"It's okay," she cooed. "Just relax."
But it wasn't okay. It wasn't going to be okay. Still, her voice was soothing.
I looked up at her beautiful, heart-shaped face. Her skin was like porcelain-smooth and milky white. Her hair was dark and cropped short above her neckline. And her eyes...her gorgeous, pale blue eyes. I'd fallen love with those eyes the first time I'd seen them. But as she spoke, it was her lips that captured my attention-her dark red, full, soft lips.
"Relax...relax," she repeated. "It's going to be okay. Really." If I could have forgotten about the situation, I could have believed her just from the tone of her voice. It was calm and confident. But I couldn't forget the situation I was in. It was so different from what I'd planned-from anything I'd foreseen.
Ruth's hands were pressed against my forearms, above my head. But she wasn't holding me down. She couldn't do that. I'm not a very big guy, but I could have easily thrown her off if my hands hadn't been tied to the far side of the bed. I think she held me the way she did because she liked feeling as if she was restraining me. She wasn't, but she was definitely in charge.
She moved her body off to the side of mine, but kept her face just inches above mine as she continued to try to calm me.
"Just let it happen. It will be fine. Really. Trust me. You'll be fine."
How could it be okay? How could I be fine?
Ruth let go of my arms with one hand and drew her hand slowly down my naked body to my thigh. She gently pulled my thigh toward her, spreading my legs slightly. I could have fought. I could have thrashed and flailed, but to what end? I was defeated. I was tied up and completely helpless.
Ruth leaned in and kissed me gently, almost innocently. As she pulled her sensuous lips away, she said again, "Shhhh. It's okay. Everything's okay."
And then I felt my knees being pulled upward and apart and the anticipated, the inevitable, pressure of the man's cock press against my asshole. Instinctively, I squeezed my sphincter, trying, I guess, to keep my virginity. It was a lost cause, of course. The pressure increased and I knew that ultimately, the man would take me. Nothing I could do would stop it from happening.
"Just relax. It's okay. It's okay." But I knew it wasn't okay. It was never going to be okay. I was going to be fucked by my wife's lover. He was going to fuck me in front of my wife while she cooed inanities like, "It's okay."
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to turn out. At least, not like I planned for it to turn out. And I did have a plan.
I'd begun to worry about my relationship with Ruth almost a year ago. At first there was nothing specific-nothing I could really identify. She just seemed more distant and less playful with me. For a while, I made excuses. I chalked it up to our both being busy, to the truism that "the honeymoon can't last forever." But then things started happening that I couldn't write off. There were matches in the car from a bar that I'd never been to. There were phone conversations that got very quiet and then abruptly cut off when I walked into the room. There were some days when Ruth would call late in the afternoon to say that she had to work late that night, but when I asked her about what was going on at work, she was extremely vague. I finally put the pieces together and came to the conclusion that Ruth was having an affair. I didn't have hard enough evidence to confront her with yet. But I planned get it.
I did a little detective work. It was easy enough to look at her cell phone records. We shared an account and the whole call history was available on line. Over most of the past year, Ruth had called, and been called by, one number hundreds of times-sometimes late at night when I'd been sleeping and she'd apparently gotten out of bed to talk to this person. I tried to track down the owner of the cell number by doing a reverse look-up on line, but without luck. I called the phone several times from different phones, but never got an answer and the voice-mail message was the default, generic one without any helpful information.
While I was pursuing my detective work and anguishing over Ruth's infidelity, I suddenly had to go out of town for a few days for work. I tried to get out of it, but without luck. I thought I might be able to get Darrin, my best friend at work to take the trip in my place, but he said he couldn't-that he had unbreakable commitments in town during that time. So, I was stuck leaving town for three days and two nights while I was in turmoil over Ruth's affair.
I wondered whether she might bring her lover into our house-into our bed. The thought made me feel sick to my stomach. I almost threw up when I envisioned her falling back on our bed, pulling her lover down on her to take her where we had made love so often. Kissing him, sucking him, begging him to fuck her. I had to fight the images away.
