When Taken at the Flood Pt. 02B

Sheila rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, babe, this is exactly what she wanted to do to me. We're not talking rocket science here—put your cock in her hole, and then keep shoving until you're all the way inside. That's how this works. She won't be able to stop you."

I saw a tear squeeze out of the corner of Grace's eye and fall to the court. "Just breathe, Sheila," Mark tried to soothe her. "We won, and I'm sure as hell going to fuck her, but we don't need to be evil about it. Maybe we can find some lube or something; you know, get her warmed up a little first."

"Oh all right," she blurted, disgusted, "Johnnie, you're up. If you care about your dear little wife, then work your magic and get her in the mood.

I didn't see how that would be possible. And for a moment I didn't know if I could even bring myself to try, either. But then, I looked down at Grace again—mouth set stoically, breath coming in quick pants, skin flushed, eyes wide open like a hunted animal, hands still reaching around her ass to hold her vagina open—and knew I had to try. As I knelt down beside her, her eyes focused on me. "Hon, I'm sorry," she said, speaking low, almost in a whisper, "I was stupid to let that woman get in my head."

Looking back, I don't know why I didn't beg Grace, again, just to get up and walk out. Even at that point, I'm sure we could have, and I kick myself for not having tried. The reason I didn't, I think, was that events had taken on a momentum of their own. We had fully committed to a particular frame of reference, in our minds—our sights had become focused only on survival, and not on escape. As a result, we bent all our attention to figuring out how to survive this, together.

Anyway, the fact is, I very much doubt Grace would have agreed to go, even now that her peril was no longer hypothetical, but imminent and tangible and terrifying. She is not at all the type who is brave in the abstract and cowardly when danger is present. No, she's a tough woman, in no way stupid or flighty, and she had understood from the start what losing Sheila's bet would mean. Even the sensation of Mark pressing into her vagina would not have been enough to make her run from the consequences of her own choices.

"Don't worry babe," I murmured, trying to conceal the break in my voice, "you're going to be all right. We're going to get through this. I want you to close your eyes, and block everything out. Just focus on me, OK?"

She gave me a wavery smile. "Are you sure, hon? I'll try. I'm glad you're here." She closed her eyes.

Gently, I grasped Grace's wrists and moved them away from her ass, allowing her pussy to spring shut again. She narrowed her knees to a more natural, less splayed position, while I guided her arms back to her sides. Then, kneeling next to her, I kissed the back of her neck tenderly, nuzzling the hair at the nape, and then running my lips upwards, to the spot behind her ear. I kneaded her bare shoulders and rubbed her back, trying to dispel at least a portion of all the tension that had collected there. After a bit, I reached under her torso from both sides and began stroking the smooth skin of her dangling breasts, delicately cupping their undersides and running my fingers gently down the slope from clavicle to areola. Lightly brushing her nipples, I began massaging the areolae with soft, circular motions, feeling them become even firmer than before, the nipples poking downward with greater determination.

Grace's consciousness seemed to be operating at two levels—as her body began to respond, I could tell that the familiarity of our connection, of my touch, had managed to transport some part of her away from this situation. And yet it was impossible for her to entirely blot out the circumstances that surrounded her, and the reality of what was about to happen to her. Thus, at a surface level, her body did begin to relax; while deeper down, the tense set of her muscles and her short, anxious breathing told me that a tempest of stress and anxiety continued to roil within her.

Working my way down her body, I rubbed her flanks, stroked her abdomen, allowed my fingers to tickle the hair of her thatch. Leaving one hand below her belly, I ran the other one up behind her ass, and then, using both hands, worked gradually, tenderly, to open her up.

First, underneath, my hand pressed against her pubic bone, and traced the V where her pussy lips came together. Diving carefully within, I began gently to caress her clit, flicking and teasing it with my fingers. Despite the cold of the arena, the disheartening circumstances, the frank stares of hundreds of people, Grace really was beginning to relax: her panting breaths becoming slightly calmer, her pussy starting to get moist.

As she became more aroused, I began working her from behind too. Continuing to stroke her clit with my one hand, I used the other to trace her lips and folds, plying them open and circling the entrance to her vagina. At last, hearing a husky note in her breathing, I judged she was ready, and began gently easing my middle finger inside. When I was lodged there, I began pressing with both hands, moving her entire pelvis in a calm, rhythmic cycle. "Mmmmm, that's good John," she breathed, almost inaudibly.

