When Taken at the Flood Pt. 02A

"Yeah? And how's that going to work? I'm not fluffing him up."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of asking him to dirty his cock with your filthy lips, Sheila." And with that, Grace squatted in her underwear in front of me, cupped her hands under my balls, raised my still-supple shaft to her face, and sucked in a big mouthful.

To be honest, Grace didn't really like giving blowjobs. Oh, I could count on her to suck me on my birthday, but other than that it was hit or miss, mostly miss.

Today, though, she threw herself into it with a passion. If, earlier, I had seen her put everything she had into winning the tennis game, then I marveled, now, at how she brought that same intensity to the business of making me hard. She ran her lips up and down the upper two or three inches of my dick for a while, stimulated the ridge around the base of the head with her lips and tongue for a moment, and then sucked me deeper again, moving her tongue rhythmically along the underside of my shaft.

As she worked, Grace looked up at me through her eyelashes and matted tresses, reassuring me with her eyes that things were all going exactly as she wanted. Sheila, meanwhile, remained unwilling to show any sign of fear or timidity, any hint of backing down, so although she relaxed her tensed thigh muscles, she left her legs open.

I don't know for sure what she was thinking, but at the time, I took this to be a bold challenge to my manhood, perhaps even an attempt to intimidate me. But, whatever her intent, it was probably a mistake on her part—as my gaze flitted back and forth, between Grace's wide, reassuring blue eyes, and Sheila's beckoning, exposed cunt, I found that the images worked together to boost my arousal. I was getting bigger and harder by the second; and yet, even as I grew, Grace continued accepting more and more of me—more than she ever had before. At last she buried her face against my groin, somehow taking in all my six or seven inches in her mouth and down her throat, still fondling my balls, looking up with watery eyes, and massaging my shaft with her tongue.

Finally it was too much for her, and Grace pulled back with a slight gag. Her eyes were rimmed with moisture, her lips were a puffy red, and big, gooey blobs of slobber dripped down the sides of her mouth and off my cock. She obviously didn't care—what mattered was that her ministrations had worked like a charm. My cock was intensely hard now, inflated to its full size, bright red, throbbing, perking up well above the horizontal. Having Sheila splayed before me, and knowing that I was about to fuck her, must have played a part in my arousal. But I think an equal or greater contribution came from my connection with Grace. At every step in this strange experience, she had demonstrated her confidence and trust in me. And just now, in front of hundreds of people, she had confirmed that trust, by giving herself to me in a way that she hadn't ever quite done before. I was ready to do whatever she needed me to.

She rose and stood next to me, one hand still grasping my dripping member, rubbing it with a tender, proprietary motion, from base to tip. Looking down on Sheila again, an expression of superiority and triumph played across my wife's face. "OK, John... fuck her."

* * * * *

CHAPTER 5

* * * * *

While she was sucking me and taking me down her throat, Grace's head had blocked Sheila from seeing what results these efforts had achieved. Now, as my wife rose and stood aside, she revealed a cock that was no longer a soggy banana, but had become hefty, knobby, ruby-red, and rock-hard. Sheila stared at it, eyes unblinking, lips trembling, and I saw her defiant mask crumble for the first time. She shuddered visibly when Grace gave me the cold command to possess her.

Not that I would claim I'm hung like a horse or anything—in college, the girls had been fully satisfied by my equipment, but I don't recall one ever being intimidated. Under the current circumstances, however, Sheila was stunned by the transformation Grace had orchestrated. Obviously, the woman had still half-assumed, half-hoped that I wouldn't be able to get it up at all. And, I think she had also bought into her own bullshit, believing that even if I could get hard, I'd have some kind of micro-dick.

Now, however, those assumptions had to confront reality. I had reached seven inches by this point, with a girth to match. Normally women loved this, but in our current situation, it was more than Sheila could face, and she was visibly flustered. Her thighs convulsed closer together, involuntarily. "No, wait Grace! Wait! Stop. Just stop a minute. I'm dry." Her voice had suddenly become low and fearful. "You can't let him fuck me this way! Not like this!"

A part of me, the better part of me, agreed with everything she was saying. I'm not a cruel person. I didn't want to hurt her, and remained troubled by this entire situation.

