Unexpected Consequences

That being said, Mark fired the first shot at his unsuspecting spouse only days later. They were heading to bed a little bet earlier than usual; an unspoken indicator of impending love-making. Standing at the foot of the bed, removing his underwear, Mark looked over at his naked wife as she dug beneath her pillow for her nightie, relatively certain that it wouldn't stay on for long. "Remember when we first started going out," he began, deliberately sounding rather dreamy, "and you told me you liked rear-entry sex; and I said I didn't?"

When it became apparent he wasn't going to elaborate, Gwen said, "So, I never brought it up again. Why?"

"Well, I saw it on a video, with the boys, the other night."

"And?"

"Well, the general consensus was that it's worth trying from time to time."

"So?" Gwen knew what was coming, and, giving a tentative smile, felt her cheeks blush and burn to a deep red.

"I just thought maybe you'd like to try it."

Gwen tried to keep the emotion out of her voice—eager anticipation, and conflicted concern. "Sure. If that's what you want."

While trying, valiantly, to control his simmering rage, Mark pulled Gwen up onto her hands and knees, and took her. Ramming himself in roughly, he seemed almost angry, as he began pounding, slapping hard against her buttocks. His barely muted violence ignited, in Gwen, vaguely remembered sensations from the Santa Fe fiasco—memories of the long, intense orgasms that had ripped through her during marathon rear-entry, doggie-style sex. "Does he somehow suspect?" she puzzled. "How could he?"

Despite her perplexity, Gwen couldn't ignore the building sense of arousal that sparkled through her genitals. She fought desperately not to let herself go; and tried to stifle the growing excitement; she didn't want to seem like a slut, for how could she, Ms. Middle-class-housewife, explain that? And, in the end, she successfully kept the lid on things, kept her response down to an impressive, but not too impressive, couple of orgasms. Gwen thought, initially, that she would need to discourage doing too much doggie-style, so as to avoid the frustration it would certainly entail; but Mark ended up, for reasons of his own, being rather circumspect in his rationing of rear-entry sex. Still, Gwen thought, she would have to exercise deliberate and conscientious restraint in her response, whenever they went that way. Then Mark started to see that she was holding back. He sensed how difficult it was for her not to let go, so, he played her, silently teasing, enjoying her discomfort. Gradually a plan for revenge came together, fully detailed in his head. Over the next week, Mark hid his anger and disgust well—as well as he hid his Machiavellian plan for vengeance.

One evening after a quick, satisfying romp, lying on the bed, quietly beside his wife, Mark got up on one elbow and said, "Y'know, I'm glad you agreed to try doggie-style sex. I believe it has really livened up our sex-life. Don't you think?"

"It's certainly added a degree of spice," Gwen acknowledged. While she definitely enjoyed it, she knew she still had to concentrate on not letting her arousal run away with her—not letting her desired response overwhelm her good sense.

"Well, I read—somewhere—how a bit of light bondage, can really light up ordinary sex." Gwen looked at him, trying to gauge his seriousness. Her eyes gave away nothing; so, he went on. "We should maybe try it sometime, eh?" Gwen argued that, although 'doggie' had definitely spiced up their sex life, she wasn't convinced that bondage would offer any further sexual enhancement. Truth was that she was scared of the possible ramifications of relinquishing control during love-making.

However, Mark was as insistent as Gwen was reluctant. He continually sweet-talked her; and, over the course of many days, finally, after a lot of coaxing, got Gwen to agree to try it. Even so, she was guardedly willing.

On the chosen afternoon, Gwen watched while Mark prepared the family room, producing a basket of bondage paraphernalia, which Gwen had never seen before. At her raised eyebrow, Mark picked out some padded Velcro cuffs, and chuckled glibly, "Ever the Girl Guide—Be prepared." Then, with soothingly gentle encouragement, he helped her undress, and guided her into position straddling the narrow coffee-table, and lying over a bolster under her hips. As he calmly fastened her ankles and wrists to the table-legs, the cuffs secured beneath the lower shelf, it occurred to Gwen, with a slight sense of alarm, that they had never even discussed who would be bound and who wouldn't—who would be submissive, and who would be dominant.

"Comfy?"

"Oka-a-a-ay...?" Gwen replied, tentatively. She was really beginning to wonder what she'd got herself into; but she trusted Mark.

When Mark had her well-fastened to the coffee-table, he hissed, "Here, I've got a little something to watch for inspiration." He moved their flatscreen TV around, so that it sat directly in front of her, then he attached his laptop, inserted a USB FlashDrive, and turned the whole set on. "Watch this. This is really quite well done." The digital video that came up on the large screen showed a milling crowd, completely out of focus except for one figure—in sharp focused HD, moving with and through the throng.