That was Sheila's cue to bring us back to reality. "Yes, good boy, Johnnie, looks like you got your little cow all warmed up for Mark's big dick."

Grace winced slightly, her eyes squeezing tighter shut. As I continued to knead her pussy and vagina with slow, steady movements, I looked over and saw that Mark had been working his cock too, keeping it plump. Now, he knelt back down behind my wife's ass again, his dick hovering only a couple of inches from my hand. I cringed to see how it trembled, ever so slightly, in eager anticipation of entering my wife's body. "OK, Mark," Sheila directed, "fuck her."

* * * * *

CHAPTER 5

* * * * *

I surveyed Grace's face—eyes shut, mouth serious and downturned, shifting tides of calm and anxiety warring in her features. Then I looked back behind her ass, where Mark's cock twitched, almost touching the hand with which I continued to probe her vagina. In that moment, the man's dick seemed to have a mind and intentionality of its own; as if it sought, all of its own volition, to brush me aside, and burrow into her cunt. "It's all right Grace," I whispered hoarsely, "remember, it's all me." She didn't respond, apparently bending all her effort to staying centered and inside herself.

"Johnnie, you're starting to get in the way now ...," Sheila chided, casting her own glance at that spot where only my hand prevented the union of Mark's and Grace's bodies. Slowly and gently, I pulled free of my wife's vagina, clearing the way for Mark to proceed. Before he could make his move, however, Sheila spoke again, quietly cold, "You know, Johnnie, you did a nice job getting little Gracie wet for Mark, but her legs aren't spread as wide anymore. It might be hard to find the way to her cunt, and I'd hate to make her tense by stretching her all the way open again. So I have a better idea. Why don't you guide Mark in. You've got such a soft touch." The sick implication was clear: Sheila would make it harder for my wife unless I was an active participant in her violation. "Here, I'll film you," she added, affecting a cheery note.

I felt like I wanted to retch. I looked at Mark, hoping he would ignore Sheila's ravings and plunge ahead on his own, but he didn't. Instead, he looked me in the face for a minute with a smug expression, and then glanced significantly down at his fully erect dick. I peeked at Grace again, and saw she was still trying her best to block all this out. I couldn't see any alternative.

Continuing to rub Grace's clit from below with one hand, I shifted to where I could see her pussy. As Sheila had said, the gash between her lips had narrowed, once Grace had released her lips and brought her thighs together, so that her opening was concealed again. I already knew that it wasn't hard to find by touch, though. Reluctantly, suppressing a visceral shudder, I wrapped my free hand around the base of Mark's shaft, shifting the warm, weighty sack of his testicles back and out of the way of my fingers.

His cock wasn't huge, as I mentioned, but it was extremely hard. It was a strange sensation, holding some other guy's dick, and I almost choked at the feel of how it throbbed and pulsed in its impatience to spear my wife. As Mark edged his body closer to Grace's ass, I used the head of his cock to nuzzle aside the soft folds of her pussy. His springy meat co-mingled easily, familiarly with her delicate flesh, while I sought her hidden entrance. At last I had Mark's dick positioned, and, with my own hand, chilled by the knowledge of what I was doing, carefully pushed him inside her.

Once Mark's penis was firmly planted in Grace's cunt, I let go. Mark grabbed big handfuls of her haunches again, and began pulling himself deeper into her. His face was red, his eyes focused, and he grunted "ohhhh yeah, you're a tight little whore, Gracie." Clearly she was far from fully aroused, far from drenched, far from open to his cock. However, she had relaxed a lot and was at least a little wet, and so he was able to slide steadily into her vagina, without meeting serious resistance.

My other hand was still up underneath Grace, stroking her clit. I felt how the sensitive skin of her pussy stretched as Mark penetrated her, felt his pubic hair, felt his cock itself, brushing up against my fingertips. It was unendurable. I tried to pull away my hand, but Grace protested "no, baby, it feels good, please don't stop." So I gritted my teeth and jammed my hand back in. All the while, I had been unable to tear my eyes away from the spot where Mark's knobby shaft split apart my wife's labia, stretched the O-shaped ring of her vaginal opening, and dove deep inside her. I watched, mesmerized, as the distance between his groin and her asshole gradually diminished. Then, at last it disappeared altogether. Beneath her, I flinched as his hairy, free-swinging ball-sac bumped up against my hand—confirming that he was as deep inside my wife as he could go.

