Peyton Ch. 02: Uncaged

IN THE PRESENT:

"Soooo...are we gonna talk about what happened in that hotel room?" Phil finally asked me. We'd been driving for about 2 hours at that point. Two hours of mindlessly listening to the radio. Two hours of watching the road pass by. Two hours of having small conversations to cover for the big conversation not had.

I didn't answer right away. I kept my eyes looking out the passenger window, hiding them so he wouldn't see the chaos churning inside of me.

"Yeah. I guess we should." I finally said with a sigh.

Silence hung in the air once again. Both of us knew that there was so much to say, but neither of us knew what to say. This past weekend, especially last night, was an explosion to our little safe existence. It was completely unexpected, but at the same time, it was totally inevitable.

After more moments of quiet, Phil asked, "Did you...enjoy what happened?"

I hesitated to answer once again. Why were his questions so hard? I wanted to lie, to tell him that I didn't know what was happening. I wanted to blame the alcohol, but I loved him too much to continue lying about who I really was on the inside.

In a soft voice, I gave my confession in a single word. "Yes."

He nodded as if confirming what he already knew. "I could tell. You were different. The way you moaned and gave yourself to them. I've never seen you that way." There was a pause, a catch in his throat before adding, "Not with me, anyway."

My eyes ripped away from the safety of the passenger window and shot to his face. He was expressionless, but the tone of his voice had me worried. "Phil..."

He shook his head. "I'm not angry." He said calmly, though there was a little reticence in his voice. "I'm just...making an observation."

I wanted to comfort him by telling him that he was the best lover I ever had, and that no other man could compare to him. But that would be a lie and he'd know it. He deserved better than lies of pity to save his ego, and he'd be offended if I even tried to feed him one.

"I love you. So much. You're the best thing to ever happen to me." I said to him, giving him the only honest words I could in that situation. He took his eyes off the road to quickly shoot me a rueful smile. With a nod, he said, "I know."

One of his hands was loosely gripping the steering wheel, the other was lying on the arm rest between us. I gently laid my small, dainty hand atop his resting one and laced my fingers lovingly between his. I was half afraid he was going to recoil from my touch. He didn't.

We drove like that for a bit, my thumb tenderly tracing lines along his skin. My gaze was caught on the sight of our hands. His was so different than mine. His skin was tough, while mine was soft.

There were so many differences between us. I wondered if he would've married me if he met me back then. If he'd seen the real me, would he still have fallen in love with me, or would he have used me like all the other dicks that came before?

Silence fell between us again. My mind raced. This time, it was me who broke the stillness by raising the question that I'd been dying to ask since we left Vegas.

"Why did you let it happen?"

He looked a bit stunned by my question. Maybe I should've retracted it. I wasn't his property. It wasn't his job to secure my pussy and keep it from being penetrated by another guy, let alone two. Still, I couldn't fathom sitting across the room, not even 10 feet away, while he moaned beneath two other women. I would blow a fucking gasket if he laid there and let them take turns on him, use his mouth for their pleasure, flip his body this way and that while they did what they wanted with him.

But that's what he watched his friends do to me. He watched them spit roast me. He watched them take turns alternating between sticking their cocks into my pussy and into my mouth. He watched as Dan came on my face. He even watched as Mark roared loudly before enjoying the all-encompassing feeling of exploding inside of a wet, warm pussy. My wet, warm pussy.

He watched all this while sitting comfortably in a chair, like he was enjoying a show. Only...there was a strange look on his face. And his hands were...down his pants.

I turned to Phil, really looking at him for the first time. Now that I'd asked that question, others swarmed me. I realized that I knew as little about my husband as he knew about me.

"You could've stopped it at any time. But you didn't." I said to him, also talking to myself as I was seeing that night a little clearer. "When Dan was dancing with me, rubbing his hands all on me, you were right there. When Mark had his hands on my knee at dinner, you saw it. You looked right at me when he slid up my thigh. You even saw me flinch when he touched me...up there. You had to know what they were doing."

