The Wife, Myself and The Stranger

Your phone rings. It's your wife.

"You might want to stop by home in the next hour, honey. Clear your schedule?" she said.

Then, without warning, hung up.

Her tone was not a threat or an insult, neither did she sound angry. It had more of a mischievous attitude. She had used the so-called Bedroom Voice.

It made your cock rock hard, instantly. You could not help getting erect. So erect it actually hurt!

She had that effect on you. The slut. Part of why you wanted to marry her in the first place.

You raced home in your car. At speeds which were, as the saying goes, "barely legal."

You pulled up in front of your house, and parked. There was an unknown car in driveway. Its make and model not as important as the fact that it did not belong to either you or your wife, or any of your friends or extended family, nor was it a service van or truck.

You head inside quickly.

You discover your wife in the living room.

Nude.

Except for black garter belt and stockings, and glossy red high heels.

She is standing, perfectly still, with ankles placed a ways apart, and her arms are held straight above her head. Her wrists are cuffed to chains which were pulled up tight toward the ceiling. Attached there to decorative iron rings that were part of the room's light fixtures.

And she was blindfolded. With some black silky hood, tied by leather straps around her throat and padlocked there, though the hood itself left her mouth and nose uncovered.

Overall, a sight which... could *normally* cause a husband to be alarmed.

You, however, were not.

And a sight which would make a husband get suddenly erect.

You, however, had already *been* rock hard, all the way driving over. And you could even feel the awkward fact that the precum slime of male arousal had been leaking out of the tip of your penis, making a slippery and somewhat uncomfortable little mess in your underwear.

And there was another detail about the situation which was even more out of the ordinary, or at least *interesting* by its implications.

There was a *stranger* present. And so there were in fact *three* of you total, in your home that afternoon -- at least that you were aware of, so far.

It was a man: a heavily muscled white man without a shirt. By now the reader might sense that we had entered a territory where this was not exactly your *first* rodeo. And they would be right. The fellow was probably, in your best estimation made in the heat of the moment, just some hapless gentleman she saw in the grocery store that day and found immediately attractive and therefore also imminently fuckable -- you know, as one does, when a married woman was out shopping for "groceries" ostensibly while the husband was away at work. Though knowing *her* something down in your wife's panties was likely on the prowl for something *else* that particular afternoon.

The stranger turned to acknowledge your arrival but said nothing. A slight nod, perhaps, at best, then he turned back to face your wife. In his right hand was a riding crop, gripped tightly, as if he meant business. You saw no marks on her skin so he likely had waited for you to arrive, assuming you would, of course -- if so, then in your eye he earned some respect points by that, immediately.

You made clear to your household's new anonymous guest that the man of the house was currently packing a pistol and knew how to use it, in case he went "too far" with his wife. The stranger noticed this fact and gave a nod, quickly and again without words, as if a silent sign of mutual respect between one mature sexual man "of the world" and another -- of the ad hoc but utterly wicked "conditional terms of the deal" they had worked out between them in that moment. Mostly via facial expressions and body language and all its shared implications.

This stranger with the crop then began to whip your wife's bared tits. She yelped, clearly caught by surprise. Her two hard nipples seemed to take the brunt of his strikes. His blows came fast and without warning, lasting about five minutes or so.

And you could not help it -- you watched it all, like a hawk. Both in a protective frame of mind, as well as being extremely turned on by it. Relishing every hit and smack upon her flesh, every little mewl or gasp made by your beautful wife, while, at the same time and in admittedly seeming paradox, being prepared *also* and at *any* second to jump in and *rescue* her. Indeed you were willing to do Anything -- literally -- to stop this "villain" if it came down to it. Without limit, and all the dark implications of these words. Therefore, you kept one hand gripped firmly on your pistol the entire time. The *other* hand was, of course, "elsewhere": discreetly rubbing the front of your fancy office dress pants down in the... uh, the crotch area.

He whipped her cunt next. Striking upward from below. It made her shriek and cry, and try to close her legs out of instinct, clinching her thighs. He reacted by whipping downward onto the outsides of both her thighs, one by one and back again. At least until she "got the message" and with a shy hesitance she slowly re-opened her legs and spread her ankles back far apart again, as if a perverted masochist chose to re-open her most private female parts "for business", however depraved that business might surely be.

