The Nightmare Jar

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is written as a counterpoint to "The Dream Jar", submitted simultaneously. The story contains scenes of extramarital and unprotected sex. If that is not your thing, please feel free to move on. Civil comments welcome.

*

Dennis trembled when he heard the key fumbling in the lock at the front door. In a panic he grabbed the remote and turned off the television and scrambled to his feet, stepping away from the screen so she wouldn't suspect he'd been watching. As it was he would have a difficult time explaining why he wasn't in the bedroom as she had instructed; he hadn't expected her home so soon after her last text. He wasn't afraid of her, but she could be a little mean when her instructions weren't followed, and he shivered with anticipation.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked as soon as she came in. The look on her face showed her disappointment. "And what are you wearing?" he looked down at himself, realizing too late that he was still in his sweatpants and tee shirt, and that pretending to ready as instructed was not going to work.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled contritely, "I got distracted, and ..." The look on her face told him that she was not buying it, and he knew he should stop before he dug himself in deeper.

"Simple fucking instructions, and you can't follow them," she uttered with disdain as she reached for the jar. "I told you I was bringing a special home, didn't I?" She pulled the jar down from the shelf and placed it on the hostess table in the hallway. The fucking ugly ceramic jar, that hideous, crass design... It had been a source of conflict between them from the beginning. He watched her open it, seeing the bills nearly overflowing the jar. "You better get upstairs and get ready, they'll be here soon," she told him intolerantly, "and they are high rollers; I don't want them disappointed." He watched for a second longer as she pulled a wad of bills from her purse and began shuffling them, ordering them by denomination, but halfway through, she stopped and looked up at him. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get upstairs!"

He turned and headed for the guest room where he was supposed to be, where she had told him to be, listening to the sound of the bills flipping through her fingers as she counted, then recounted, until the sound disappeared as he entered the room. As he removed his clothes, he thought of the jar, that object of his resentment, the focus of his unwilling submission.

*

They were at a garage sale when the argument started. She saw the jar, and he laughed at her, ridiculing the cheesy beach scene on the outside, the garish blues and yellows so crude and childish. She snarled at his laugh, saying it would remind her of her dream to one day own beachfront house, a second home, a vacation place; it would be her savings jar.

"But why?" he'd asked. "We already have enough saved for the vacation property." He wanted a house in the woods, upstate on the lake, isolated, with plenty of land. He had most of it saved before they were married.

"I am not living in the woods, vacation or otherwise, like some backwards-ass lumberjack's wife," she'd insisted, and bought the jar, bringing it home to start saving for her beach house, somewhere warm and sunny and expensive.

It wasn't long before she became dissatisfied with the rate she was saving, and began complaining about how little money they made, telling him he didn't make enough. She complained for months before suddenly stopping, and instead was coming home late some nights from work. When he snuck a peek in the jar he saw piles of cash inside, and asked her where she got it.

"You really want to know?" she asked, and he nodded, never suspecting her answer. He assumed she was working overtime or something. She looked at him matter-of-factly, one hand on her hip, and informed him, "Well, if you must know, I blow guys for money."

He stood in silence as she watched him expectantly, awaiting his response. Dumbfounded, he remained frozen and unspeaking. Finally he regained control of his body.

"You ...you're a ... a whore?" he sputtered.

"Do you see the money I'm earning? Do you know what a beach house will cost?" she badgered. "Where do you think we're going to get that kind of cash? From your salary?"

"We can tighten our belts a little," he offered timidly.

"And wait a hundred years," she scoffed. "Or I can open my mouth a little, and do it in ten." she put a hand on her hip, assuming a challenging posture.

"But how could you ... Isn't it disgusting?"

"Sometimes," she admitted, then grinned. "But most of the times it's so nasty, it's hot!" she reached up and took his face in her hand, pinching it between her fingers and thumb. "Frankly, I'm thinking about doing more," she intoned, bringing her face close. "A LOT more."

In the months that followed, his mental images of his Dream Vacation Cabin in the woods was slowly replaced by images of his wife doing unspeakable things. Over time the mental images gained detail and focus; not just sucking strange cocks, but doing the 'more' she had implied. She shared no details with him; he could only see the money accumulate over time when he dared a peek in the jar. But his images of what she did for the money were fueled by her obvious lack of regret at her actions, her arrival home becoming later, sometimes the next day, and in frequent rough shape.

Then she had approached him. "There are these two guys," she said. "They want to fuck me."

"Two at once?" The images in his head flipped through his mental Rolodex until settling on a particularly disturbing one. "And why are you telling me? You've never asked my permission before."

Her face flashed a moment of undisguised disdain. "I'm not asking your permission," she spat scornfully. "I've done it with them before. But they want something extra, and they are willing to pay me to indulge them." She looked at him, one eye half closed, her mouth pursed in a snarl. "They want to come here, and do it in our bedroom," she told him. "They know that I'm married, and they want to do it here. And they want you there; to watch them do it."

*

That had been the first time she had involved him: he had tried to resist her, to defy her, and found he couldn't. When the time came he did what she wanted and he had suffered unending misery as he had stroked himself at her orders, watching her take them in her mouth and pussy, teasing him as they pleasured themselves with his wife. Seeing her defiled in front of his face was bad enough, but seeing her enjoy it was worse.

She had laughed at him afterwards, ridiculing his shock and horror and willingness. She told him of the things she's done, her 'specials', she called them; the multiple partners, the groups, the parties and women and the gangbangs. She seemed to delight in his reaction. And she told him that she would involve him more often now.

