From a Loving Wife

That day I had demonstrated to me the difference between making love and fucking. You and I, George, make love, our caresses intimate and teasing, your penetration of me gentle and considerate, our goals as much about each other's pleasure as our own. Bill, on the other hand, fucked me. There was nothing tentative about the way he positioned for entry and thrust in. There was no tenderness about the way he rammed his cock into me, burying his full length in me again and again; no uncertainty about his use of me; no consideration, even, for the fact we were in a public space.

I lost track of the number of times the bathroom door whooshed open to admit an unseen masculine presence. The sharp slap of flesh against flesh echoed loud in the porcelained room, and there could be no doubt in their minds what was happening. Bill ignored my whine of complaint the first time, and I knew better than to object thereafter.

If you, George, had ever treated me the way Bill did then, I would have screamed bloody murder. As it was, there was nothing I could do but hold on tight. That I wasn't screaming in pain I can only ascribe to how wet I was, how utterly aroused. The force of each impact transmitted along my arms until my wrists ached, and my whimpers of protest soon gave way to gasps of pleasure.

They say size doesn't matter, that it's how you use it that counts. Well, Bill's was average in size - a little longer than yours, George, and a little thicker too - but the man had stamina. He maintained a punishing rhythm for longer than I would have believed possible. His thrusting was fast and deep, the friction exciting my clit wonderfully even as I wondered whether I would be too bruised afterwards to walk to the car, let alone drive home.

Even without touching myself - my bouncing breasts were sorely neglected, though my nipples were teased by the material of the dress - I was brought close to the precipice. I teetered on the edge as he erupted inside me, his cock buried deep and pulsing powerfully, his cum tickling my insides. Not yet finished, he pulled out abruptly and I felt his cum splash against my bare cheeks.

Bill fixed my dress without bothering to clean me first. "Sit," he ordered.

Dizzy and breathless from his savage use of me, and tense with need from having been brought so close and then denied release, I lowered the seat and sat looking up at him. Or rather, looking at the cock that had just ravished me. It was semi-hard and gleamed wetly along its length, a last dribble of cum threatening to drip onto my lap. "Suck it," he growled.

Hesitantly, I did as instructed. This had been a fantasy of mine for so long, and I had practised well with the dildo, but my instincts still rebelled. It was only the second cock I had seen in real life, and this was the first time I was seeing it properly. I was fascinated by the idea that this was the cock that had just fucked me and that had pumped cum deep into my vagina. The raw smell of it was intoxicating. I braced myself to taste him - perhaps I would hate it - but actually the taste of his cum was little different from the taste of yours, George. There was a slight bitterness to it, perhaps, but not enough to distract me from the revelation of having a live penis in my mouth for the first time in my life. So warm and soft and thick... I sucked on it and licked under the head where I knew it to be sensitive.

I was rewarded by the sensation of it swelling between my lips, filling my mouth and forcing my jaw to open wider. I'd watched enough blowjobs in porn, and I'd read about them often enough, but this was my first time actually doing it. I thought maybe he would like it if I kissed my way along the shaft and tickled his balls, but he pushed me away. "Just suck it," he growled. "Use your throat."

So I did. I breathed out like I had practised, and descended slowly, my lips a firm ring about the shaft, controlling my gag reflex as the soft, warm tip of his cock breached my throat, and my nose was tickled by the hair on his belly. "Yes," he said. "Just like that." Holding my head with both his hands, he proceeded to fuck me with short, gentle thrusts while I fought the instinct to breathe and the instinct to escape his hold and the unfamiliar use of my throat.

It was too much for me though. I tore away from him, choking and retching, but no sooner had I recovered than he was pulling me back into place, demanding entry into my throat, and fucking my face with greater vigour than before. My mouth was clearly just another hole for him to use. He even controlled when I was able to breathe. Just as earlier when he had used my pussy, I was just along for the ride.

He shuddered to a halt, his cock thickening within my confining throat, and then his cum was flooding out to fill my belly - until he pulled out, just the head of his cock in my mouth, spurting cum onto my tongue as I struggled to catch my breath. I could feel it running down my chin despite my determination to capture it all, but by the time he finished my tongue was thickly coated with his creamy essence. I opened my mouth wide to show him, and then swallowed the slimy stuff with some difficulty.