Though you loved your wife, you did enjoy hearing her cry. Sometimes. Then again, you enjoyed listening to women cry in general -- sometimes. Especially if it was due to something you had just done to their naked bodies or their vulnerable & typically aroused private parts, and therefore it was *you* who made *them* feel something that exquisitely intense. You were not a sadist -- not necessarily -- but you *were* a primal person and could *not* deny how you reacted to things. Indeed, you tended to "go with it" and see where it led, always, when it came to "matters of the bedroom" or between the sexes, by default. Just as you now carried out a policy of going with it: seeing where *this* (normally) unusual marital situation led.

And despite your wife making little yelps and sharp shrieks, and despite her tears, it clearly turned her on. She was wet. A fluid was running down the inside of one leg, its source originating between the labia of her pink, aroused cunt. They say that when it comes to Woman her pussy always speaks the truth. A clitoris tells no lies. Whether it might ever conspire to mislead her down paths she might later regret is a different issue entirely, of course. Like Alice following that white rabbit down the hole into a very different world.

You approached her then, in silence. You saw the wetness on her leg, and then with your hand you slid it up along the inside of that wet leg, smoothly pressing the whole way, until your hand reached her labia and cunt mound, then shifted to cup it. You curled two fingers at first, and then three, pressed up deep inside in her hot gripping vagina and then you finger fucked your wife like that, working your all-too-knowing fingers in and out of her, forcefully, even as the Stranger stood by silently nearby and simply watched you do it to her.

You had never spoke or announced yourself since arriving home, and were super quiet by intent (and also due to careful prior practice) when coming in from outside, and so she could not technically know, now, that it was *you* doing this to her. She would assume obviously that it was The Stranger.

"Oh god, yes, do it to me! Make me cum, please? Before my husband gets home."

The Stranger smiled wickedly, relishing her confusion. As did you.

You held a finger up to your mouth, and got The Stranger's attention with it, in order to make a "Shush!" gesture to him -- your erstwhile ally-in-the-moment -- so he does not give the dirty secret away.

It may be a good time now to convey certain additional, interesting facts about your marriage. Namely, that you and your wife had agreed to certain rules:

1. Your wife was NOT allowed to orgasm unless a COCK was inside her. Masturbation was ok at any time, and edging encouraged, as long as the orgasm rule was honored.

2. She must only orgasm while ANOTHER man's cock was inside her -- NOT her husbands.

3. She could only take another man's cock IF her husband was present and approved, or if he were not there, knew of it and had pre-approved, and she had made a video recording of it for him to watch as he wished.

4. That you, the husband, was not allowed to orgasm or ejaculate UNLESS another man's cock was inside your wife. Similar policy on masturbation, edging encouraged.

5. Husband had to earn "credits" he could spend on orgasms/ejaculations, earning ONE for EACH time another man had in fact already came (provably) inside the wife. He was free to "save" these credits up or spend them when he wished, otherwise conforming to the rest of the rules.

6. Unless the wife consumed the husband's cum directly, or another person, then he must strive to save up any cum he ejaculated for gradual addition to and accumulation in frozen storage. The wife herself was allowed to "dip into" this built-up supply, and thaw it out for use, whenever she wished. Negligible amounts of "ongoing" pre-cum drool were exempt from this saving-up rule.

In other words, the kinds of rules agreed to in any typical "old fashioned and conservative" yet utterly modernized marriage? And obviously you and your wife were Catholic. Well... once. Duh!

You pulled your fingers out of your wife's sopping wet twat. Backed away, closer to where the Stranger stood.

"Well, ok I guess," said the stranger. "As you wish."

He approached her, bent over a little and then he too pushed a few fingers up her vag and finger fucked her some. Her ohs and ahs and "yes!"'s made it clear she liked it.

"Dont stop this time!" she begged.

And so he pulled his now slimed fingers out of your wife, and started to rub them around in little circles around her clitoris, and across it, back and forth.

"Oh God! Yes! Please?"

Your wife began moving her whore-ish hips around as if she tried to press herself harder into the stranger's hand and help to get back even more crude sensations upon her nasty little clit, by then itself quite engorged.

