Julia The Patriotbyem_q©
I had been away for six months and our reunion was meant to be a memorable one for my wife and I. We had no idea just how memorable it would turn out to be.
My flight was ten hours long, plus a two-hour wait for a transfer in Singapore. Usually I'd sleep, but one thing had kept me awake for more or less the whole journey - the fantasy of what Julia and I would get up to once we were both safely home.
Julia is 34 years old but is still as beautiful and youthful as the day we met at university, not to mention funny, sweet and smart. She has sleek black hair, sparkling blue eyes, gorgeous, full, pink lips and a winning smile. She exercises when she can and never seems satisfied with her figure, but she's slim by the standards of most women in their mid-30s. While she can't stand the couple of excess inches on her belly and butt, it's perfect for my tastes. I like to grab onto something, and she's just the right amount of woman. After six months of sleeping alone in the unremarkable hotel accommodation my work had set up for me, the thought of sharing my bed with this woman was, understandably, stopping me from sleeping.
The time away had probably been good for us. Like most couples who have been together for over ten years, our sex life was waning. We still made love once or twice a week, but it was often perfunctory. We knew each other so well, we'd just do what we knew would work, rolled over and fell asleep. After half a year of not even touching one another, though, I had a newfound appreciation for how stunning she is, and couldn't wait to get her undressed again.
I knew she was going to meet me at the airport, but I was taken aback by what was waiting for me when I finally made it through customs. I was sweaty, groggy and tired after a gruelling journey, and Julia was waiting for me in a black cocktail dress, black high heels and the expensive pearl necklace I'd bought for her birthday a couple of years ago. She looked glamorous, sexy and ready for a night out. As we wrapped our arms around each other, I said "you didn't have to get dressed up." "I hope you slept plenty on the plane," she replied, "we're going for dinner and drinks." I was exhausted, of course, but she'd gone to the effort of surprising me and I didn't want to spoil it. "And when we get home," she breathed into my ear, "I'm going to fuck your brains out." No arguments.
I dumped my luggage in the boot of the car, got inside and we headed for town, with Julia in the driving seat. "You look fantastic," I said, and she turned and smiled at me. After a pause, she reached out for my hand and pulled it onto her thigh. It felt smooth and warm. "I've not even touched myself since you left," she said softly. "I wanted to save myself for you." That's why she's so affectionate and forthright then, I thought. She's horny as hell.
I pushed my hand slowly up her dress and located her underwear. I could tell from the feel that she was wearing my favourite - an insubstantial, lacy black thong she didn't much like, but wore for my sake if I'd done something to deserve it. She let out a little gasp and her thighs parted a little, so I pushed my luck and found the middle ground. Hot, damp. She gasped again and then clamped her thighs shut. "I'm driving!" she smiled, "behave yourself." I said I could be patient a couple of hours longer, and we pulled into the restaurant car park.
Dinner was fine - a fairly posh restaurant, good food and a nice glass or two of white wine - but I was glad when it was over, because I thought it was a step closer to bed. I was secretly dismayed, then, when Julia announced we were going for a cocktail at a new bar she'd heard about round the corner. I quietly protested, nibbling at her ear and saying I wanted to get her to bed, but, smiling impishly, she pushed me away and told me to have a little patience.
By the time we arrived at the bar, I'd resigned myself to staying out for as long as Julia wanted, as she'd clearly planned us a special night out and I didn't want to disappoint her. We talked about how much we'd missed one another, and as we spoke I was struck again by how beautiful she was. Her big blue eyes beamed at me, and she kissed me and whispered slowly, teasingly in my ear, "as soon as we get in the door tonight, I'm going to drop to my knees and suck your cock." I maintained my poker face but I was doing somersaults inside. She'd never talked dirty like this to me before. "Oh, really?" was all I could manage. "Really. And when you're done fucking me, I'm going to swallow your cum. Like a good wife." I'm not going to lie, I was the luckiest person in the world at that point.
My voice must have cracked when I suggested we get going, because Julia burst out laughing. She said she wanted a drink, so I left her alone and went to order.
I'd volunteered to drive home so she could drink, so I waited patiently for her Caipirinha and surveyed the bar. It was reasonably busy, with pockets of well dressed friends drinking and dancing, and some good dance music to accompany the night.