Bill nodded his approval. "A promising start," he said, tidying himself away. "You might want to fix your makeup," he added with a grin.

And then he left me there, sitting on the loo in the Gents' with its vulgar graffiti and stench of urine, the lingering taste of his cum in my mouth, his cum leaking from my aching pussy, and cum stains on my dress. I didn't even have any underwear. "You slut," I whispered to myself as I worked myself to a much needed climax with my fingers. "You dirty, cheating slut..."

*

That was the day you came home early, George, all excited with your promotion. You took me out to celebrate, a lovely meal at a fancy restaurant. Could you not see the guilt written across my face as I sat there pretending to be your faithful wife and not a dirty slut. Just that morning I had walked half a mile through town in high heels and fishnet stockings, my cum-stained dress barely concealing my wet and well used pussy. Sitting in the car, I brought myself to a second fantastic climax; and, at home in the shower, again.

And even showering couldn't clean me completely, George. Did you notice how wet I was that night? Does it excite you now, knowing my cunt was used by another man's cock? That the mouth that whispered, "I love you, George," and kissed you goodnight, had earlier tasted that same man's cum?

Does it excite you that your wife is an outrageous slut? That the mother of your children is a faithless whore? Or is reading this confession like watching a car crash - an unfolding horror that you are unable to look away from?

It gets worse.

*

"I want you to treat me like a whore," I said. "I want your big, hard cock in my tight, virgin ass. I want you to fuck my huge tits and fill all my holes with your thick, creamy cum."

Bill had given me homework. Every day I was required to stand in front of the mirror, naked except for my highest stiletto heels (the blue ones you bought me that I almost never wear), and film myself saying those words. The first couple of days, I was so self-conscious that I was blushing with embarrassment as I stumbled timidly over the words. The next couple of days I was no longer blushing but it was difficult not to smile at how ridiculous I sounded.

By the Wednesday night, I was able to say it like I actually meant it, which was good because on Thursday morning I had to say it to Ollie - and mean it. A man I had never seen before and knew nothing about, and I would ask him to stick his cock in my ass. Of course I was nervous, but excited too. I spent hours every day with my big, black buttplug stretching my tight virgin hole.

That was the less embarrassing part of my homework. Each day, after begging my future lover to use me like a whore, I was to film myself masturbating. If filming myself talk dirty felt ridiculous at first, filming my pussy as I touched it seemed doubly so. I simply couldn't get into the mood at all and eventually gave up. The next day I used lubricant and my trusty vibrator, and actually the close-up video of that pink cock thrusting in and out of my vagina made for quite entertaining viewing. I even managed an orgasm, although it was mild.

But practice, as they say, makes perfect. By Wednesday I'd relaxed into a performance, exaggerating my sighs of pleasure and staring lustfully into the camera each time I sucked on the vibrator, tasting myself, massaging my breasts and pinching my nipples like a horny slut desperate for a real cock to fill her.

All six videos are on my laptop, George. Look in the 'Homework' folder on the Desktop. Do you see now why I suddenly decided to trim my pubes so short? Don't the later videos look so much more... appetising? I would have shaved myself completely, like a real porn star, but I knew you wouldn't like that.

On Thursday morning, Bill drove up to our house in a white van and I emerged wearing those same blue stilettos and my brown coat - and nothing else. If any of our neighbours saw me, they must have wondered at the sight of me being ushered into the back of the van and then driven away, but certainly none were close enough to hear my heart hammering in my chest or to catch the inevitable flash of my pussy as I was helped inside.

It was a little claustrophobic in that space, there being no direct view of the outside world. The space was lit by a pair of industrial LED torches, revealing assorted garden tools and a blue, plastic tarpaulin on the floor of the van that had seen better days. It was stained and torn and dirty but would serve better than the cold, steel floor of the van. The smell was a blend of machine oil, woodchip and decaying vegetation, and the man who had helped me inside had the look of someone who spent his life outside in the sun, with his hands in the earth.