The stranger withdrew then.

"No!!!" she mewled.

It was only so he could sit down in front of her, getting comfortable and settled in for some new wicked and perverted deed, in all likelihood. He lifted up one of her legs and placed it over his left shoulder. Then he lifted her other leg and placed it over his other shoulder. Now both your wife's legs were swung over this strange man's shoulders, as he sat there, as if she were riding him, though much of her weight was still carried by her arms and wrists suspended from the ceiling chains. The stranger grabbed my wife's generously sized bare buttocks and pulled her in closer to his mouth, and then he stuck out his tongue and began to lick. And nibble. And bite.

"Jesus yes! Oh thank you! This is perfect!" she said then, without shame, in fact having left that far behind by now. And desperate to reach orgasm any way she could, as soon as she could, and ostensibly before Her Husband Got Home.

Which, of course, would have been a violation of The Rules. The quite clear rules they have both agreed to. The punishments for their violation could probably take up a few more pages all by themselves. But suffice it to say that it was at *this* point that her husband felt it wise to "de-cloak" himself and end the little charade.

You stepped around behind her, and took a moment to enjoy the sight of your wife's naked body sitting up on this man's shoulders, her big perfect bare buttocks spread apart by this man's firm grip, as he held her in place for his Feast.

"Oh God! Keep going! I'm almost... there. Almost..."

You caught the other fellow's attention and shook your head, making a "Stop!" gesture with your hands too. He obliged. Withdrawing his tongue and mouth. Pushing her away a little. But still holding her firmly in place, up across his broad muscular shoulders, her thighs gripped strongly -- she would not be going *anywhere* anytime soon or even shrinking away from what surely would be coming next.

"Amanda, you *cheating* little slut."

You said it loudly, and only a few feet way. Your tone was angry, at least on the surface.

She was startled and you could see it in her body language. Almost pulling herself up into the air a little and shrinking away from the sound of your voice.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to feel a little more! I wasn't going to really do it!"

"Uh huh... Likely story."

And then you struck her. Swatting her left buttock. And then her right one. Hard. Making her yelp. Then her left one again. And back and forth. Each time trying to strike even harder than the one before. Each strike made her yell out and shake, though the stranger continued to hold her in place the best he could, his muscular physique really becoming an asset now in this situation. He anchored the little slut, this lingerie-wearing, black-hood-blindfolded and chained-up whore -- your otherwise loving wife -- in place as she took the punishment her husband now doled out upon her naked and oh so vulnerable body. Her cheating, needy ass and sloppy wet pussy.

"I'm sorry, honey! I really am!"

And then you shifted focus. You began to slap her pussy. Your hand coming up from the bottom. Hand flat and firm, fingers all side-by-side like a board, using mostly your finger tips like little whip ends to strike against the outside of her vulva and messy slit. It made the strikes more personal than otherwise though could cause her no permanent harm -- though you wouldn't mind giving her bruises there if you could. Afterall, the rules existed for a reason. They were especialy important to obey when a couple took such crazy risks with their marriage as they were doing this afternoon. There could be a fine line between cheating and a kinky threesome, and that line also could blur -- the rules gave them both clarity on exactly what *was* and was *not* allowed, at all times. And she clearly crossed that line, or had attempted to cross it, and without your prior permission. You loved her still, of course, but in a certain way now you *were* angry. You knew she sometimes "gave in" too much to that clearly depraved and utterly amoral Voice coming from her clit. Tempting its listener into a world without consequences or costs. A siren's lure.

You ended your finger strikes against her cunt. It was more of a psychological act anyway. Just as the next. You reached into a pocket and pulled out something you had put there earlier, before the drive home, on the chance it might come in handy.

It was a buttplug. A small metal buttplug. With a green jewel. It had a flared neck such that once it was in it would not be coming out for quite a while, not by itself. Your wife always felt a little humiliated about all things anal. And so you would be pushing those buttons now, by intent. As part of her punishment.

"Bad sluts get decorated in their most private place. Bad girls have to show off back there."