I noticed I was standing next to a soldier, leaning on the bar, playing with his phone and drinking a mineral water. He was a good height, maybe 6'2", and in his late 20s at a guess. He looked like a caricature of a soldier - muscular, chiseled jaw line, handsome, and a serious, controlled expression. He nodded at me. I smiled, he stared. He held his gaze for long enough for me to feel uncomfortable. "Do we know each other?" I said. He ignored the question. "Is that your wife?" he motioned towards Julia, sitting on her own at the far side of the room. I confirmed that she was. "She looks like a fucking slut," said the soldier. It was a pretty strong opening gambit, and I was thrown a little off course. "She's not, and we're happy together. Thank you." I turned away. "Don't turn your fucking back on me," he snapped.
I weighed up my options. I didn't want to get into a physical altercation - for one thing, he was a lot bigger than me, and for another I don't think it was quite in Julia's plan for a perfect evening for me to have the shit beaten out of me in public. I turned around to face him, smiling ruefully. "Good boy," he said. "Now, what's your wife's name? I'm going to fuck her." It's a pretty emasculating moment, when someone looks you in the eye and informs you, matter-of-factly, that he's going to fuck your wife. "Julia," I breathed. "And believe me, you're not." A flicker of contempt spread across his face, and he leaned back with a grin. He lifted up his phone and I realised he was getting the conversation on video. "I'm going to fuck your wife," he taunted. "No, you're not. Put that down." I said.
The drink arrived. I paid up and walked back to Julia, his words ringing in my ears. "Have you made a friend?" asked my wife. "Something like that," I said. "Come on, we've got to go." Julia looked dismayed. "Why?" Why indeed. I didn't know what to say. Because a strong, handsome soldier had muttered that he wanted to fuck my wife? Why would we have to leave, because I was afraid that he was going to succeed? What kind of man was I? "I just... want to get to bed." Julia sighed. "I thought we could have a dance." "I'm just so tired." "Well, I'm going to dance. You can do whatever you like." The magic of the evening was broken. I asked if she was alright and she said yes, of course she was. I knew I'd fucked up, though. Even though it was perfectly reasonable for me to want to get back after that flight, she'd invested six months of thought into this night being perfect, and I'd punctured that.
She downed her drink and said she was going to the dance floor and that I could come if I wanted to. I sat and thought about how I could rescue the evening, and by the time I'd stopped dallying, my soldier had stepped in and was dancing with my wife. He looked a different man - he was smiling, light on his feet and, to be fair, a pretty good dancer. He was keeping his distance, and only touching her hands occasionally - I could see he was eyeing up her tits though. Julia looked over towards me once or twice, but she was clearly determined to enjoy herself, and when they took a break it was to get another drink. After about half an hour, when he dared to put his hands on her waist, I decided to break up the party before they got too close for comfort. I sidled up and she greeted me with a smile. "This is Mark," she said, "he's in the army!" "I can see that," I said. This conversation with Mark was far more cordial than our previous one, and he was obviously putting it on for her. I could see the sarcasm in his smile as he told me what a pretty wife I had. Julia giggled and pushed him in the chest. "He's a great dancer!" she said, slurring her words a little. She wasn't a big drinker and it didn't tend to take a lot to get her drunk, so three glasses of wine and two cocktails had her well on her way.
The three of us sat down and Mark ordered three whiskies. I explained that I was driving, so I couldn't indulge, and Mark said Julia could have mine instead. She laughed and said she never had that much to drink, but Mark said "I thought you guys were having a special night? You can treat yourself." I guess she'd confided a bit about how long we'd been away from one another. Julia savoured the first whisky and shot the second before going to the bathroom.
Mark and I sat in silence for a minute. It took a while for me to realise he was smirking at me. "What?" I said. "You can't stop it from happening, that's what." I stared into the dancing crowd. I was exhausted. I thought to myself that I just wanted to go home, so I ignored Mark's words. Julia came back and I said we were going home. She made a little disappointed sigh, but conceded that it was pretty late now. "Great to meet you guys," said Mark. Waves of relief passed over me. He was giving up. "Oh, hold on - do you guys live on the East side of town?" "Yeah, you want a lift?" said Julia. My heart sank. She must have told him earlier where we lived. Another 30 minute drive until we get rid of this guy, I thought, unhappily.