He - Ollie, I guessed - was tanned and muscular without being as bulky as Bill the Butcher, and he kept his balance easily in the moving van as he studied me with eyes that were a piercing blue. He seemed to be waiting for something, and I knew what. Removing my coat, exposing myself entirely to him in the process, I looked around for somewhere to put it, and in the end folded it up and placed it carefully on a lawnmower. I had to raise my voice to be heard over the engine and the road and the rattling of tools and equipment, but I looked him in the eye and said, "I want you to treat me like a whore. I want your big, hard cock in my tight, virgin ass. I want you to fuck my huge tits and fill all my holes with your thick, creamy cum."

It was one thing to say it to myself in the mirror. Quite something else to say it to a man. To a complete stranger who hadn't even said a word to me. Whose name and purpose I was far from certain about. I could feel the familiar burn of shame, tinged with fear and arousal. These men could abduct me and keep me chained in a basement somewhere, and no one would have a clue what had happened.

Ollie grinned fiercely. "On your knees, then," he said, and quickly shoved his trousers and briefs down to his ankles, kicking them and his shoes off inelegantly. Projecting from his crotch was a cock of impressive length, semi-swollen and hardening swiftly.

Not for the first time, I questioned my sanity. What woman in her right mind gets into the back of a van with a complete stranger, exposes herself, and asks him to treat her like a whore? Maybe if I were doing all this for money it would have made some sense, but me? Maybe it was the adrenalin, but the risk was the reward, the humiliation was the cause. I wanted all the niceness of sex to be stripped away. I wanted to feel dirty and abused. I wanted to be reduced to an object.

Why, I'm still trying to understand. Perhaps it's because I was always the good sister growing up: never in trouble, always polite and sweet, always pretty, dutifully keeping the house clean. Perhaps it's because you, George, have always wanted the ideal wife: a virgin bride, innocent in bed, the loyal and adoring housewife and mother. I have been all these things, and never truly happy.

I was the girl in school whose early development left her embarrassed about her body. The young woman whose large breasts attracted leers and crude proposals when all I desired was to be loved. I was the wife told again and again that she was perfect when in truth all I really needed was a solid fuck. If only once, George, you had grabbed my tits and begged me to let you come all over them...

Well, it's not too late for that, but you won't now be the first to do so.

I sucked Ollie's cock like a pro. Between my practice with the dildo and my experience the week before with Bill, I took that long cock into my mouth and throat with confidence. I was determined to get his entire length in, and was amazed by how deep he penetrated me. I adore a long cock, George. I love gliding my lips long the shaft, my tongue teasing the underside, my throat and jaw stretched wide about the hard, throbbing flesh. I adore the smell of cock, and the salty taste of precum.

I would have gladly worked him to a finish, but Ollie had other ideas. "On your back," he ordered, and I obeyed. The tarpaulin helped a little, but I could still feel the cold, uneven steel through the plastic. I could feel the vibrations of the road and engine too.

Ollie knelt above me, straddling my belly, his long cock slapping against my chest. Reaching for a tub of grease, he smeared my breasts with it, and for a minute or two he massaged them very pleasantly indeed, making them slippery all over. Satisfied at last, he pressed them firmly about his cock and started fucking the tight channel between them. I loved the smooth, hard glide of his cock against my skin, the pressure against my breasts, and I loved watching the head of his cock heave into view and recede with each thrust of his hips.

I didn't love the way he would pause and squeeze my nipples until I squirmed in a futile effort to escape him, and I didn't love the way he smacked the sides of my breasts, the short, sharp pain bringing tears to my eyes. When I reflexively tried to shield myself from this cruelty, he caught my wrists and wrapped a chain about them.

I wasn't aware that the van had stopped until Bill was suddenly there, kneeling beside me, slapping my cheek with his swelling cock. Precum splashed across my lips, and I licked them instinctively, tasting him. My hips humped empty air in a useless quest for stimulation.

"Look at this horny bitch," Bill said. "She could take a whole football team and still not be satisfied." He pushed his cock into my mouth, the angle wrong for deep-throat but I sucked hungrily on the soft head, swirling my tongue about it as I did. Meanwhile, Ollie's cock and hands continued their combined assault on my breasts. It was more pain than pleasure, but it excited me like crazy. If my mouth hadn't been full of cock, I would have begged them to fuck me properly.

My first threesome, George. Don't you wish you were there to see it? Two beautiful cocks having their way with me...

