored, he was swallowed whole by the thought. He began to follow local couples. He created accounts to comment on them, and keep updated. He would watch strange men, some in shape and some not, it didn't matter, pump into his neighbor's wives and get pumped into in turn. Otherwise lovely couples would hold a stranger down, and the husband would drain that man's cock down his throat like a man lost in the desert. The look of hunger on their faces as they snaked those cocks into their mouths, the satisfaction they seemed to feel when they were bent over and penetrated for the first time... It was hard not to picture exactly how all of it might feel. The pleasure so foreign, but so clear in his mind. And it was harder to know that he would never feel it himself.

When his interest in the couples had started to fade, that was when he made another step down the rabbit hole. Nothing too different from before, just the smallest pivot. Now he searched for these scenarios without the wife there to muddle things up. Curious married men, sharing photos and stories, just looking for compliments and someone to talk to. Unlike the couples, these men weren't being bombarded with attention. Unlike the couples, they wanted to talk. And Dylan found that he wanted to talk to them.

But, when his compliments and questions still went unanswered, he was just two drinks and a few strokes away from pulling off his shirt, laying back, and taking a nice clear photo of the pre-cum that dripped from the tip of his cock right down his fingers.

That, they responded to.

Several chats appeared instantly. "Hey" and "Hello" quickly became requests for more pictures, for video chats, for locations. He held them off as best he could, and soon he was lost in one conversation in particular. A man was detailing exactly how slowly he was going lick the precum clean from Dylan's fingers. How he was going to stroke Dylan's tight, virgin asshole with his tongue until he blushed. How he would use his powerful fingers to penetrate him, and stroke the prostate until he came like he never had before. Dylan scrolled through the man's photo, and could picture it all perfectly.

A few strokes later, and Dylan sent the stranger photos of the mess his words had made across his chest. And then, after a moment of clear thought, Dylan deleted the account, the photos, and any trace of what he had done.

A week passed before he did it again.

A new account, a new photo of his fully erect cock dribbling pre-cum. This time, no one seemed to be online to see it. Not wanting to finish, and with the whole day ahead of him, he went further. A picture of his taught ass bent over the arm of the couch, begging to be broken in went up. It generated a few likes, but no conversations. Running low on ideas, and too hard for rational thought, he stripped down, wet himself in the shower, and took a ten second video with a finger against his asshole, desperately trying to get inside, as his swollen erection bobbed furiously around him, swollen and dark red. The finger wouldn't slip in, and in his post he begged for some daddy to help stretch it.

Perhaps it was late enough in the day now for people to come home or get bored, but the conversations flooded in now like never before. This time, Taylor was the one to detail what he wanted. And he wanted to please. He would slip their fat cock head past his lips, he would gag on it, he would lap at their assholes like a dog. When they wanted more pictures, he sent them. They wanted him stroking on the toilet. They wanted him to watch his hairy toes curl. They wanted him to oil up his finger and push it inside. He beat his cock until it was purple and swollen for them. He spilled enough pre-cum to coat his hand and mat his pubes. He demanded photos of them in return. Most of them weren't in shape, most of them were older by far than him. It didn't matter at all. Their demands and their swollen cocks were all that he needed.

When he came, it rolled through him like a tidal wave, shaking his whole body as he spurted in great white streams, coming endlessly like a fountain. His toes curled, and he was left soaked from his thighs to his neck. The video came out perfect and, this time, he left it up as he logged out for the night, and began the long process of cleaning himself up.

Dylan barely slept that night, his pulsating erection kept returning no matter what he tried. Molly noticed, and emptied him hard, her body slick with sweat as she rocked on top of him through the evening. But, after she'd fallen asleep, it was back. The thought of those videos being found and the conversations that awaited him were too enticing. Six hours more, and he found he wasn't wrong.

He responded to each of them, though few were still online. It was hardly seven in the morning, and the posts had all come in late the previous evening. He passed the time scrolling through their profiles, stroking himself to their posts and their photos. When there was nothing left to browse, curiosity caught hold of him again. Knowing it wouldn't hurt to look, he began to look for posts about his city. They didn't need to know he was here, too, but it was all the more thrilling to know they were closeby. He sent them each a short video as he stroked himself on the toilet, and told them all how much he liked their profiles. Every last user he could find that lived near him got a message. The thought of it pushed him over the edge, and soon he was on the floor of the shower, stroking his hole with soapy fingers as he finished in mightly spurts on the porcelain between his knees.

Two days passed before he could log in again. If he was overwhelmed before, it was nothing compared to what he had now. Forty-three messages were waiting for him. Questions, pictures, stories. He stripped the shirt from his back, feeling the sweat already beginning to bead, and he began to read.

He had milked enough pre-cum to turn his palm into a sticky glove by the time a reply came from a user he remembered from the night before. He was a local, late-fifties, bald, and broad. His response wasn't much, a request for him to get onto his knees and suck his cock, but he was online. And there was something about his body, and the authority of it, that was different.

"I live by you," Dylan wrote him. Before the man could respond, he detailed exactly how badly he wanted to empty this man's load across his face. He would make it messy. He would be this man's little toy to use as he needed, any day or night.