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His face was a mixture of both embarrassment and guilt. It was then that everything made sense to me. Since it happened, my conscience painted Phil as the guy who was helpless in watching his wife's slut side reemerge with a vengeance. He'd always been a passive guy. Dan and Mark were more outgoing and assertive than he was. The dynamic between the trio, as far as I've observed, has had Dan as the leader, Mark as the instigator, and Phil as the guy who always got talked into doing shit.

That's why I'd been feeling so guilty. I let myself get caught up in the lust. I allowed my slut side to reemerge, and never once did I think about how it would affect my husband. I just felt what I felt, and I liked it. Only afterwards, when I assessed the damage of my nuclear pussy, did I think about Phil.

All that self-debasing guilt was like a heavy weight on my chest. Now, as I looked back over the night, a disturbing question was raised.

"Wait a minute. Did you set that up?" I asked accusingly.

"What?"

"Did you plan on letting your friends fuck me?"

He snapped his head in my direction, his horrified eyes meeting the burning anger in mine. His face was protesting his innocence before he even spoke.

"No! No, Peyton. I would never do anything like that to you!"

I believed him. Phil had never once given me reason to distrust him. Then again, what did we really know about each other?

My expression must've softened because his eyes were able to return to the road. I waited a few more beats before I asked my next question, which was actually the one he asked me.

"Did you enjoy what happened? Did you like watching me do that?"

There it was. That look on his face. Embarrassment, and guilt. He looked like a trapped animal, caught between capture and gnawing his own arm off for escape. That very look on his face was a window to a part of my husband that I didn't' know existed.

I didn't want him to feel that way. For once, I wanted him to open up to me. Even after almost 10 years of marriage, we did so little communicating, especially about sex. Sure, we talked about the important stuff. Bills. Our kids. Our families. Our jobs.

But not sex. Sex was just...that secret thing we did when the kids were asleep. It was a ritual we performed for anniversaries and birthdays.

Maybe that's why this weekend happened. Our marriage, as good as it was, would never be real unless we got real. I'd been hiding myself to be a person worthy of marriage, and it never occurred to me that he might be doing the same thing.

I gently rubbed his hand in that way that I do when I want to comfort him. "You can tell me, honey. I'm not judging. I'm just curious., that's all."

He was still unable to tell me what he was feeling. The words were hard, I guess. However, he did answer my question with a small, hesitant nod.

No words were needed. I heard him loud and clear.

Yes, I liked watching Dan and Mark seduce you. Yes, I liked watching you give yourself to them in ways that you haven't given yourself to me. And yes, I liked watching them fuck the living shit out of you.

I leaned back into my seat, still holding his hand. I couldn't help looking at him inquiringly. His eyes darted nervously to me from the side, catching how I was staring. He timidly chuckled.

"Hey...stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like...I'm some kind of pervert or something."

"I'm sorry." I said as I looked out the windshield in front of me. "I don't think you're a pervert. I just never...you know...thought that you would be..."

"A cuckold?" he sharply finished my sentence, spitting it out like he was disgusted and angered by the word.

I knew how sensitive guys could be about that sort of thing. Being "manly" and asserting masculinity is at the highest priority; often time above sex (which is saying something seeing as how men literally think about sex all day). Being perceived as "less than" is like admitting that you aren't much of a man at all.

Finishing my sentence with more grace and tact, I calmly said, "No. Into voyeurism. That's what it's called, right?"

"Yeah. I guess." He sighed in resignation.

Phil was a conservative guy from a conservative family. They were the perfect nuclear unit; two parents, an older brother, and older sister, and two younger siblings. His father was a Pastor at the local church. He also sold insurance. His mother led the choir, worked as a part time receptionist, cooked every day, took all five kids to their various afterschool activities, baked for the homeless...and drank heavily.

The Pearson children were bred to be the All-American kids. They weren't rich like my family was, but they were firmly grounded in middle America. They towed the line of what families were supposed to be.

I knew all about expectations. I'd spent my life trying to subvert them, only to find myself living up different ones. I thought I was being free. I thought I was special in my uniqueness to stand up against what was expected as a lady that came from a wealthy family. I was my own person. I was Peyton.

But, as it turned out, I'd only sold my soul to a charming devil.