*

And she had, selling first his attention as she pleasured other men, then selling his participation in her games for additional cash; using him however her customers wished. In his shame he had begun to not object, then to accept, and finally began to hesitatingly enjoy his subservient role in her debasement. Some of them made him say how much he enjoyed seeing his wife getting fucked, and to thank them. Others made him participate peripherally, either to clean up, or to prep and rejuvenate. He'd been made to lick her pussy clean of their cum, to prep her ass with his tongue for anal sex. Some men wanted him to hold their hard cock and put it inside her; others wanted him to suck them clean. He'd been made to jerk off while watching, and had even had his ass fucked by some of her guests. His activities disgusted him, and so did his arousal at being made to submit to them. But he lived with his shame and embarrassment, cowed by her unexplainable power over him.

He was naked now, and laying on the bed as instructed, awaiting Laurie and her guests. He heard sounds from downstairs, and knew that they were exchanging money, large sums, to pay her for the promised participation of her husband. He stilled his breathing and tried to ignore his stiff cock as he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Laurie came in first. "Here he is, like I promised," she announced, and he turned his head to see a large man, probably late twenties, with short brown hair trimmed in a buzz cut. He had to be six-four easy, and all of two-fifty, his broad shoulders and strong physique obvious under his clothes. As always, he blanched to be naked and hard in front of another man, and he tried to avoid the man's demeaning glare as he entered the room. From behind him stepped a diminutive blond woman, equally fit with a short, stylish haircut and an eager, hungry expression flashing from bright blue eyes, and carrying a small athletic bag. She stepped from around the large man and walked to the bed, taking his cock in her tiny hand. "Paul, these are my guests, Gary and Diane."

"I thought for sure you were exaggerating," Diane said, turning to Laurie, but still gripping Paul's cock in her hand. "but he's already hard." She glanced down at him as though he were furniture, not a person, then turned back to Laurie. "He'll really do it?"

"Whatever you want," Laurie answered, "the customer is always right!"

She turned to the big man. "Fuck, then, let's get started!" she bubbled, and dropped the back and began stripping off her clothes. Gary reached around from behind Laurie, holding her tits in his giant hands as the small blonde stripped naked. Then she bent down to the bag at the foot of the bed while Gary stripped his wife, taking the time to finger her shaved pussy, then Laurie help him out of his clothes as Diane stood up, holding a set of straps and a large dildo contraption with two ends. He watched her slip her legs into the harness, then she put a foot up on the bed to spread herself, fitting the smaller end of the dildo inside her pussy, then fitting the opening in the front of the harness over the large end before tightening the straps. When she was done, she stood erect, and the giant phallus jutting from her crotch seemed to increase her stature.

Paul knew his role, then. "Should I turn over?"

"No, silly," Laurie demeaned, "her legs are too short. Besides, you have to play two roles." He watched a look of delight pass among the three of them, and then Laurie approached and climbed onto the bed with him. "Just lay there on your back," she said, slipping a leg over his head, facing his feet. Her cunt was just inches above his head. "Now lift your knees," she instructed, and when he did, she grabbed him behind his calves, pulling his legs up and out, spreading him wide and curling his hips up in the air.

"Oh, my God, that's perfect!" Diane blurted. Over his balls he saw her dip out of sight for a second, and when she came back up was lubricating her oversized fake cock. When she was done she squirted some on his asshole and began working it in with her fingers. Paul groaned at the invasion, and then his vision was blocked as Gary's giant cock landed on his face.

"Get me ready, boy," he heard, "so I can fuck your whore wife!"

Paul opened his mouth and allowed the hot, spongy head to slip inside, then he sucked, taking more of the shaft into his mouth with practiced ease. He had prepped a number of her clients in the past, and knew that Laurie liked their cocks nice and hard, and slick with his drool, remembering her coaching, and shamefully eager to perform to her standards, to participate willingly for her. But just as he had gotten started sucking the big man's cock it was pulled from his mouth, and he watched the head rub at his wife's wet opening, spreading her swollen lips, and then push inside.

But his attention to his wife's penetration, just inches from his face, was distracted by his own penetration, as the small blonde woman shoved the head of the large rubber phallus up into his ass. He grunted, feeling his ass stretch and burn as he accepted the invader, and heard his wife instruct him.

"That's it, take her cock up your ass; let her fuck you. Tell her you like it, tell her how much you enjoy getting your ass fucked." As she spoke he watched the man's shaft slipping in and out of his wife, slick with her juices. She was earning her money, and making him earn her money, but he knew she was enjoying the sex even more.

"Please fuck my ass, Miss Diane," he said, no longer needing to pretend as he had done in the beginning. "I love your cock fucking my ass."

"Now get your mouth busy, and lick me while I'm getting fucked by this nice cock. Lick my clit, make me cum on his cock. And lick his big balls and cock, too," she added, and he heard the smirk in her voice, "Show some appreciation for the fucking he's giving me, and earn your reward."

He pursed his lips and sucked her clit, feeling the rest of the giant shaft filling his ass, and worked his way to the juncture of their organs, tasting her on his shaft as it slipped across his tongue, in eager anticipation of having them all watch him drink the hot cum spilling out of his wife. He felt the girl who was fucking him pull his hard cock down, aiming at her own body as she stroked him, and wondered if he would be made to clean his own cum off her tool as well.

In his mind he saw himself in the Beach House, watching his wife fucking another man, and imagining himself eagerly waiting for them to finish.