This time, when the man asked for a video chat, he accepted.

Dylan set the phone carefully down, bent over to show the lines of his round ass, and stroked himself in a fury, spraying a hard load into his cupped hand. When the man told him to eat it, Dylan licked his hand clean, let the man see it pooled in his cupped tongue, and drank it down in one gulp.

"That can be you, any time you need me," Dylan told him.

The thought of the call kept him hard for a week. Molly took the brunt of it, and each time he held her down and pounded into her from behind, hearing her moans of pleasure, he thought of how good it must feel to be used. She was with him all week, and any time she wasn't up for it, he would finish himself in the bathroom, a finger held firm against his asshole, dreaming of a swollen cock head pushing its way down his throat, gagging him.

It was during one of those times that he dared to log in, to take a peak at the responses that had come in, to add more fuel to the fire.

The stranger from town had been replying. He was online now.

"1221 Tessa St. The bathroom of the strip mall. Be there at noon," the message said. Followed quickly by, "The doors lock from the inside."

Dylan felt his face burning red. He knew it was impossible to go through with it, but his cock was at the verge of bursting just from the thought.

"My wife is with me today," he wrote back, when he'd regained some hint of sense.

"Then work quickly," was the man's immediate reply.

This stranger knew his face, but nothing else about him. Dylan was still anonymous. There was no harm in teasing the stranger further.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

He slipped his penis back into his pants, washed, then went back outside. The thrill of the promise was burning through him, and enough to carry him along. His wife noticed his blush, and he blamed the heat of the day. But, it wasn't hot, she told him. It was perfect outside. In fact, it was so perfect, she wanted to go out.

Dylan suggested the strip mall.

The thought of spotting the stranger there, waiting beside the bathrooms, waiting to have Dylan drop to his knees and empty this man's balls across his tongue, all in secret, it made his cock strain so hard against his jeans that he had to wear a looser pair just to hide it. In all likelihood, the man wouldn't be there, though, and he certainly would see Dylan, but the rush of going there... it grew an insane, and powerful rush of lust inside of him.

Dylan would delete his account immediately, either way. He made the decision firmly. It had already gone too far. He would need to cut the ties cleanly. The thought of this alone, he knew, was going to carry him for weeks. And Molly would be all the happier for it.

By the time she was ready to go, it was past eleven. They got there with thirty minutes to spare. The first shop they'd gone into ate twenty-five minutes of that. And, when they finally left, Molly quickly doubled back and went inside again, off to re-consider something.

Dylan announced he was going to the bathroom.

The stalls were on the other side of the strip. He had to round the corner to find them. And there, waiting against a pillar outside, was his stranger. They locked eyes before Dylan could take another step, let alone hide. The man smiled, and nodded. Dylan nodded back. Before he could do anything more, the man turned and went inside the closest door. Dylan was five steps behind. There wasn't a soul in site to see them.

The door closed and bolted shut behind him as Dylan stepped into the small room. The man had his jeans unzipped and was pulling his cock free from his boxers a moment later. He guided Dylan down to his knees, and Dylan lurched for him, his lips wrapping around the full length of the shaft before he could even consider it.

It was salty, and half-erect, when it slid down his tongue. He was fully hard by the time he hit the back of it. Dylan bobbed his head instinctively, sucking the length of it like he knew he would have liked, going slow. It felt so natural in his mouth. Saliva pooled into his mouth, and he hungry drank it all down. He cupped his hands around the older man's generous ass, helped press the man harder against his mouth, loving the slippery feel of it inside of him. Dylan felt the head of his cock growing fatter.

Dylan stood up straighter, and grabbed ahold of the base of the man's cock, stretching it taught. With his other hand, he began to stroke the man's sac from behind, as Molly would do. The man groaned in response. Dylan bobbed faster, easing his way up to the tip. He kept the base firmly held back as he stroked the hard ridges of the head with his lips, bobbing furiously, noisily, making the wet sounds of it gratuitous and desperate, letting the spit drip from his lips.

When the man came, he gripped the back of Dylan's head with both hands, and pumped in as deep as he could go. Dylan let him, holding as still as a statue. He could feel the spray against the back of his throat, and nearly choked as the load dribbled down it, slipping right down to his belly. The stranger held him there, letting Dylan gently lick the last drops of it clean as they dribbled out.

Dylan stood uneasily, and the man helped him to his feet. The door was unbolted and he was gone a moment later. Dylan took a bit longer. He pumped his cock into the toilet, and came quickly in wild sprays against the water. He washed his mouth out in the sink, wiped the sweat from his hair, and was back out the door in less time than it would have taken to actually take a piss. On his way back to his wife, he bought a pretzel and a drink, to wash the smell of it away.

That night, he tied Molly to the bed, gagged her, and ate her ass for the first time in their twelve years together. He pictured the stranger bent in front of him, moaning hard, the hairs of his crack wet from Dylan's tongue. He dreamed of a cock hardening underneath, and how he would milk it like a cow as his tongue pushed it's way past the muscle. He could picture the pre-cum dripping out freely, and pooling on the sheet beneath.

He knew exactly what he was going to say to the man tomorrow.