At least Phil was more honest with himself. He leaned into what people perceived him as; became what everyone expected him to be. He went to the college that his parents chose. He got a job that they approved of. He married a woman that they accepted; one from a wealthy family who bred good, decent ladies.

Or rather, he married the woman who finally learned the importance of playing her role. He didn't go to my college, so he didn't know the campus dick warmer that I was. He didn't know the woman that Ky turned me into. All he knew was the Peyton that I showed him.

As it turns out, there was a lot that we didn't know about each other.

When I first started dating Phil, I was drawn to him for reasons that didn't get my libido going. If I'm honest, I was infatuated with the image that he projected. I was enamored by what he represented. He was decent. He was kind. He was...normal. After what I'd been through, I needed a bit of normal in my life. I needed a guy who didn't look at me as the big-titted cock-whore who loved the feel and taste of cum.

"Sooo..." he said, gearing up for one of those questions; you know, the real ones. "How did it feel? You know...doing all that stuff...with both of them?"

I slowly turned to him. I saw that he wasn't angry or judgmental. Sure, there was a bit of discomfort in his voice, but it didn't come from a place of ill feelings. His uneasiness was coming from another set of feelings. I recognized the difference because I'd seen this before.

He not only enjoyed what happened, he was turned on by it. And you know what? So was I.

There was steel in my voice when I said, "When you say doing that stuff, you mean letting Dan and Mark fuck me, right?"

There was a big intake of breath from him, no doubt from the abrupt change in tone. He looked at me with a kind of a stunned, nervous awe. This time I didn't look away in shame. I didn't break eye contact. I looked straight into his soul, and I didn't blink.

"Peyton?"

"Answer me." I ordered.

He swallowed hard before saying, "Yeah."

I looked down at his lap. I don't even know what drew my eyes down there. What I found, however, was a conspicuous lump between his legs. It could've very well been the way his shorts were bunched as he sat in the driver's seat, but I don't remember it being there like 10 minutes ago.

With my eyes still looking at the lump, I said, "By doing that stuff, you mean letting your two best friends take turns sticking their cocks inside of me."

"Yes." He said, his voice sounding like it had a frog in it. And just as I suspected, the lump grew. His breathing became a little heavier.

"...pounding me..."

"Yeah."

"...doing whatever they wanted to my pussy and my mouth..."

"Shit!" he said, his voice barely a whisper.

By now, his arousal was beyond palpable. His breathing was jagged, he was taking prolonged blinks, and that bulge in his pants was confirmed as an erection. Taking a chance, I took my hand from atop of his and slid it across his thigh. I didn't stop until I reached that conspicuous lump in his shorts. What I felt there shocked me despite the fact that I expected it.

He was hard. I mean, hard hard. Like, there was a stick of granite in there.

"Oh my god." I gasped aloud before realizing it.

He looked at me, his face filled with shame, excitement, and guilt I massaged his cock, my dainty hands wrapped up in a fistful of his shorts. My own breathing was erratic. "Phil...you're so hard." I said, my voice a surprised whisper.

"Peyton..."

He said my name like he was begging. I'm not sure what he was begging for, but the helplessness in his voice turned me on even more. I was practically radiating pheromones and sex.

I loosened the snap on his shorts and slid my hand down. Now, with only the thin material of his boxers protecting his throbbing member, I could feel every twitch it made. I hadn't felt him this hard...ever.

"Oh my god." I said with a throaty laugh. "You're getting hard thinking about Dan and Mark taking advantage of your naked wife right in front of you. That's so...fucking nasty."

"Peyton...please." He moaned, his face looking pained. He leaned his head back on the headrest as he drove, his hands still 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.

"It's so depraved..."

"Fuck!"

"...you sitting there, letting your friends...OH SHIT! BABE, LOOK OUT!"

My voice was a scream of terror that instantly snapped him from his fantasy. His head jerked back to the road, and he saw what I saw. As I played with his cock, he'd drifted into the other lane, still doing 70. Unfortunately, he was about to run smack into the back of a minivan that was only doing 60.

"OH SHIT!" He yelled out as he swerved back into our lane. He overcompensated a bit, requiring another swerve in the opposite direction.