I've heard about husbands who set up elaborate surveillance devices to catch their wives entertaining lovers. I didn't know how to do that and I didn't have time to learn. But I had a low-tech alternative to at least tell me if someone was at our house with her. There was an old lady who lived two doors down, across the street. She had nothing better to do with her time than to spy on the neighbors. Ruth never talked with her; she said the old lady was crazy and Ruth didn't like having to interact with her beyond a casual 'hello'.
I didn't have to do much. I just told Mrs. Haggerty that I'd be gone for a few days and that Ruth's brother might be visiting and staying there while I was gone. I told her that I just wanted her to know so she wouldn't worry if she saw a strange car there. That would be enough to make sure the old woman was looking and I knew that if I had any sort of conversation with her at all after I came back, Mrs. Haggerty would either say something about Ruth's brother being there or ask me why he didn't come.
I spoke with Ruth on the phone both nights that I was away. It was kind of late when we talked, and I couldn't help being flooded with worries. Was she with him while I was talking with her? Were they in bed? Had they been fucking and I interrupted them? Were they exchanging smirks while we spoke? Was he teasing her, trying to make it hard for her to talk calmly? I couldn't answer any of these questions, but they gnawed at me.
When I got home, everything looked completely in order. The only suspicious thing was that the sheets were clean. We usually washed the sheets on Saturday and this was only Thursday. I didn't ask about them. I just said, as I slipped into bed that night, "Ummm. Clean sheets!"
"Yeah. They always feel so good so I decided to throw the sheets in the wash this morning so you could come home to clean sheets." I wasn't buying it, but I didn't want to confront her now.
On Saturday, when Ruth went to the supermarket, I had a chance to talk with Old Lady Haggerty. I didn't bring up the matter of whether Ruth's brother visited. I just chatted about the weather. Mrs. Haggerty turned the conversation in the direction I wanted. She thought it was a shame that Ruth's brother just happened to be in town on the days I was out of town. For a minute, I wondered whether she was sharper than I'd given her credit for. Maybe she'd figured everything out. But there was nothing in her tone that made this clear and I decided to interpret her comment as an innocent one. There was enough guilt elsewhere on the street.
I had a strange mixture of feelings. The most powerful was the return of the sickness provoked by the sorts of images I'd been entertaining recently. But I confess to also feeling some satisfaction in having figured it out and confirmed it before it became blatantly obvious. What do they say? The husband is always the last to know. Not this time!
But I didn't know what to do. I thought about it for the rest of the weekend. I had a lot of time; I wasn't sleeping very well. In the wee hours of Monday morning, I devised a plan. I was going to set up a trap and confront Ruth and the bastard she was sleeping with. I didn't want to hurt them. Well, maybe I did want to hurt them, but I wasn't going to. I might scare them a bit, though. They deserved that and scaring them might be adequate for restoring my sense of self-respect. If I could make them shake with fear and feel sorry for what they'd done, that would be good.
And then I thought of Darrin. Darrin was a pretty serious gun nut. Well, maybe not a nut but he had probably half a dozen guns, which seemed like a whole lot to me. I decided I'd borrow one to give me the advantage when I sprang the trap.
I told Darrin I needed to come by his house on the way home from work to talk with him. That was fine; he was going to be home. I didn't plan to tell Darrin what I wanted the gun for, but he was curious of course and eventually I told him the whole story. He listened very closely and was extremely sympathetic. He tried to discourage me from my plan, but I wouldn't be deterred. When he realized that I was resolute, he gave in. He gave me a small pistol. He told me what kind it was and lots of random facts about it. But I don't know anything about guns and I forgot as quickly as he told me. I didn't even pay that much attention when he was showing me how to use it. I intended only to brandish it around and, hopefully, make this fucker shit his pants.
I left Darrin's house feeling very good-at least better than I'd felt for the last week. It took me the rest of the week to set the trap. I had to go out of town again, I told Ruth, the next week. I hated to do it after being gone part of the past week. I usually didn't have to travel for work more than five or six times a year but now I had to be out of town twice in just three weeks. Ruth sympathized but said that she would do fine. I wondered whether there was an edge to her tone, whether she was trying to play a secret game of mocking me. Probably not. I was probably being paranoid.