Gwen was, at first, confused by the milling crowd outside an obviously upscale hotel, then, as the scene changed, she watched the focused figure move to a counter. After a few moments, the rest of the crowd came into focus, too. Gwen was suddenly more stunned than bewildered when she finally recognized the central figure as herself. The scene cut to her having drinks in the conference hall, mingling with a group of women, and a few well-dressed, rather suave young men. Eyes glued to the screen, Gwen became concerned when the action moved to men and women climbing aboard a party bus. As the doors closed behind the last partier a title banner scrolled up the screen: Gwendolyn's Gangbang.

She gasped, "Oh. My. Lord! What...? How...? Where...?" then went deathly still, except for her heaving chest and ragged breathing through her nose.

"Here, before you say any more," Mark whispered, his mouth just behind her ear, "let's just fasten this on." Taking advantage of her open mouth, Mark deftly inserted a six-inch dildo fully between her lips, pulling it tight and fastening it securely, buckling what amounted to a backwards strap-on at the back of her head, effectively gagging her. As he fitted the phallic gag, he purred soothingly, "Don't panic." Her eyes riveted to the screen, Gwen didn't even notice him draw the attached head-harness over her head. "This'll make it easier," he crooned in her ear, as he began to feed strapping around her chest, under her boobs and over her shoulders in a complicated design.

Fastening makeshift reins attached to the sides of the improvised strap-on effectively prevented Gwen from turning her head side-to-side. Mark stood back to admire his work. "This shouldn't be too much trouble," he gloated, "as you've apparently become pretty darned good at sucking cock!"

Slowly regaining her awareness, Gwen realized she could no longer turn her head away from the TV. Reflexively, she began a futile struggle, whimpering around the dildo. Ignoring her would-be trashing protestations, Mark laughed, calmly explaining, "It's amazing what you can find on the Internet;" he gestured towards the screen on which an abridged, edited version of Gwen's convention adventure was showing. Watching the unfolding action on the screen, Mark smiled. He snaked his hand in under Gwen's chest and began to play with her flattened nipples. Gradually, bound as she was, Gwen went still, realizing that struggling was pointless. Her fear and confusion were being quelled slightly by the insistent fingers at her tits, and the soft susurrus in her ear—"Relax. It'll be all right. You'll see." Abruptly Mark pulled his hand out from under her and stepped away, allowing her focus to return to the screen. Her attention was, once again, seized by the not entirely unfamiliar action. But not for long.

Mark's cock was throbbing and rigid as he speared into his captive wife. He was super-turned-on, relishing his novel position of power, and his neatly unfolding vindication. "Imagine my surprise," he hissed, covering her, his head still next to hers, "when I recognized my wife playing the lead role in a blue movie." He lifted one hand from her shoulder, and, operating the remote, restarted the video, saying, "Let's watch it together from the start. Okay?"

As the title rolled up and stopped, centered, Gwen's eyes grew wide. She shivered within her bonds, trying, against her restraints, to move her head side-to-side, and protesting pitifully. All that escaped around the latex cock were pathetic mewls. Mark chuckled as she was forced to study the title: Gwendolyn's Gangbang—her new infamy. It came to her, at that moment, that she could sort of understand the conclusions Mark had reached—jumped to—having watched the video without any frame of reference. Her eyes glued to the screen, as her husband continued to plough roughly into her cunt, Gwen despaired at how quick and easy and welcome her seduction appeared to have been. On the video, she certainly didn't look reluctant or coerced; but it wasn't fair that he wasn't giving her a chance to defend herself. And she surely couldn't as long as she couldn't get free.

Mark's pounding began to have an effect on her. She felt, despite the circumstances, the old ultra-arousal building within—her libido began to sizzle and snap. Behind them, Gwen sensed the arrival of others in the room, and heard talking in quiet, conspiratorial whispers, bringing to mind vague recollections of the actual Santa Fe event. Then Mark spoke, panting, as he inexorably accelerated his pistoning assault. "I've taken the liberty of inviting several friends and neighbours, acquaintances, and colleagues—both mine and yours—to sample your newly discovered talents. You wouldn't believe the enthusiasm of your many fans, once I'd explained the situation." Then, over his shoulder he gasped, "Just hang on a bit, fellas," as he grabbed Gwen's hips firmly, and slammed himself into her as deep and as hard as he could. Two or three strenuous thrusts, with her heaving her butt back onto him, Mark huffed and puffed, loudly, while Gwen hissed and wheezed around the gag. Despite the distress of her predicament, they both climaxed, shivering and groaning in unison, before Mark slid out of his dear wife, and, with a smack on her buttocks, asked, "Who's next!"

