I'd always imagined that I'd be walking home, a little tipsy, after a night out with my girls... That I'd have to walk the rest of the way to my dorm, alone-- which I did often, to get to my single room in the adjacent dormitory. But that's not how it happened. Not even close. Instead of being the horny twenty year old virgin-- with more sexual imagination than gumption, I was a thirty-four year old wife and mother of three when I found myself gagged and bent over the countertop of the my boss' executive bathroom suite.

My boss is the CEO of a fortune 500 company. He travels quite a bit, so, it's frequently left up to me to hold things down while he's away. This job kind of fell into my lap after college. I'd managed to impress a few of the right people while working as an airline desk agent and through a few proper channels and the span of about four years, I'm now the executive assistant to the top guy in charge.

I've been married for almost nine years. My husband and I met at a bar where he was the bartender slash bouncer. He managed to rescue me from a guy who had started to get a bit handsy. The bar had been packed that night and I can thank my husband's six-foot-four, two-hundred and thirty pound frame for lording over the crowd, and me, that night. My husband touts it as fate while I secretly believe it was nothing more than selective intervention. The funny thing? If my, now, husband hadn't have stepped in that night I had every intention of fucking that handsy douche from the bar...

In no way do I condone taking any woman or man against their will. There is a long list of reasons why having sex with anyone without their full consent-- statutory or otherwise, should forever be punishable by law-- or father. However, on the night in question, I was more taken by surprise than against my will...


I'd just gotten off of a call with the boss who was in LA for a conference. As usual he had forgotten some critical document and needed me to fax it over to him; nine times out of ten, this is the only reason he leaves me behind in the office to begin with.

As is routine, I make my way around his office shifting the blackout blinds to their darkest setting-- both those within the office as well as those overlooking the city, as he insists upon, even though we're on the thirty-third, nobody-can-see-damn-thing, floor. I do as requested because despite my objection, I really do like and want to keep my job.

In yet another routine-- when the boss isn't around, I freshen up in his executive suite before packing up and making my way home. I'm pretty sure that after more than eight years of marriage, my husband is well past the point of seduction but since he manages to cook dinner at least three to four times a week, a little extra effort on my part is not too much to ask.

Tinkle. Mouthwash. Makeup. In that order-- but not today. I only get half way through washing my hands when the light to the bathroom is flicked out and my reflection becomes a mirrored silhouette of darkness. I turn toward the partially open pocket door to berate Amanda, another executive assistant, for trying to scare the crap out of me, but instead I'm rushed at by a dark figure with pantyhose pulled over and distorting the features of their face. My screams are cut short by a handkerchief being shoved into my mouth. I stumble on my heels as my back is slammed against the shower door and my body is roughly twisted around, pressing my breasts and pebbling my nipples against the glass.

My first instinct is to fight. I flail my arms as worry clouds my brain at the thought of not making it home at all tonight. My aggressor, however, quickly brings me back to my senses putting a still to my hands-- one above my head while tugging and smarting the other behind my back. Ceasing to struggle, both of my arms are forcefully guided above my head while leather gloved hands skillfully link my wrists together using two long zip-ties.

While I find myself both anxious and skittish, my mind focuses on the ingenuity of my captor rather than the fact that I'm being held. Fucking. Captive. All thought stutters to a halt when I feel a growing erection take up residence against the crease of my ass. My body warms with pure adrenaline... Pulse racing, heart pounding anticipation. Suddenly, I feel warm whisky laden breath against my ear and the rough burn of a stubbled face grazing the slope of my neck and shoulder exposed by my fitted boat neck sweater. The mask is off.

All I'd have to do is turn my head a few inches to see who's holding me. Glance toward the mirror to see into the darkness that my eyes have become slightly more adjusted to. But I don't do that. Instead I wriggle, shifting my hips from left to right while whimpering and moaning through the handkerchief tucked in my mouth. I attempt to hang my clasped wrists and hands behind my head but he doesn't like that. Once again he slams my bust flush with the shower door just as I feel a warm bare hand reach beneath my knee length skirt and effectively rip the lace thong from my body.