Mark got in the back of the car, and Julia was climbing into the front seat when he objected. "Hey, I thought I was going to have some company from a beautiful woman back here!" he said. She was drunk enough, and flattered enough, to acquiesce. I was sullen. "What's the matter, honey?" said Julia. "Nothing's the matter, I'm just tired," I said. "Where are we taking you, Mark?" I wanted to get him out of my car as soon as possible. "I don't want to be any trouble, sir, I'll just walk home from your house." Julia cooed, "sir! He's so polite." "I was just brought up this way, I guess. I've always been taught to be humble and put others before myself. The military kind of reinforces that." I watched in my rear view mirror as Julia's big blue eyes stared at him. She said softly "it must be hard for your girlfriend, you being away so much." "Oh, I don't have a girlfriend. I don't think it'd be fair." "But you must get lonely," said Julia. Mark shrugged. Silence prevailed. "I suppose a guy like you has a girl to fuck in every port though," Julia blurted out, and then laughed at her own impetuousness. Mark laughed too, "I do okay," he said, and then added quietly "but none of them are real women, like you." Julia stared at him. She probably thought I wasn't meant to hear that part. I'm betting I was.
We pulled into the driveway and Mark helped her out of the car. I put the key in the door and tried to say goodnight to Mark once again, but as he was setting off, Julia asked him in for a nightcap. I was tired and sulky. It all seemed to be pointing towards one thing; that Mark would get what he wanted. My wife. And she was the one asking him in. I was fed up and tersely pointed out that we were both tired and wanted some time alone. Julia was angry. "Don't be so fucking rude," she said. "Go to bed if you want to, I'm having a nice time." I was forced to apologise to Mark, the man who was apparently, inevitably, going to fuck my wife tonight. He accepted my apology, and if we didn't mind he'd just stay for one drink. He carried my luggage into our home, for which I thanked him.
I sat on the sofa with Mark as Julia mixed our drinks. She'd gotten a taste for whisky and poured herself a double on the rocks, and we all drank the same. She put some soft evening music on and, as I slipped closer to sleep, she danced slowly for us. She and Mark were laughing a lot and the conversation turned to sex. She said something about how long we'd been apart and how frustrating it was. The conversation became hazy. My responses became less coherent, I guess, because I felt like they were laughing at me. I drifted in and out before, finally, I recovered my senses, alone. The CD had reached its end. I looked around the living room. I saw no-one.
I climbed the stairs, my heart beating powerfully. My stomach had sank, I felt awful and helpless and impotent. With each step I took, the sound grew louder. The thumping of our bed's headboard against the wall. The moans of my wife. I passed my wife's lacy thong near the top of the stairs. I could see it glistening, wet. Her little cocktail dress was lying on the floor at the bedroom door, propping it open. They didn't even close the door. It was all so real now, there was no distance between me and the scene of this big, muscular soldier fucking my beautiful wife. And he was doing it properly. She was on all fours, her manicured nails gripping the sheets, her big tits hanging and moving with every powerful thrust, and that expensive pearl necklace I'd bought her doing the same. She still had her high heels on, and they jutted out stylishly behind her. Mark's hands were gripping her shoulders, firmly pulling her towards him as he slid his cock into her from behind. He was looking down at her ass as he slammed into her. I couldn't see her face - she had it turned the other way - but I could hear her. "Fuck... me..." she gasped between moans. His pace and stamina amazed me. He was thumping into her at great speed, not stopping or slowing down, just fucking her. I knew, watching, that he was giving her a pounding I had never been able to give her. His cock looked thicker and longer than mine, and I remember thinking "of course". It's funny, the way we think in a crisis.
Why didn't I do anything? I don't know, but at the time I felt I wasn't really there. It all seemed so unstoppable, I felt like a ghost. Powerless. Julia came, moaning uncontrollably into our bedsheets as Mark stepped up his pounding for a full minute. "Oh god," she said, breathlessly, as he slowed down to let her recover, "oh, my fucking... god".