I arranged a few personal days off work and the next Tuesday, I packed my bags as I always do when I travel. I drove off as if I was on my way to the airport, but I spent the day, and the early part of the evening in a bar, nursing beers slowly. I didn't mind a slight buzz-there's courage in Coors-but I didn't want to be impaired in any way.
After dark, I drove back to the house. There was no car in the driveway or in front of the house. I was worried that, perhaps, Ruth had gotten suspicious and decided not to invite her lover over. More likely, though, they just hadn't been able to arrange it tonight. For all I knew, he was married and had difficulties making excuses to get out for the night. I was afraid my plan wasn't going to work. I decided to park a few houses down the street and wait.
I waited for an hour. No car came. I was just about to give up when I saw the light go on in our bedroom. And, I saw two silhouettes on the curtain. Two! The bastard was already in my house. For all I knew, he had been getting his dick sucked in the living room, or maybe they had been fucking in the kitchen, all the while I'd been sitting in my car. No sense crying over a missed opportunity, though. Let them have one last fuck before I confronted them. What do I care? (No sooner had I thought it than I realized that I really cared a lot.)
Now was the time, though. Maybe it would have been better to do it earlier, but now was good enough. I left my car where it was so they wouldn't hear me driving up to the house. I walked up to the house as a quietly as I could. My heart was pounding, my ears were burning up and my knees were weak, but I got to the house and silently unlocked and opened the door. I crept down the hallway, reaching in my jacket pocket to feel the hand gun. It was reassuring. I was confident I would be in charge of the situation.
Of course, it was misplaced confidence, as it turned out. But at the time I found the presence of the gun in my pocket very comforting. I'd laid my trap and I was about to spring it. So I thought.
The door to our bedroom was ajar. I pulled the gun from my pocket and pushed the door open quickly. I could see only my wife on the bed, lying back and watching me. Strangely, she didn't seem surprised. I started to turn to look around the room when I was grabbed from behind. I struggled, trying to free my hands, but he was too strong.
My arms were trapped against my sides; I was helpless. Then, I remembered the gun in my hand. I couldn't aim it at the guy, and I wasn't going to try to shoot him, anyway. But I figured that a loud report from the gun might startle him and make him think twice about man-handling me. When I pulled the trigger, though, the only sound was a slight click. I pulled the trigger again. Same thing. Had I screwed up? Was there some sort of safety I needed to turn off? I was sure I'd done everything Darrin said to do before using the gun.
I didn't have much time to think about things. Ruth was walking toward me with a rag in her hand. I couldn't decipher her expression. I didn't have much time to try. She put the rag over my mouth and nose. It smelled awful, but not for long. I felt myself slump as I lost consciousness. The trap had been sprung, all right. And I was the prey.
When I woke up, I was naked, lying on my back across the bed with my arms tied over my head. Ruth was on top of me watching me rouse from unconsciousness and uttering her "soothing" words: "It's okay."
I couldn't see the man who was about to fuck me. Ruth was in the way. But I felt his hands pulling my knees up and apart. I felt him press his hard cock against my anus. I felt my sphincter clamp shut, to no effect. His cock was pressing hard and, despite my best efforts, it was beginning to open me up. He'd obviously lubricated his cock well because it was only the resistance of my muscles, not friction, that was slowing the progress of his cock into my ass. And my muscles were losing the battle. I felt myself stretch open.
"It's okay." Jesus, I wish she'd stop saying that. It hurt. It was humiliating. It was anything but okay.
And still, he pressed in. The pain had subsided a bit and I could feel the smoothness of his skin as his cock penetrated my hole. He stopped part way in and held it there for a few seconds before withdrawing until he was almost out. I could feel my asshole trying to return to its normal size. But then he pushed in, slowly again, until he was almost all the way in. I could feel his pubic hairs touching the cheeks of my ass.
"See? It's okay. You're fine. Feel how he fills you up." I could feel it fine, but it didn't feel fine. It felt awful.
Then he pulled out again, paused just inside the entrance to my ass and, finally, pushed in slowly again, this time until he was buried to the hilt in my butt.
And then he started to fuck me. I mean, he started the rhythmic in-and-out motion of a real fuck. It was a weird feeling. The pain had almost completely vanished. There was still this terrible humiliation of being anonymously fucked by my wife's lover while she whispered soothing silliness in my ear. But there was also something interesting about the sensation itself.