I'm remotely aware of the burn left behind by the lace. The rustling of fabric. The sound of two breathing heavily with arousal. With my skirt now around my waist I feel a single finger penetrate my freshly waxed lips. First one finger, then a sloppy three. I tense at the feel of longer unclips nails. A hand with slender fingers and a foreign touch not of my husband. For a fleeting moment I'm a future episode of The First 48. Then his hand begins to move.

Fingers slick with my compliance caress me while a thumb slips, unceremoniously, into my ass. The sudden invasion causes heat to course from the nape of my neck down through my spine and around to the tingling tips of my breasts. Even in my horniest state, my Rabbit rarely grazes my puckered entrance while profuse apologies from my husband-- at having poked the wrong hole, has always deemed it forbidden. Tonight, however, it's my gateway drug. I'm floating in a sea of dark, calm, arousal. Too calm. Shamefully, I want to circle my clit with my fingertips. Rock back onto the anonymous hand exploring my sex-- but who am I? Why was my body chosen for this crime? And who is this asshole to take it?!

Suddenly I'm circling the stages of grief. On the precipice of anger, once again I grapple to reclaim the free will being snatched from me. I bear the weight of my body on a single foot forcing a donkey kick in an attempt to defend myself. A maneuver no more effective than trying to wrestle my older brother when we were kids. An action that only makes my aggressor more aggressive.

Tightly gripping my biceps he wrenches my entire body toward the sink. Its ledge now digging into my rib cage-- my breast spill over the cups of my bra and into my sweater, as the sound of his pants zipper being ripped open echoes through the small room. The mirror is there, but again my gaze hesitates... Maybe if I behave I'll get out of this in one piece. Perhaps he'll just fuck me and go... But what if he doesn't-- what if he thinks I've seen who he is?!

I keep my head down, squeezing and sealing my eyes shut. There's a buzzing in my ears that drowns out any clear train of thought-- making me briefly question why it is I'm cold and forget that, except for my thigh-highs, my sex is fully exposed.

At first penetration I'm instantly aware that he's not as large as my husband. My shameful level of arousal resulting in not even an inkling of friction. His hips seem no wider than my own and while his dick may be just as thick as my husband's, he doesn't stroke in nearly as deep. I'm bored. So bored that I hear the heating system kick in and the faint sound of an ambulance from thirty stories below. Things I've never before taken the time to hear-- things I may never hear again...

After a dozen or so thrusts, he abruptly slips from my body and I find myself relieved that this mediocre sex show is coming to an end, but that's where my conceit fails me... He grunts and I gasp through the fabric still stuffed in my mouth. There's no poking. No prodding... The first fiery breach of my virgin orifice comes in one stuttered, shaky and unmoving thrust. For several moments I wonder-- vaguely worried, if he's already finished. When his dick finally jerks in partial retreat from the depths of my dark tunnel, I steady myself-- wrists still bound, by hooking my fingers over the faucet of the sink. Through the pain comes uncertain pleasure. Clutching the faucet for dear life, something indescribable begins to build within me. Like cotton candy, I'm not quite sure that I like it but for some reason I just can't seem to get enough of it... With each subsequent stroke I relax into it, my ass blooming and my haunches rising to meet a distinctly leaner pelvis than the one that I'm used to— the one I love... But it's the awareness of being in a semi-public space— a sixth sense of being watched, that spurs me toward a climax that threatens to buckle my knees. A notion that sets me off into body bucking convulsions that are far beyond my control. Every muscle tightens, from my lower belly through to my shoulders, sparking all of my senses to life. From the feel of fingers freely gripping my breasts and nipples, confined by nothing more than the cashmere of my sweater, to the smell of sex wafting from between my wet inner thighs as the flesh of my perpetrator slaps roughly against mine.

Tentatively, I descend from my warped peak of arousal only to be met with an onslaught of ragged breaths and jagged penetration. Where, moments ago, heat surged through my veins, I now feel ice coursing through my every limb and straight to my heart. With my ass still perched in the air, I gnash my teeth against the handkerchief in my mouth and once again I close my eyes in an attempt to shut out the world. The urgent rustling of clothing and what sounds like the crinkle of a wrapper are all that's left to fill the now gaping void both in and around me...


