Sometimes It's Not Worth It

Society, though crafted by and made up of people, isn't well known for possessing human qualities or human concepts such as forgiveness, second-chances, redemption or understanding. In truth, society isn't known for anything but slinging heaps of pressure at everyone. What comes afterwards is the unavoidable, unpredictable outcome of our choices.

I liken society to marriage.

My name is Greg. I'm a white male. I've been married for fifteen years to a wonderful black woman, Lisa. I work hard, pay my bills, pay my taxes, and provide my family with whatever it needs -- my family which comprises of me and my wife alone. We have no children, and haven't thought about having any.

My marriage has always been satisfying and fulfilling, for as long as I can remember, but like society, marriage hurls pressure by the bucketload, demanding more; in my case, more sexual excitement.

Five months ago, Lisa and I began role playing as a way to spice things up in the bedroom. We discovered it dramatically elevated our libidos, and so we embraced this newfound love. I don't think I've ever looked forward to sex with my wife before our role playing escapades.

As time passed, our role playing grew more intense and exhilarating. We started taking it outside our home. I would pretend to be a stranger, walk into a bar, and pick up my wife while she pretended to be someone else; take her to a dark alley and fuck her. Sometimes I'd come to her workplace, this time as her boss and her as my secretary, and fuck her on her office table. Dangerous stuff. (We almost got caught once by her real boss, but that only made it all the more exciting.)

It was around this time Lisa began including a phantom third participant in our sex games. Instead of a boss fucking his secretary, it became a boss and his friend fucking his secretary. Rather than a stranger picking up a random woman from a club, it became two strangers picking up a random woman from a club. And it always ended in double penetration, me in her pussy and a dildo in her ass.

I indulged her and this latest development. After all, I was having fun too.

But Lisa wanted more. She became obsessed with double penetration and suggested we take it one step further -- we involve a real person.

What you need to understand is fantasies are just that -- fantasies. They're not real. Even though you indulge in them there's always that safety net: it's all pretence; your wife really isn't getting fucked by a body builder or a plumber. And best of all, it involves just you and her.

Lisa's proposal, however, was taking things a bit too far, well into the realm of reality. I didn't like it. I didn't want it.

We argued about it. We made up. Then we argued again. Over and over.

Soon, I began to warm to the idea. Maybe it wasn't so bad. After all, it was just role playing, right? Yeah, some guy would really be fucking my wife with me, but after that he'd be gone and Lisa and I would return to our happy, married lives. Simple.

Finally, two months ago, I agreed. Lisa was thrilled. We made preparations. It seemed she already had someone in mind, an old friend she had recently reconnected with on Facebook. She assured me she hadn't told him about our unusual fascination with role playing, but that didn't stop jealousy from clawing at the pit of my stomach. True, I had been worried she had told him about our sexual exploits, but I was more worried about her relationship with the guy. Who the hell was he, and why him? Lisa's answer to the first question: He's a friend and I trust him more than any random stranger. Her answer to the second question: after it's over, he won't go around spreading rumours, because I know him and he's not that kind of guy.

It was ok to feel a tad jealous, Lisa said. After all, what sane man would take pleasure in watching his wife with another man? The fact that I felt this way implied I loved her and that made her happy, she told me.

Lisa did all the talking with Steve, and four days before D-Day we met him for lunch. Steve was a rather lanky black man. He had an easy smile that went well with his calm demeanour. I did detect a little discomfort from him concerning the whole arrangement, but other than that, he seemed fine. (And who wouldn't be? Why would any man be uncomfortable with the idea of free sex?)

On Friday night I was a nervous wreck, palms sweating, toes curling, and fingers trembling. Lisa looked nervous too, but hers was the offshoot of her anticipation of what was to come. I remember what she wore that day: a black backless dress that cut inches above her knees and accentuated her wild curves. Her large, soft apple-shaped butt looked double its size, and when she walked, when her butt-cheeks swapped positions up and down, that damn dress made her ass all the more alluring. She also wore black stilettos and no bra.

Steve arrived on time (I had hoped he would change his mind, but, oh well), looking like a black James Bond in his tux. I wasn't so bad myself in my tuxedo, considering I had kept my body fit over the years. In fact, I'd say I looked more James Bond than Steve. But that didn't calm the jealousy in me. I could see how much Lisa was looking forward to this and that pissed me off.