Sheila seemed determined to make sure Grace acknowledged what was happening to her. "Speak to the camera, Gracie! How does it feel to have Mark shoved up so far inside your body? Do you like that?"

Even as she was talking, Mark pulled slowly back a few inches (Grace's cunt making a faint squishing noise as he did so). Then, grunting "Unngh," he slammed his cock home, hard, landing against her ass with a thwack. Grace's body shuddered with the impact, and I felt Mark's balls slap against my hand again.

Grace was still trying to shut it all out—the taunting, the iPhone, the cock buried inside her, the impact of the man's body against her asshole, as best she could, but Sheila was having none of that. "Look at me when I'm filming you, Grace." This time she spoke with a harsh bray that Grace was unable to simply ignore. Opening her eyes, my wife stared up at our tormentress through watery but unbowed eyes. Just at that moment, Mark plowed into Grace's cunt again a second time, harder still, and her gaze wobbled for a second, thwack. "You really turned the subtext into text, dear," Sheila continued. "For all these years you and Johnnie have been our bitches, metaphorically speaking, but I never expected you'd end up as Mark's fuck-toy. You're like one of those disgusting inflatable dolls, except much more lifelike. How fun..."

"Gh-uunnggh," Mark growled as he slammed home a third time, thwack!

Grace tried to grit through it, tried to respond; but each time Mark pounded home, her voice was interrupted by the muted exclamation that the impact forced from between her lips. "Sheila," she hissed, "you thwack haaahhh... y-you may have won this thwack aaanhh... t-this game, b-but you... you thwack oaaahhgh... y-you will never be b-b thwack aaaaah... be better than us thwack oh haannngh..."

Sheila laughed mirthlessly at Grace's broken retort. "Oh dearie, if you were our equal, then you wouldn't be lying here with my husband stuffed up between your legs. You wouldn't be starring in your own porn video. Hell, you'd be able to finish a sentence without having it interrupted by your cunt getting pounded. And you know what's coming next? He's about to dump his sperm inside you. Hmm... what do we call someone who just lies there, rump in the air, takes it up the cunt from some random male, and ends with his sperm injected into her womb? I call someone like that either a whore or a cow. The question is, which one are you, Gracie girl?"

"Cum bucket?," Mark added helpfully, grinning, and then then "ungggghh!," thwack! At each impact, Grace's body shivered with some combination of sensation, defiance, discomfort, disgust. I kept working her clit, hoping to minimize her mental and physical suffering as best I could. But as I did so, I couldn't stop watching the opening to her vagina—the round hole that (to my jealous, dispirited, disordered mind) now appeared far too willing and eager to suck in this other man's penis.

By this point Mark was pulling all the way out each time, so that his tip just barely grazed Grace's delicate pink skin. Each time he did, I could see how her cunt hole continued to gape open—not so much with arousal for his cock, perhaps, as with the emotional and stimulatory overload of the moment, along with the stretching and pounding that she had been receiving. The entrance was not spread wide, but it remained open enough, providing him unimpeded access to her inner recesses, inviting him to penetrate her again and again and again and again. And so he would thrust once more, impaling her with the entire length of his shaft: "Unnngghhh, God!," thwack.

As Mark continued to pound Grace ever more quickly and more intensely, the breath continued to be squeezed out of her at each impact, producing a series of husky moans. With each blow, her body shuddered, her face (still cushioned by my shirt) jerked on the floor, and her hair scattered around her. Through it all she continued to glare up at Sheila from the corner of her eye, unblinking, wordless, impotent—helpless to change what was happening or even to joust with the other woman any more.

Mark was clearly preparing to complete his conquest, and take final possession of my wife. There was an expression on his face which was hard to describe—dominance, joy, abandon. It was horrifying, and I couldn't help but imagine what he might be experiencing.

Normally, sex is a matter of mutuality: navigating boundaries, interpreting responses, calibrating actions, pleasing the other. Today, though, Mark could worry only about himself, and his desires. I was grateful that he'd not wanted to cause Grace pain. But beyond that, he was focused solely and exquisitely on wringing exactly what he wanted from her body. She was merely a tool, one he could use to pleasure himself in exactly the manner he preferred.