But another part of me, I'm ashamed to say, was thrilled with this new side of Sheila. For years she had worked to undermine us, and then, whenever I failed at something, amused herself by taking veiled jabs and slights against my manhood. Today she had brought her profound contempt for my strength, virility, and desirability out into the open, with a truly vicious intensity. To see her, therefore, literally cringing at the sight of my cock—at its size, its potency, its menace—only stoked my arousal. Some dark, hidden part of my soul was eager to inflict my dick on her, to make her feel the powerlessness I so often felt around the Schwetzers, to compel in her a new and visceral respect for me and my wife.

By nature, Grace was not a cruel person, any more than I am. However, she was resolute of purpose, and, by this point, simply had little pity left in her heart for the woman lying naked at her feet. "Well, cunt, you'd better get yourself ready then," she sneered, "because one way or another, you're going to have him inside you."

Visibly panicked, Sheila closed her eyes and started teasing her big meaty clit with her fingers, rimming her opening, and toying urgently with her delicate folds. But it was obvious that she was so tense, so off-balance, that her desperate efforts at self-pleasure were having little effect—her cunt remained tight-shut and moistureless.

Grace rubbed my cock with one hand, keeping it live, while using the other to take some video with her phone. After a few minutes, she started getting impatient with the lack of progress. "OK, Sheil, who's useless now? Look, maybe if you can hardly walk for the next few days, then that will help you remember not to mess with us again."

"God, Grace, no!," Sheila gasped, her face flushing a brighter crimson and her breathing ragged. "Just let him eat me out a little, first! Please!"

"Now Sheila, if I wouldn't let Johnnie put his cock in your mouth, then do you really think I'm going to let him lick your filthy cunt? But Mark can do it if he wants." She turned to the man with a mocking lilt. "Oh Mark—Sheila needs you to get her ready, so that Johnnie can fuck her!"

Mark had been standing not far off, staring off at the wall, trying to ignore what was going on. He spoke in a low voice now. "I'm not taking any part in this, you sick perverts."

Sheila piped up, craning her neck around to try to catch Mark's eyes, desperation edging her plea. "Mark, please, I need you babe. You've got to get me loosened up here. Otherwise I'll get hurt. Please."

Mark hung his head for a long minute. Then, apparently unable to ignore her entreaty, he turned silently, moved between his wife's legs and knelt down to her crotch. Grace maneuvered me beside the couple for a better view, still recording, still stroking my shaft and teasing my glans with her fingertips, and spitting on her hand now and again to keep me lubricated.

Sheila closed her eyes again, trying to shut us out, along with the crowd, and to recreate the intimacy she normally felt with her husband. Obviously he was no stranger to eating her out; and, given the casual egotism and brutality he demonstrated in most areas of life, I was surprised to see how tenderly and responsively he went about it. Evidently, even if he did delight in fucking over every other person he came into contact with, his affection for his wife was really genuine.

He worked slowly and rhythmically. Sucking in her plump clitoris, he massaged it with soft, methodical movements of his lips. He drew his tongue gently, lightly, along each fold and crevice of her pussy, and then teased her vaginal opening, with slight darts and flicks. Her pussy responded to his touch—her wet began to mingle with his saliva, and her entrance relaxed and opened just slightly. He started to press against her clit with his fingers, using circular motions of rising firmness and insistency, while at the same time burying his tongue as far as it could go up Sheila's canal. She rocked her groin slightly, in response, and her ruddy-brown folds took on pinkish overtones.

Finally, he reached under her ass and lifted her pelvis off the floor a few inches. He rimmed her asshole with his tongue for long minutes, and she responded visibly, her sphincter puckering, her body pressing back to meet him, and her cunt gaping wider. This made Grace snicker. "Wow, Mark, I would have said you were a lot of things, but never an ass-licker." He ignored the barb, and continued doing what he had to do. At last, when his wife seemed as aroused as he could make her, he lowered her hips back to the ground, stood, and wiped his mouth with his bare upper arm. Silently, he stepped aside, and resumed staring at the wall.

Grace waited a second, and then glanced up at me, speaking now in a softer tone, suffused with quiet assurance: "It's time, honey—take her."