Our role play was thus: two strangers at a formal ball attract the eye of a sexy black woman. They have dinner with her, drink, flirt, and when no one is looking, head out to a secluded room and fuck.

An assortment of food and wine occupied the table. We took our places -- Steve and I opposite each other, and Lisa at the head of the table -- and began to eat and drink. Steve played his part well, flirting and conversing with Lisa like they had just met. I did my bit, but my performance was quite disappointing, to say the least. I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking of Lisa and Steve together, and got angry over how she laughed at his jokes and responded to his flirtations. Lisa sensed my detachment and did her best to involve me.

After many bottles of wine, Steve suggested Lisa come with him and me to the bedroom. Lisa countered: I don't know if I should. I'm married and I'm rather drunk. Steve assured her we were gentlemen and we wouldn't compel her to do anything she didn't want to do.

Lisa conceded, not before giving me a passionate look. Steve helped her out of her seat, and I had to stop myself from punching him in the face when his hand rested low on her waist, dangerously close to her butt.

By the time we made it into the dim bedroom, Steve had no qualms about giving Lisa's butt a good, long squeeze. I grunted my disapproval, hoping he would stop. He didn't. Rather, he kept moulding her ass and whispering in her ear. Whatever he said had to be really funny, because Lisa giggled.

Lisa must have noticed my lack of participation, because she looked my way and her gaze beckoned to me. I went to her and took hold of her other butt-cheek.

I don't remember exactly what she said, but I know they were along the lines of: Oh my, I thought you were supposed to be gentlemen.

Steve's reply: But we are. This is how gentlemen behave. His other hand covered her breast, massaging and tweaking her nipple.

I imitated Steve, toying with Lisa's other breast. She moaned and glanced at both of us. I don't think I've ever seen Lisa turned on this way in our sixteen years together. Her eyes were clouded with so much desire, and when she kissed me, the way her lips and her tongue moved -- they were propelled by a verve I wasn't accustomed to.

For a moment I was happy. It felt like it was just the two of us alone. Then she broke the kiss and turned to Steve. I watched their serious tongue action and grew furious. But I remained composed and acted like it was nothing, like watching my wife kiss another man wasn't synonymous to having my heart ripped from my chest.

After a while Lisa veered her attention to me. She hunkered, unbuckled my belt, drew down my pants and started working my cock. Steve took off his jacket, his pants and boxers.

I saw his cock.

My hatred for the man tripled.

He wasn't longer than me, but he was thicker, even in a flaccid state. It made me wonder what he was like erect.

Steve smoothed Lisa's hair as her expert mouth swallowed my cock and sucked it to life. I closed my eyes, moaning, and once again I felt like Lisa and I were in our own special, private world, a place where Steve wasn't welcomed.

That wonderful sensation shattered the instant I heard Steve's voice. He had had enough of watching Lisa suck me and wanted a piece of the action. I didn't miss Lisa's surprised Oh; she was most definitely impressed by his size. I bristled.

I became more annoyed when it seemed she was spending more time and effort with his cock than she had with mine. While she had simply held my cock and sucked, she kept yanking and slurping Steve's.

Steve's comments like, I bet your husband doesn't have a gentleman's cock like mine, only made me feel worse. Both his hands held Lisa's head and he semi-pounded her mouth, making her gag.

Lisa later got him out of her mouth and said to both of us: God, you're so rough and so big. I think that statement was meant more for Steve.

We relocated to a cushion. Lisa made me sit and knelt in front of me. She took me into her mouth again and began blowing me with a newfound ferocity. I was more than aroused and my moans made that clear. However I was unhappy to observe Steve kneel behind Lisa, spread her substantial butt, and ease into her. The look of sheer gratification on his face threatened to drive me over the edge. I bet he thought a slow entry would allow Lisa ample time to savour the sensation of his largeness stretching her pussy.

Unfortunately for me, Steve's gamble paid off -- Lisa was vocal about his unhurried penetration. And judging from her drawn out, guttural moan and how her fingers sank into my thighs, I would say his cock had the desired effect.

Lisa went on to worship my cock, sucking, spitting on it, licking, rubbing -- even using her teeth, something she had never done to me before. I had Steve to thank for that, much to my dissatisfaction (it was pretty obvious him lodged inside Lisa brought out a different side of her). Her persistent attention on my cock made it easy for me to ignore Steve's presence momentarily, as I was too busy buffeted by waves of passion.