Thus began a period of almost non-stop puppy-fucking. The participants had been instructed not to speak so as to maintain an initial anonymity—"All part of the game." Most of them were mostly silent, though some groaned and moaned along the way, cumming with a growl or a shout. And they differed in the way they fucked, too. Some of them pounded hard and fast from the start, some started slow and worked up to it, others sped up and slowed down randomly throughout. The common goal seemed simply to gangbang Gwen into exhaustion; notwithstanding, before the end of the third fuck she began to climax, and did so with every new insertion, reaching orgasm faster and faster. Not only that, but the orgasmic crests became longer, more like plateaus, and the troughs in between, shallower and briefer. By the fifth or sixth invader she was riding the climactic high almost constantly—with wild, out-of-control responses that stunned the horny crowd. Gwen's "Nngh! Nnngh! NNNGH!" became increasingly desperate, as she whimpered pitifully around the dildo-gag, and rocked her hips back to meet each thrust.

Gwen had long since lost count; nonetheless, the guy doing her right then, a rather unimaginative, unremarkable fuck, but active enough to keep her orgasmic high simmering, just happened to be the last of the first round. Somewhere, beneath the rhythmic "squelch-slap" of his assault, she vaguely discerned someone speaking as they, apparently, entered the room. "Looks like the bitch is in heat." Then, "Well don't that just make your willie stand up?!" But her head-harness, which she barely even registered anymore, effectively kept her from seeing her husband quietly welcome an older, unkempt fellow to the queue at her upturned read-end, just as the last of the 'fan-club' accelerated his attack to a frenzy, splashing a ninth load of cum into Gwen's sloshing womb. Still fuzzy, hanging onto to the end of her latest orgasm, Gwen could hardly comprehend Mark's announcement. "And last but not least, my dear girl, I'm giving you your old friend and favourite neighbour—Mr. Gerald Hendrickson!"

Gwen's body jolted as if it'd been shocked, and her ambient arousal drained away with the softening of the withdrawing prick. "Old Man Hendrickson?!" She detested him; and Mark knew it. Hendrickson was their back-alley neighbour; a seventy-ish bachelor divorcee. Lewd, slovenly, and unpleasant, he was the poster-boy for 'dirty old man'—disgusting. Gwen figured he was, if not mentally handicapped, then intellectually challenged, and pathologically vulgar. He was forever making obscene, suggestive comments to her, at her, sometimes out loud, other times, barely audible. "Want some candy little girl?" "Come and get it you cock-teasing bitch!" Beyond inuendo, he'd detail what he'd like to do to her. Although she did her best to avoid him, he always seemed to be watching for her, to intercept her. No, more than that she could not stand him, Gwen was repulsed by him, and frightened by his blatantly crude verbal barrage. Despite her complaints, Mark always made excuses for his appalling behaviour. The truth was, that, even when bantering with Mark, the old man would say things like: "I wouldn't let her get away with her constant cock-teasing, if I were you!" or "If she were mine, I'd poke her every chance I got!" Mark, for his part, was amused by Mr. Hendrickson—even admired the old coot. "I hope I'm that randy when I'm his age." Thus, while shocking, it was not really a surprise that Mark had invited him to participate.

As Gwen felt someone, presumably Hendrickson, shuffle into position behind her, she heard him sneer. "Not so prissy now, eh, you stuck up little whore!" Then he rammed it into her with an unmitigated violence, spearing her well-used cunt, and slamming against the end wall of her vagina, next to her cervix, so hard Gwen felt him bending slightly under the force. The vicious penetration winded her. As he stayed fully inserted, leaning forward, his thighs pressing against her buttocks, his probing worm, plumbing her depths, pushing against her innards, fueled a reluctant tingling within Gwen's very core.

Hanging onto her hips, keeping himself pulled tightly against her, Hendrickson complained, ""What the fuck? This fucking cunt is way too loose for me! You could drive a truck through here!" Then, pointing, poking, twisting his finger into the elastic ring of her anus he queried, "What about this?"

The other 'guests' stood, looking bemused, their eyes panning between the grizzled stranger and Mark, who, more amused than bemused, nodded at Old Man Hendrickson, and, with a sweeping gesture, said, "Go for it!"