Luckily, all that loud, tire-screeching chaos didn't result in an accident. Just an embarrassed couple who had to sheepishly wave to all the angry glares and middle fingers they were getting from the other drivers.

It took us a minute to recover. Between our sexually charged banter and the near-death experience, our nerves were frazzled and on an ultra-high.

My mind was racing. Questions, questions, questions. But before I could start barraging him my many inquiries, there was something else we had to take care of first.

"Take the next exit." I ordered.

"What?"

Looking straight at him, I repeated myself in an eerily calm voice. "I said, take the next exit."

Nothing more was said, but when we reached the next exit, he obeyed.

We drove on the main road for a few minutes. There was nothing around us as far as rural civilization was concerned. Just a place that sold tractors, a lumber yard, and some warehouses with trucks and trailers parked at the bay doors.

I soon found what I was looking for. Off to the right, there looked to be a small dirt road veering off into the thicket of trees that lined my side of the road.

Phil shot me a questioning glance. "Turn right...right up here." I said, pointing to the barely visible turn off.

He turned the car, but asked, "Babe, where are we..."

"Keep going down here." I cut him off. The car drove slowly, crunching dirt and gravel beneath us. When I looked behind us and saw that we were well off the beaten path, I told him to stop.

As the brakes were softly screeching to a halt, I was unlatching my seatbelt. The soft dinging of the car's warning made him turn to see what I was doing. What he found was me unbuckling my shorts, lifting my butt, hooking my thumbs inside of the waistbands of my shorts and panties, and sliding them down my legs in a single swoop. I dropped them on the floor in front of me.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Take your dick out." I said to him, my tone of voice not even raising it as a question or request.

"Wait...what?"

"Phil, I love you." I told him with a bit of frustration in my voice, wondering why he wasn't already naked. "But if you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to get out of this car and walk down the street like this. The first guy I see, whether it be a cop, a serial killer, or just some lucky bastard, is going to get his brains fucked out."

His face was priceless. Shocked. Excited. Scared. Confused.

In all the time we'd known each other, I never talked like this. I never said words like "dick" or "fuck" to him before. Ever. Sexual aggression was not one of my virtues; at least when it came to him. As far as he knew, sex for me was pretty much a "take it or leave it" activity.

But I'd never wanted his cock like I did right now. Right now, all I could think about was impaling myself on that granite erection I felt earlier. Or sitting on his face, if that were possible in the small confines of this car.

He hesitated. Usually, he was the one practically begging for sex. To have me ready to jump him like a bitch in heat must have thrown him for a loop. I took his hesitation as a challenge to call my bluff, so I reached for the latch to my door and opened it. Once again, the car gave us that warning, this time letting him know that his wife was serious.

His shorts were still unfastened from earlier, so he hurriedly pulled them down to his knees. I closed my door and looked over at his lap. I was slightly disappointed to find that he was no longer hard like he was on the highway. He wasn't limp either; more like a semi erection.

No. That just won't do.

I hitched myself up on my knees and bent my head over to his side of the car. Before he even realized what was happening, I was blowing his cock like I was trying to siphon gas from it.

"Oh fuck!" he said as my head bobbed up and down in his lap.

I felt him getting harder in my mouth. I felt the meat stiffen. But it still wasn't like what it was when we were driving; when we were talking about what his friends did to me.

Hmmm.

I stopped sucking and replaced my mouth with my hand. His cock was slick with my saliva, so it slid easily through my fist.

I leaned over to his ear and asked, "Do you remember when Dan asked me to dance last night when we were at that club?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see us out there, dancing together?"

He nodded with closed eyes and labored breathing. "Yeah. You two looked good out there. You're a great dancer."

I started pumping my hand faster. "Did you see how he was grabbing my ass?"

"Yeah. But that's what everyone does when they dance." He said, though his breathing betrayed his downplay of the events.

"But does everyone put their hands up my dress?"

There it was. I felt the real erection starting to form.

"Wait. His hands were up your dress?"

"Mm Hm." I said, increasing my speed even more. "And you remember that I was only wearing a thong, right?"