Moreover, he did it all in the knowledge that I was witness to his mastery and my wife's degradation. He looked me in the eye for a moment, letting me know that he took as much pleasure from my humiliation as he did from the free use of Grace's cunt. Then he glanced down again, to where his shaft poked out from between her ass cheeks, where his hands dug into her hips, and rammed himself home once more with another satisfying thwack!

"Oh, I know that face, Gracie," Sheila trilled, "Mark's about to put his sperm way up inside you now."

In his urgent, instinctual need to inseminate Grace as deeply as possible, Mark shifted his body forward and brought his torso down on her rump and back. She collapsed under the weight of his muscular bulk. Her hips rolled forward, her face and shoulders (and my shirt) slid upward across the floor, her nipples dragged across the hardcourt, and she was pressed nearly flat, with ass still raised slightly, and my hand now pinned below her abdomen. "God, here it comes," he roared, "UNNNNNGHHHHH..." I had reached perhaps the lowest moment of my life: another man had begun to ejaculate inside my wife.

The thought of him pouring his seed into Grace introduced me to whole new levels of despondency and helplessness. It had been one thing to watch her strip, to spread her legs, or to see him push himself into her. Even that moment when I, myself, had inserted his cock into Grace's opening had been less appalling than this. Those other things had at least had some sort of externality to them—they seemed like things being done to her, and things that could, at least theoretically, be reversed.

But now, as I tried to endure the gloating expression on his face, tried to cope with my own mental image of that first, huge, greedy, gushing, proprietary surge of cum pouring out of Mark's penis and flooding her cavity, my heart ached, and my spirit was overwhelmed. I knew that far inside her canal, where neither I nor anybody else could see or interfere, there was an animal mingling now, a biological alchemy, that involved only the two of them. Mark was leaving part of himself, indelibly, inside her, doing things to her that could not be undone. And I was an outsider, able to infer what was happening only by the look of triumph on his face, and the spasmodic cadence of his glutes.

As he orgasmed inside Grace, he continued to ply her with long, hard strokes. Because of their shift in position, he plunged downward at a 45-degree angle now. Each time he started to ram home, I swear I could see his shaft pulsate, ready to launch another stream of cum inside my wife at the very moment of greatest depth. Perhaps his violent thrusts and downhill trajectory were intended to compensate for his middling length—ensuring his sperm would be catapulted that much further into her womb.

As his cock hit bottom, and his balls slapped up against my fingers, I felt them twitch, as if to express how terribly eager they were to drive yet more semen up and out his shaft. The intimacy of this moment filled my head with pictures of what it was like inside her—his dick crammed far up her canal, his skin pressing so tightly against every soft, sensitive inch of her vaginal walls, his shaft spasming hard to eject each load, jets of creamy liquid pouring out of the hole at his tip, and splashing her womb with gooey globs of his essence. I tried to blot it out, but could not, and suddenly my innards lurched and my throat opened. Fortunately, my stomach was empty, and I only dry heaved, tongue lolling, acid taste in my mouth, trying to hide it from Grace so as not to add to her misery.

"Yes, hunnngh,... yes, hunnngh,... take it, unngh,... take it, bitch, hunnngh..." Mark plunged deep, again and again, and each time his cock emerged from her cunt, it glistened with a thick coating of his sticky white fluid. He began to slow, after a while, but never ceased plowing her with the full length of his shaft. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he shuddered to a halt, spent. Penis still jammed up inside her, his pelvis traced quiet circles, gently stirring the billions of sperm deposited inside her to be sure they permeated into every last corner of her womb. His testicles rested quietly against my fingers now, fully discharged—dangling with an air of contented, hairy self-assurance.

All this time, not knowing how else I could help her, I had continued, rather forlornly, to massage Grace's mound, and stroke her clit and pussy lips (unwillingly tickling Mark's balls in the process), using that accursed hand that was crushed beneath her abdomen. Now, with the pressure of Mark's cock filling her still-taut canal, his weight on her ass, his pubic bone pressed against her asshole, her nipples rubbing against the floor, the hot flood of his seed within her, and my light touch against her nub, it was simply too much.