I've read stories in which guys claim to get hard as a rock just by being fucked in the asshole. I don't know if that really happens but it wasn't with me. My cock was limp and, it seemed, shriveled. At one point, Ruth cupped my cock and balls with her hand and I could feel how limp and small I was. Was this better or worse than getting hard? I didn't know. Getting hard might make it seem like I was enjoying this. But having a shriveled dick flopping around while my ass was getting pounded by a big, hard cock was emasculating. Worse that Ruth was watching. She'd turned her head away from mine to watch the action below, I guess.
She'd stopped with her mantra of "it's okay"s-something I thought I'd be thankful for. But I wasn't, because she'd replaced it with quiet moans. They were moans of pleasure, like one might make when tasting or feeling something wonderful. And I just knew that she was moaning for me-trying to make it seem as if I was enjoying this.
Ruth's head was still blocking my view. I couldn't see my assailant. I tried to lean away from her so that I could see, but the restraints on my hands kept me from moving far enough. Ruth could feel me trying to move though. She turned back to me and said, "Oh ... I'm sorry. Of course ... you want to see your lover."
I didn't like that at all. He wasn't my lover! He was my assailant. (I couldn't say 'rapist', even to myself. Somehow that seemed even more degrading and emasculating.)
Ruth slowly moved her head out of my line of sight. Jesus Christ! JesusFuckingChrist! It was Darrin who was fucking my ass. My best friend-or at least the guy I thought was my best friend. He'd been fucking my wife for nearly a year-a year during which we'd drunk beers together, watched ball games together, ogled women together-and now he was fucking me.
Darrin wasn't looking at me when I first looked up at him. He had his eyes closed just enjoying the sensations he was getting from my ass around his cock. I twisted in reaction to seeing who it was. I was trying to get away from him-to get away from this awful, impossible situation. My motion drew him out of his reverie. When he looked down on me, he stopped fucking for a second and then a smirk spread across his face and he slammed into me harder than he had been doing. There was a violence in his fucking now. He pressed hard and deep into my ass, trying to reach even deeper than he had been reaching and making it clear that he owned my ass.
"GOD DAMN IT!" I yelled. "You fucker!"
Darrin didn't say anything but Ruth laughed and said, "And now he's your fucker." She ran her fingers up my abdomen and chest and touched my lips. "So, how do you like it? Is it okay?"
"Let me go!" I said, but with no means of enforcing my demand.
"I don't think so, honey. Darrin seems to be enjoying this and we'll just have to keep it up until you start enjoying it, too."
That was going to be never, I thought.
But Darrin was enjoying it. And I don't think it was just the sensation of my ass clamped down on his cock. He'd pulled my legs up and was holding them apart and high above my head. At one point, he put one of my legs on his shoulder to free a hand and flipped my withered pecker back and forth with his fingers for a second-just to emphasize that it was so tiny and impotent. He wasn't just enjoying the physical sensation my ass gave his cock. He enjoyed dominating and humiliating me in front of my wife, too. There's no doubt who's the alpha male when one guy's lying there with his legs spread over his head with his tiny, shriveled dick flopping as he gets his ass reamed by the other guy's hard cock.
Now it was my turn to look away. I just couldn't stand looking at his superior smirk as he fucked me.
I don't believe for a minute that Ruth misunderstood why I closed my eyes, but she pretended I was doing it so I could concentrate on how good it felt to get fucked by Darrin. And she started cooing to me again.
"Oh, yeah, honey. Just close your eyes and focus on that beautiful hard cock thrusting in and out of your little cunt."
It wasn't a cunt. It was an ass. And it wasn't for fucking. It was for shitting. Well, I guess I couldn't have pressed that line too hard. I'd pleaded with Ruth to let me fuck her in the ass. She'd never given in.
"Ohhh. I know exactly how it feels. It feels so good to have his hard cock stretching your ass." I opened my eyes suddenly at that and looked at her. She knew what I was thinking. "Oh, yeah. I guess Darrin and I get a little more carried away in our lovemaking than you and I ever have. But now you can feel exactly what I do when he fucks me in the ass. Isn't it wonderful?"