* * * * *

As I moved between Sheila's legs, I felt disoriented, out of phase. I think my mind was operating at two distinct levels at the same time, with little interplay between them. At the more conscious level, I still worried about how I might perform, about the risk of hurting her, about the morality of doing such a thing.

At a subconscious level, however, I was aroused and ready—my body and libido exuding confidence that they would function exactly as designed—and a burning spark in my brain stem screamed that what was happening was not only sex, but something more primal and emotionally charged and compelling. What I was about to do was to possess this woman, in the most intimate and complete of ways; to dominate my will over hers in absolute fashion, and degrade and humiliate her mate. My every instinct urged that I not let anything obstruct me from that goal. Thus, the animal within me raged, and I struggled to keep it in check.

I knelt between Sheila legs, still wrestling with these competing impulses, and aimed my cock at the apex of her wide-stretched thighs. Her entrance glistened from Mark's efforts and remained slightly agape, the dark recesses within begging me to fill them. Lowering my torso forward, and planting one arm beside her hip to stabilize myself, I used the other hand to maneuver my cock, aiming simply to seat the fleshy tip against the divot of her opening. However, at the first, light touch of my penis against this most guarded part her body, Sheila's pussy, her entire pelvis, recoiled, breaking the contact. Though I assumed the movement was reflexive, it still bothered me. She had wagered her body, pledged to allow me free access, demonstrated her physical readiness—yet, when the time came, her vagina still tried to withhold itself. Somehow this seemed of a piece with Sheila's habitual dishonesty, and her profound disdain for me.

On my second attempt, therefore, I did not lightly brush her opening, but dove right in, quickly, before she could flinch away. She tensed again, but it was too late—the head of my cock was inside, and the shaft had begun to follow. As her body clenched, and her involuntary resistance mounted, my better-self admonished me that she was not ready for a deep, quick conquest. With an effort, I forced myself to hesitate, to moderate my pace, so that her body would have a chance to adjust to what was happening. Anyway, I was a couple of inches in—that would be enough to keep her from wriggling off my hook. Plus, the brief pause gave Grace a chance to capture close-up footage of my pole spearing its way into Sheila's cunt.

Now that I was firmly planted inside her, I lowered my torso still further, walking my hands upward until they straddled her shoulders, and I was holding myself in a prone position above her. Simultaneously, I pressed my legs up hard against the insides of her spread-eagled thighs, as if to remind her that regardless of what she might prefer, she was going to remain open to me. This change of position brought us face-to-face, very close, and I expected she would turn her head away, or at least close her eyes. She did not though. True, her spirit had been shaken by the sight of my roused cock, by the fear of physical pain, by my initial foray into her cunt, and yet the woman still had a spark of defiance in her. It seemed she had no intention of trying to shut out what was happening, or of appearing to be intimidated. Instead, she continued to challenge me, daring me to look her in the eye as I fucked her.

This may have just testified to how little she understood me. In point of fact, I had never been overawed by Sheila or Mark. Yes, they were better than us on just about any measure. Yes they had elevated subtle put-downs of us to a fine art. I could acknowledge their superiority and bristle at their condescension, and yet, even so, I had never taken them entirely seriously—certainly not half as seriously as they seemed to take themselves. I had no difficulty, therefore, staring Sheila squarely back in the eye, as I slowly pressed my way deeper inside her. And, while we were sharing this non-verbal connection, it seemed to me that it provided a window into her soul, a readout on her own inner monologue.

Now that I was in position to penetrate her in earnest, my loins once again begged me to plunge straight to her core, in one brutal stab. However, my rational-self kept the beast on a leash, and I resolved to insinuate myself slowly and carefully instead, wearing down her resistance with steady, insistent pressure. Rocking my pelvis in a circular motion, maintaining a gentle but constant force, I stretched her open, one fraction of an inch at a time. The aftereffects of Mark's attentions, the mingling of Grace's and Matt's saliva with Sheila's own moisture, her conscious knowledge that, however odious this situation, she had acceded to it, all helped weigh against her body's instinctive effort to resist. Unable to mount any consistent defense against my slow, steady, rhythmic advance, her cunt yielded, grudgingly, and, bit by bit, I slid ever deeper.