Steve had started slow, but his intention was never to maintain that rhythm. His slender hands gripped Lisa's waist and he increased his pace, pounding her in a way I could never do. I realised how deceptive his body was about his strength. He looked thin, but he possessed the power of a horse.

I watched Lisa's ass tremble so hard each time his waist made contact with her; I watched her wail, her face twisted with utter, painful bliss, and I caught her occasional glances at Steve. I watched and felt a mixture of insane desire and ferocious fury. It dawned on me -- Steve was fucking her real good and she was enjoying every minute of it.

I tried to block out the cacophony of Steve's fierce commands (take that black dick!) and Lisa's submissive cries (Oh god, give it to me!) and focus on my own contented sighs, and for the most part I was successful.

Later, Lisa mounted me and rode, constricting my cock with her pussy whenever she felt like it. That drove me mad. My arms wrapped around her and my hands squeezed her vibrating butt. What made this position special for both of us were the kisses we shared as we fucked -- sensual, loving and intense. So you can imagine how disgusted I was when Steve had to ruin everything by putting his dick in Lisa's mouth.

At least she enjoyed fucking me, that much I was certain, indicative of her heavy breathing, short gasps, and encouraging words: Oh, yes! Yes -- yes!

Afterwards, it was time for the real appetiser, and Lisa, I and Steve appropriated the bed. I lay on my back and Lisa sat on my waist, sinking me into her warm, tight haven. She purred. I groaned. She leaned forward and we kissed, her waist jerking back and forth.

Then she reared her head and cried out, eyes shut. I stared ahead of her and watched Steve manoeuvre his way into my wife's backdoor. Even though Lisa and I had dabbled in anal sex in the past (plus she had penetrated there with her dildo plenty times), I couldn't help feeling a little worried. Or maybe I was just pissed off to see Steve's hands all over Lisa's body -- her shoulder, her neck, grabbing her breasts, holding her waist to aide his strenuous passage into her.

Pain sluiced Lisa's face. Pleasure too. In fact, the pleasure I saw in her eyes overshadowed the pain. This was what she had been begging for, for months. This was what we had fantasised about, talked about ... and now, it was happening, and it was every bit as exhilarating as we had thought it would be.

Yes, I hated Steve. Yes, I would have loved to slit his throat and cheer as he bled to death in my bedroom. Yes, I wanted to scream at Lisa, call her a whore and accuse her of betraying me and breaking my heart.

But seeing Steve like this, above Lisa, rubbing against her back, plunging and retreating from the depths of her ass while she grinded atop me, fucking me -- it gave me a renewed sense of want. A strange craving overtook me, devoured me in ways I didn't understand. I looked at Lisa, saw a thread of saliva stretching from the corner of her mouth to my chest, a masked of unbelievable pleasure over her face, and I loved it. I loved seeing Lisa like this, helpless to her own desire.

Steve jerked, stabbing his cock into her butt, and Lisa gripped my shoulders, her body letting loose violent judders. She cried gibberish, a sure sign she had climaxed. If I could get any harder than I was at that moment, I would have.

The next words that came out of my mouth shocked me: Fuck her harder.

That order was for Steve, and Steve did not disappoint. He angled his body for optimum performance and began a swift pounding motion. Though I held on to Lisa's waist, I didn't need to coerce her to move -- she did that on her own.

Her body rocked. Mine too, and so did Steve's. Steve inclined towards her, one hand on her waist and the other pinching her breast. I took control of Lisa's other breast, kneading to my heart's desire, relishing her pained countenance and elated screeches. Lisa held the back of Steve's head as he flicked his tongue in her ear, licking and biting her earlobe. Her free hand clawed my chest.

Our combined cries reverberated all around us. Steve fucked Lisa, and Lisa fucked me. Hard. And when we all exploded at the same time, I felt a deep, unnatural satisfaction.

I remember how Lisa had reacted when I announced I was cumming, seconds after she had made the same announcement. I remember her begging me to fill her up with my seeds, and I remember doing just that, groaning loud as my cock spurted lavish amounts of cum. I remember Steve pumping everything he had into Lisa's ass with wild abandon. I remember how in that moment when his cock burst open to flood Lisa, he stopped her from kissing me, wrapping an arm around her neck, seizing her breast, and dragging her to him. Lisa had enjoyed that. I saw it on her face.