I'd known that I wasn't her type from the moment we met. Just by the way she looked-- or rather, didn't look at me. But I had to have her. She was the type that went for the over muscled asshole with the personality of a dumbbell-- the proverbial bad boy who'd treat her like crap and throw her away the moment something better came along... I knew from the very first time I'd laid eyes on her in that crowded bar that, if given the chance, not only would she be the love of my life, but I would be the one to save her from herself...

On more than one occasion she'd told me that she had "never imagined", herself— "not in a million years", with a nice guy like me... And even though my wife is a flirt and a tease to the highest degree-- after three kids and eight years of marriage, I'd never been concerned that I'd run the risk of losing her. That is, until last Labor Day weekend.

That was when I first saw him watching her. I stood flipping burgers at the grill while our friends, neighbors and co-workers gathered in our backyard for free food and monotonous conversation. The IT guy from her job, let's call him Victor, had been practically drooling over my wife who of course was wearing one of those flimsy sun dresses of hers-- the kind with fabric so thin you could make out the location of her belly button along with the, invariable, fact that she was wearing a thong. He stood there nursing his beer in a fucking pair of skinny jeans that were undoubtedly keeping his hard-on from being too blatant. Normally, I wouldn't have thought much of it, but after following his gaze to the curve of my wife's ass, it had been the look in her eyes and the body language that she offered in return that shot up the red flags.

That scene only lingered with me for about a week since, nearly every night, she comes home to ride my dick whether she's on the rag or not. It wasn't until months later, at her office Christmas party, that I witnessed a hand, his hand, boldly drift down to graze my wife's hip and ass. That's when I knew that it was time to cure my wife of her growing boredom and to reclaim what's rightfully mine.

Even though we had already been introduced, I reacquainted myself with Victor while he'd been using the free Wifi at some overpriced coffee shop. His face instantly paled at the mention of my wife's name and that's when I knew that I hadn't been completely imagining things. He'd quickly denied that anything had happened between he and my wife-- which I was prone to believe, but I was less inclined to believe that nothing ever would. In light of this, I made him a proposition that he was, at first, reluctant to accept, but later reasoned that he'd been "wanting a change of scenery".

After our initial meeting at the coffee shop we never again met face to face. He was to wear a condom and I was to watch while he, facelessly, fucked my wife. I gave him one month to find a new job and one hour to fuck my wife along with one major stipulation... She was to never know anything about our arrangement.

Obviously, he already had access to the building but seeing as I'd made a deal the devil, who happened to be an IT guy, syncing up a key card for me to also gain access had been, as he called it, "child's play". Fuckin' prick. Anyway, despite all of the planning and getting the timing just right, that whole night had been a crapshoot.

I'd actually been a little surprised when I witnessed the fight my wife had in her-- a sight that my stiff dick seemed particularly impressed by... And I was more than a little put off by the way he grabbed and shoved her around that small room, but it was the sounds that she made when that little twit took her ass that made it clear to me that she was right where she wanted to be...

When it was all said and done the only regret I have is not being the first man to sink into that tight ass of hers, but I'm content in knowing that at least I'll be the last.


Time and gain, I've tried to navigate the sexual haze that clouded that night of events. Where I'd gone from fearing for my life, to being unbiddenly enticed— in the end, it was the guilt that had been the worst.

I never told a soul about what happened that evening. I did, however, check the lobby video logs for that particular night... But you know what I found? Nothing. The logs for that night, including the week leading up to it, had vanished into thin air-- right along with my favorite IT guy slash work husband. If that hadn't been enough, it finally dawned on me why I was so enamored by those ingenious zip-ties. Well, it just so happens that they were the very same shade of lime green as the ties we used on last year's family camping trip. So, as I think back about how my assailant so courteously wore a condom, it's now apparent that not everything one imagines is always what it seems...

Through a bit of digging, and a few abuses of my executive secretarial power, I was able to discover that my favorite IT guy now does freelance work for various companies around the state. I have to say that, once I'd finally tracked him down, he wasn't terribly excited to hear my voice on the other end of the line. However, it actually took me longer to convince my boss that I should join him at next week's conference in New York, than it did to persuade my former work husband to meet me there...

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by tallmtred01/03/19

Keep up the good work

Love everything about this story - characters, sex, plot - and can’t wait to hear what happens in New York.

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