Sheila's breath was coming in short, high breaths. At first her look remained all brash antagonism, as if telling me that even if I had access to her cunt, I was still her inferior. Very slowly, however, as I entered her, inch by lingering inch, eyes locked, I could see her expression changing.

It was subtle—I can't say exactly which muscles in her face might have moved, maybe it was only something about the eyes—but the intimacy of our connection made the shifting currents of her inner thoughts and emotions visible to me.

I think it was the slow inexorability of my advance that really began to rattle her. Even when I had begun to enter her body, I don't think she had yet reconciled herself to the natural conclusion we were approaching—to the fact that, by the time this was over, I would have reached all the way inside her and consummated my possession of her there. Yet as she endured the constant pressure of my penis straining against the flesh of her vaginal walls, felt me push forward, unhurriedly, unstoppably, deeper and deeper within her, the confidence in her gaze began to evaporate; mutating, somehow, into the wide-eyed look of a cornered animal—the look of someone realizing that they were a pawn in the hands of a greater force; seeking an escape, an alternative, but finding none. Nothing she could do now, her eyes lamented, would prevent me from piercing her to the core. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she felt entirely out of control, at the mercy of forces outside herself, stripped of even the most basic bodily autonomy.

I continued to press forward, leisurely, deliberately. Even as part of me still desired violent possession, there was a different kind of sweetness to this slow, confident, patient conquest. In fact, I almost felt disappointed when, at last, I finally attained my full penetration—when my groin pressed up, gently, solidly, against Sheila's generous clit, compressing its spongey flesh, and my balls tapped up against her ass. It was as if I would have preferred to just continue moving deeper into her forever, like a comet falling eternally into a black hole.

But I did hit bottom, and as I did, filling her completely, I saw her expression change again. What she had dreaded was now coming to pass, and her eyes glimmered, moist, with an air of despondence and defeat. The thing I saw reflected in those eyes, most of all, was loss—hard evidence that I was taking something from her, and that this wager had indeed come at a steep price. As to what it was she had lost, I could only guess. Self-confidence, self-possession, self-regard? Maybe all, or maybe none. But whatever this moment of complete and intimate possession had done to her, we both knew that she would never forget it. I was deeper inside her, perhaps, than Mark or any other man ever had been. And as a result, she would never be quite the same again.

Grace could see that I had entered into the other woman as far as was possible, and took a quick break from her filming to lean close over her. "Ohhh, Sheila," she murmured, in a pitying tone, "would you ever have believed you'd end up with John's cock all the way up your cunt? That you'd let him blow his seed into you? All this time you've been pretending to be so high and mighty, and now we find you're just a common whore. So sad..."

Even as Grace spoke, I knew that I was about to lose it. It was Sheila's look of defeat, I think, more than anything else that tipped me over the edge. The physical sensation of impaling this gorgeous woman, up to the hilt, was glorious, of course, and that alone might have overwhelmed my self-control. However, the feeling of power that her silent admission of weakness aroused in me acted as an even stronger aphrodisiac. With one glance, this woman who had always been so superior, so cold, so impervious had conceded everything—that I had achieved mastery over her; that I had broken through her walls; that what I did now would affect her in vital, unalterable ways. Caught up in the interwoven euphoria of profound sensation and triumphant emotion, I could chain the beast no longer, and the parts of my body where he reigned supreme—my chest, abdomen, thighs, dick—ached and throbbed and tingled with eagerness to complete the conquest.

My breathing grew deeper and harsher, the head of my cock swelled and pulsed as it explored her innermost recesses, and instinctively my thighs and ass began working, pumping my dick back and forth inside her. She was still tight, but I had loosened her up enough, and spread around enough moisture, that it was finally possible for me to pull out and slam home and grind my pelvis against hers, as my body so longed to do. Sheila was sucking in air in quick pants now, mouth open slightly, her body, her jaw, jerking upward each time I ground into her. Yet, even now, she continued to look me in the eye.

As I began thrusting in earnest, Grace turned and spoke again, in a louder and more commanding voice. "Mark, I need to you look at this."