Cum spurted out across my neck and chest as Ollie came. Sitting up quickly, he aimed his pulsing cock at my breasts and great arcs of cum splashed across them, left then right. Bill pulled away abruptly, and then Ollie's cum was hitting my face. He'd leaned forward to make sure every last drop of his remaining cum landed on my cheeks, and even wiped the last reluctant trickle onto my chin.

"Nice load," Bill said, chuckling.

"Been saving it up," Ollie said, grinning happily. "Gorgeous pair of tits."

"My turn now." Bill had been stroking his cock as Ollie covered me in cum, and now he too finished, his cum bursting across my nose and cheeks. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he wrapped it about his shaft and stroked gently, making a gunky, entangled mess of it.

I whined with frustration. "I need a cock in me," I pleaded.

"You'll get two soon enough, you horny bitch," Bill said. "You'll just have to wait."

Ollie shuffled backwards until he knelt between my legs, but even as I lifted my pussy in hopeful invitation, he snared my legs one at a time and tied them with straps to rings in the van floor. Then, leaving me splayed and helpless, they dressed themselves and slipped out the back door of the van.

"Don't go anywhere," Bill said, winking as he closed the door, and locked it.

I laugh thinking about it now, George, but then? Can you picture it? Me on my back on a dirty blue tarpaulin, naked save for my blue stilettos, my legs spread wide and bound so that anyone opening the van door would be greeted by the sight of my very wet pussy... My wrists chained above my head so I couldn't even touch myself... Cum oozing down my breasts and my cheeks, and drying in my hair like glue.

What would you have thought of me then, George? If you had opened the van door, would you have taken pity on your horny cumslut wife and fed her your cock? Would you have pounded away at my pussy until I screamed with pleasure? Or would you have closed the door and abandoned me to fate? Right then, I was desperate for a cock, and I didn't care whose.

But I had to wait, with nothing to do and no way to measure time. I had no idea where we were, even, or whether Bill and Ollie would be back at all. Thankfully the day was warm but not hot. I didn't bake to death but I did stew in the smells of cum, sweat and grease. And I wasn't comfortable. My arousal level slowly dropped.

It was a relief to hear a key in the lock - and a shock to see two complete strangers peering in at me suddenly. Before I could catch my breath and scream, Bill appeared behind them. "What do you think, lads? Is she fuckable?"

"Nice tits," said one.

"Nice ass," said the other.

"Meet Dave and Stu," Bill said to me. "They love a good spit-roast, as I dare say you'll find out next week."

"Can't wait," they chorused.

"Now bugger off," Bill said cheerfully, "and tell Ollie to get in here."

Laughing, they wandered off, and a few seconds later Ollie appeared, closing the doors with just the three of us inside. Bill's fingers were at my pussy, rubbing my clit without finesse and pushing inside me. "Good," he announced. "Still wet, you horny bitch. Still hungry for cock?"

I'd cooled off while alone in the van, but the shock of seeing Dave and Stu, and hearing their crude assessment of me, had awoken the beast in me. Bill's rough caresses were just the icing on the cake. The way my hips were pushing back at him, eager for deeper penetration, it was obvious I wanted him. But he wanted me to say it.

"I'm always hungry for cock," I growled. "Fuck me, Bill."

He released me from the restraints, and I sat massaging my wrists as my two lovers stripped, and then I sucked their cocks, alternating between them, getting them both nice and hard. I hope you'll let me suck yours one day, George, so you can see just how enthusiastic a cock-sucker your wife is.

But that's not what any of us were after. Bill lay down on his back, guiding me down onto him. The week before, Bill had done all the work while I stood there and took it. This time I was the one doing the work, riding him cowgirl-style, bouncing up and down and loving the way his hard cock stretched and filled my cunt. His hands were on my breasts, squeezing and massaging them with his muscular fingers.

Nothing else mattered in the world. There was only Bill's cock that I couldn't get enough of. Except suddenly there was Ollie's finger slick with grease, pushing into my ass, and for a moment of near-panic my thoughts were, "Oh God, there's a man's finger in my ass." But the moment passed and I tried to relax and accept the slippery finger that was fucking me whether I liked it or not.