Surveying the crowd, and realizing he had a captive audience, the old shit seized centre-stage and queried, "Anyone had her butt yet?" Interpreting the brief silence as a negative, he went on, "No? Then I'll take it." And, without missing a beat, he began declaring loudly and obnoxiously, "I'm gonna take 'er up the ol' dirt chute." Then reiterating, in an almost sing-songy voice, "I wanna plow her Hershey Highway; shove her shit!" He was, it seemed, a walking glossary of euphemisms for anal intercourse: up the bum, pound her poop, pierce her rosebud, spear her rectum, give her a spindle-butt, administer a pecker-snot enema. Very proud of his repertoire, he continued reeling them off: "Pack her fudge; cornhole her; poke her in the brown eye; ream her asshole!"

And, while he rambled on, Hendrickson sauntered up alongside Gwen, swaggering around in front of her so that she could see his glistening root waggling in her face. "Damn," he spat out, "I wanted you to suck me first, but I see your mouth is otherwise engaged. Time enough for that."

The grizzled old bat sported an impressively long dick. It hung, semi-turgid, sticking straight out from his groin. Though it grew stiffer as he became aroused, rising in salute, it curiously didn't gain any girth.

He chuckled as he shuffled back out of Gwen's field of vision. For the briefest of moments, Gwen detected a feeling of emptiness at the edge of her awareness. Then she felt someone clumsily moving into position. That dirty old pig? Gwen felt like puking. Although she couldn't see it, Hendrickson made a big production of getting his hard-on firm again. He spit on his hand and stroked himself, coaxing his erection up to full stature. He scooped some of the dripping ooze from Gwen's cunt and wiped it, first on his stiffening prick, then, gathering some more for lube, smeared it over and around Gwen's anus.

Despite Hendrickson's vociferous declarations, the spongey cockhead pressing against her sphincter came as a surprise to Gwen. The old fart—his trousers hanging from his suspenders, his wife-beater undershirt tattered and stained—basked in the attention he'd garnered, and the power he felt—power over his stuck-up bitch of a neighbour.

It had been a long time since Gwen had been taken anally, and while she hated to admit it, the old fucker had the perfect penis for it—long and thin and fairly stiff. Interestingly, that brought back further vague recollections of the Santa Fe party. Her friend—"What was his name, again? —Carlos? Yeah, Carlos," she mused, her thoughts pleasantly drifting back, "That's right. And Carlos introduced me to another guy—Miguel, if I'm not mis...—Yeah, that's it—Miguel; the guy with a cock like a foot-long wiener." She still smiled, the memory paradoxically sweet. She was amazed she'd actually remembered his name.

Memories of having her butt reamed in Santa Fe seeped back into her consciousness. Gwen hadn't seen either of them—Carlos or Miguel—on the TV; "Probably edited out." In any case, the first up her bum—in Santa Fe—had been Miguel. "Oh, yeah," she sighed around her penile mouthful, feeling a subtle tingling in her fundament at the mere recollection. "Miguel's cock had been skinny, too," Gwen silently reflected. "Indeed, much like Hendrickson's pencil-dick; but the old bugger's is wrinkly and ugly. Miguel's was much more appealing. Amazed at her own objective analysis, given her current plight, Gwen concluded her observations. "Although, if memory serves, Hendrickson is substantially longer." Movement behind her brought Gwen's awareness back to Hendrickson's impending assault. Paradoxically, the anticipation of a good butt-fucking made her shiver with delight—despite herself.

Abruptly, Old Man Hendrickson shoved hard, pushing through her sphincter and ramming himself well into her tight rectum. As he worked his way deeper into her ass, she tried to block out any thought of who was sodomizing her, and just concentrate on the sensations being generated by the sawing intrusion of a stiff penis threading her butt, and the feel of its rubbery head pushing at the corner of her bowel. As it inched into her, feeling very long, and very, very stiff, trying, as it was, to straighten the corner, deep within, Gwen was distracted by the rasp of an open zipper against her buttocks. Without any regard for her, the old geezer began to pound her mercilessly, the rasp of his zipper a constant irritant.

Of course, Hendrickson's impaling tool, as it pushed into her, felt decidedly different from the plethora of cocks, of all sizes and shapes, that she, now, vaguely remembered sodomizing her following Miguel's initial foray up her butt, in that long-ago New Mexico gangbang. Notwithstanding, her frayed nerve endings still crackled with the erotic energy. Gwen could feel her arousal flare, her senses ascending the steep rise towards climax; meanwhile, the gathered audience of stiff dicks, began to clap and cheer and snap pictures, taking up a jeering chorus of taunts and encouragement. "Look at her go!" "Fuck her ass!" "Like a real bitch in heat!" "He's doin' her real hard!" "And she loves it, too!" "Lookit her rock her hips back to meet his thrusts!" "What a slut!"