She flinched at your words, seeming to fear its implications. And then after rubbing some of your wife's pussy slime over the buttplug's cool metal surface, you then positioned it at the entrance to her anus. At first her sphincter was closed, and so you pressed, steadily and firmly, and between the steady pressure and the lubricating fluid and the buttplug's perfectly smooth surface it eventually made progress, making its way gradually up inside your wife's dirty "back door" hole.

"Oh! Not there. I promise I wouldn't have came."

"Too late, cheating slut. You know what dirty girls always get back there."

"No..." she mewled, and then she began to cry a little again. Have we mentioned that you liked to hear your wife cry? At least sometimes. Your penis twitched and stiffened further at the sound of her begging, and especially at the sight of the metal buttplug as it disappeared gradually past the asshole's sphincter ring, up inside the whore.

"There... All in."

You stepped away. Headed to a nearby bathroom, there to wash your hands with soap and water for a minute before coming back.

When you came back the scene had changed some. Your wife's legs were down off the stranger's shoulders, and she was standing upright again, still hooded and still chained to the ceiling. The fellow had done you a visual curtesy though of turning your wife around to face away from both of you, towards a far wall. So that when you stepped back into the living room, her back and butt was facing toward you. The stranger reached over to your wife and with his long-fingered hands gripped both her buttocks tight, pulling them apart hard, and when he did this it revealed again and really emphasized her big green jewel back there.

"Perfect," you declared.

You stepped over to her and gave your wife a few gentle swats to her butt, right along the area between buttocks around her stuffed asshole, therefore intentionally over the spot with the jeweled buttplug. As if to really emphasize its presence now inside her very most private of place. The other man let go of her.

"Amanda, our guest here has been patient enough. And he will NOT be leaving here today without fucking you, I imagine. And inseminating you, I hope. So... time's a-wasting. Let's get to the Main Event, shall we? I know I can't wait."

You really could not wait much longer yourself. You reached down and gave a rub to the front of your pants again. You had been doing it here and there all along that afternoon. But matters seemed to become more urgent, approaching some culmination soon. You had your own rules to follow. It felt like your balls would burst if no relief found soon.

You turned to your house guest and got his attention.

"Be rough with her. Do whatever you wish," you told the stanger then, and knowing your wife could hear it too. "If I think you've gone too far, well, have no worries, sir, you WILL find out. The hard way." implying again your fallback plan for protecting her. The 9mm semi-automatic pistol in a holster, kept hidden normally under your jacket, itself never removed since coming home from the office that afternoon.

Speaking of the topic of "what men were packing" or not. It may be a good time to reveal more about what the rest of the EDC ("Every Day Carry") situation looked like that day for the two men who were present then in that house. Starting with you yourself, the husband and therefore The Man, in theory, of the household.

Three words: set expectations low.

You took off your shoes and socks. Then your jacket and pants and set them aside on a chair. You left the pistol holster on, of course, where it had been strapped over the top of the long-sleeved office dress shirt you wore to work. Lastly, you stripped off your underwear. And yes it meant your "package" was out for the first time that afternoon.

Expectations? Low.

Because your penis was tiny. It looked and served normally more like an abnormally large *clitoris* than any real adult man's cock. A few inches long, at most. It could get stiff -- as it had been then for a while now -- but never really fully erect or inflated into a "shaft" like a normal penis could. And thus it was hard to engage in vaginal intercourse. Hard to fuck. Nearly impossible, certainly, for a man to fuck his own wife with it, no matter how hard he tried. And you had tried quite a lot, together, your wife and you, and you were hard nearly all the time, too.

No dice.

And so this awkward and embarrassing state of affairs down in your pants was ONE of the reasons your marriage had come to develop the weird and kinky set of rules that it had. It helped keep you together when certain "primal" forces of lust might otherwise tear a man and woman apart. Plus the fact that it *was* kinky was a bonus in its favor. The lifestyle was wildly erotic and perverted. That turned both of you on, to no end. The thrill of "cheating" could be experienced -- especialy by the wife -- without necessarily its worst downsides. Your wife got endless cock -- as much as she ever craved -- but her husband got the pervy pleasure too of watching it happen, always, and who had himself ample opportunity to also reach satisfaction. Win, win and win! What's not to like?