His cock glistened as he pulled it all the way out. No condom. He he pushed it back into her cunt, all the way in up to his balls. I was transfixed, and when I looked up I saw that Mark had turned his head and was looking me dead in the eye. A huge grin spread across his face and he gloated with his dick inside my wife. She swore, or blasphemed again, I don't know. He looked away from me and took her slowly from behind, then he stuck his thumb in his mouth, lifted it in the air so I could see it was wet with his saliva, and pushed it into Julia's asshole. She moaned a low moan, a helpless, completely prone, animal noise. The pace of his fucking quickened and he started to slip his thumb quickly in and out of my wife. Quickly, she came again, this time announcing it with "I'ma fucking cum again, oh f..."
Mark stopped completely after she was done. He picked his phone up off the bed, and I saw a light beam out of the front of it. He was filming her. "Julia?" he said softly as he started to speed up again. "Mhmmmm?" she managed, just about. "I want some dirty talk." "Oh, fuck..." said Julia. "You've got such a big cock-" "I know," said Mark, "but I want you to repeat after me. 'My name is Julia Shepherd and I am a dirty slut.'" "What?" she gasped, and he slapped his other hand down on her beautiful ass. Hard. Smack. The sound reverberated around the room, maybe the house. She moaned with pleasure. "I deserved that," she said with a happy laugh. "You gonna say it then," said Mark, and my wife of twelve years announced, unknowingly on camera, "my name is Julia Shepherd and I am a dirty slut." "Say you love having a big cock inside you," commanded Mark, and she did. "Say your husband's cock is too small for you," and she hesitated. Smack, other ass cheek. She obeyed, and added "and I fucking love your big cock inside me, now fuck me." "Now say you want me to fuck your ass," said Mark.
Now, my wife has never let me take her up the ass. She is good in bed, a good dirty talker and likes to swallow, but anal is one thing she has never wanted to do. She always maintained she'd heard it hurt like hell and she didn't want to try it. After some pestering in our early years, I accepted that.
She breathed a few times, and I could almost hear her think.
"I want you to fuck me in the ass."
He pulled his wet cock out of her pussy and pushed it against her asshole. She grunted. It took a minute or so, but he persisted despite her gasps of pain, and once he was in it was a remarkably short time until she was enjoying herself. In fact, she was absolutely loving it.
"Oh FUCK," she said. Surprised, maybe? "Oh fuck, that's good." "Are you a dirty fucking whore?" Mark asked, and she said "I'm a dirty fucking whore and you're fucking me up the ass." "You glad it's not your husband fucking you?" he asked, facing me. "Fuck my ass, Mark," was all she would say. I like to think she couldn't bring herself to say what he wanted, but in reality she probably just wasn't listening any more. After a slow start, thump, thump, thump, went the bed. He raked his fingernails down her back and smacked her ass, now red with visible handprints, again as he ploughed her. Her moans were unintelligible. She was lost to it, and he was getting it all on camera.
"Hold your ass open for me," he said, and she reached her right hand back to grab a cheek. "No, not that one," he said. "The other one." She did. He smiled as he filmed his cock slamming up my wife's ass while her wedding ring was in shot. At some point he put the camera down, pulled her hair from behind and fucked her as hard as he could, to finish himself off - I don't remember if I was still standing there by that point, but the thought of him grunting as his balls unloaded into her beautiful butt, while she writhed underneath him and moaned that she was his whore, still haunts me.
I went to sleep in the spare room.
I slept for a good 14 hours that night. Jetlag can do that to you. When I woke up, it was afternoon. Mark was gone, and Julia was clearing up. She looked tired, but somehow demure. We looked at each other and I was painfully in love with her. I said "I won't talk about it." She smiled at me. She looked grateful.
About three days later, Mark turned up at our house. Julia greeted him a little awkwardly. I don't think she was sure how to act in front of me.
He took out his phone and he showed us a video he'd put together. It started with me at the bar. Just my face, and his voice behind the camera, saying he's going to fuck my wife. I say he isn't. It cuts to his cock sliding into Julia, and her moaning "My name is Julia Shepherd and I am a fucking slut." I see his point of view shot of him fucking her ass (a sight I have never seen, and probably will never see) and her wedding ring. He put the phone away and says he's going to upload it to the internet unless she comes to visit him and his buddies once a week.
I was furious and tried to throw him out, but he grabbed me by the throat and started laughing at me. "You can't even stop other men from fucking your own wife, how are you going to deal with seventeen soldiers in their 20s?" Julia pushed him off me, and he let go, but grabbed her arm. "It's simple, Julia. You come and see us, and your reputation stays intact."