And you know what? It hurt like a profound wound.

That's the thing about turning fantasies like this into reality. When it ends, your head clears, and then you can think. You can see. And in most cases you don't like what you see.

I saw Steve caressing my wife and telling her what a good fuck she was, obviously still in role playing mode, and I hated him then more than I had hated him before. I even hated myself for agreeing to this nonsense.

It would have been better if everything had ended there. Instead Lisa suggested Steve share our bed. It was almost midnight and she didn't want him driving home in such a tired state. I wanted to argue, but I didn't trust myself to be diplomatic. If I opened my mouth to state my disagreement I would say things I shouldn't.

So I just shrugged, turned my back on Lisa and delved under the bed covers. Lisa hugged me. She whispered in my ear, asking if I was ok. I nodded my lie. I didn't want to admit I wasn't ok. I didn't want to admit my hurt. My anger.

Sometime during the early hours of the morning I woke to a soft noise. I turned around and found Lisa awake and tapping my shoulder. The memories of last night washed before my eyes, and for a second I thought I had dreamed it. Then I saw Steve behind Lisa, too close to Lisa, a finger trailing along her waist and up the steep curve of her hip, and I realised the nightmare had been real.

I didn't have to think too hard to know what it was Lisa wanted. She was giving me the look, the let's-do-it-again look

Really, what did I expect? The man had slept in our bed. Of course he would want another taste of the apple from the tree before leaving, and Lisa would be more than willing to grant him his wish, considering how much she had enjoyed our previous session.

At least she did the honourable thing by waking me and requesting my involvement, rather than sneaking off with him to the bathroom or some isolated place in the house.

I didn't want Steve anywhere near my wife, and I didn't want to have sex with her, probably for the next couple of weeks, as my emotions about this whole thing were still raw. But I was human. My body was weak and prone to temptation.

Lisa knew which buttons to push, and try as I may, I couldn't avoid the inevitable.

She turned around and edged on top me, her back on my chest. The instant my cock pressed between her butt-cheeks it lost its flabbiness and assumed the shape of a curved rod. Lisa cooed her approval, wiggling her butt. She took my cock, rubbed its head on her pussy then down to her anal sphincter. There she applied pressure. Despite my best efforts, I groaned as my cock thrust into her nether end with some difficulty. Her sharp, strained response motivated me and I wrapped an arm around her stomach, captured one of her breasts with my other hand, and began jolting my waist.

Steve knelt above a whimpering Lisa, slapped his cock on her pussy a few times, and then plunge in. I hate to say it, but her long, quivering moan was like music to my ears.

Our rhythm was slow, though not a hindrance. Steve's fluid to-and-fro movement and my uncoordinated waist-twitching were more than Lisa could have asked for. When Steve leaned and fused his lips on Lisa's, a bolt of jealousy seared through me. I felt ignored. So I ramped up my speed. I may not have been able to move as well as Steve, but I ensured my penetrations carried mega punches. I jerked, fucking Lisa's ass harder with each thrust.

Lisa tore her mouth from Steve's and moaned her appreciation of my vigorous thumping.

I should have been happy then. I should have revelled in my triumph. But I was furious. I was furious at putting myself in this stupid situation. I was furious at Lisa for coercing me into this madness. I was furious at Steve for invading my marriage. I was so furious.

I didn't care anymore.

It was at that moment something broke inside me. Lisa meant little to me. I wasn't fucking my wife; I was fucking a filthy, no-good whore.

I gave Lisa's breasts merciless squeezes and pummelled on, my cock defying the delightful friction it had created inside Lisa's ass. I fucked her the way a slut should be fucked. Steve puffed and grunted, hammering like a madman. He looked fatigued. Sandwiched between us, Lisa writhed and begged.

When we all came it was as satisfying as the first time.

Hours later, Steve left.

Weeks have past and I'm still mulling over what we did. I haven't spoken about it to Lisa, but I can tell just by observing her that she sees the resentment in my eyes. Our sex life is still intact. If anything, it's improved it. But these days, I don't bother making love to her when she wants me to. I just fuck her like she's an object, a tool for my pleasure. I think she's noticed that and I can tell she's worried. Yesterday, she insisted we go out on a real date rather than role play. Said we needed to reconnect.