I was not very experienced sexually when I married at 29. A couple of girls in college, and the sex was, evidently, rather vanilla. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in a more varied or unusual sex life, it's just that I have always been rather withdrawn, living my life in my mind.
Which is what first attracted me to Liz.
She, too, was quiet, well-read, interesting. And attractive. She had been an All-American swimmer in college. She was 5'10" with strong shoulders, full breasts, narrow hips and long, long legs. She wore her black hair very short, in a severe cut that seemed to put most people off. She did not defer to men. In fact, most men at our work were intimidated by her looks and her intellect. We were thrown together on a long research project and hit it off immediately, though our relationship was strictly professional, then friendly until finally, after one late night, we ended up in bed.
Again, the sex was fairly vanilla, though enjoyable. We were engaged shortly after and married.
After two years of marriage, things changed. It started when I made a banking error, forgetting to transfer funds, which caused a check to bounce, much to Liz's embarrassment. We had had only a handful of brief arguments in our marriage, never even a raised voice. But when she returned from redeeming the check at a small boutique run by an acquaintance, she was clearly livid. She didn't shout, but there was real steel in her voice.
"How dare you humiliate me in this fashion," she said. "Your mistake, but I am the one made to suffer."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I would have gone to collect the check for you."
"You weren't home, and I wasn't about to leave the store waiting. Why should you get off Scott free?"
"I suppose I shouldn't."
"No," she said. "You shouldn't." Suddenly, a sort of cloud seemed to cover her face. She looked darker somehow, fiercer.
"Stand up," she said. I stood. "Remove your belt and give it to me," she said. I did. "Now lower your trousers and your briefs to your ankles and bend over the couch."
I was shocked. "Surely you don't mean to spank me?" I said.
"That is exactly what I mean to do. You have humiliated me, now I shall humiliate you. Drop your pants and bend over the couch."
It was almost like being possessed. A hand moved to the front of my khakis, and they were around my ankles before I even knew it was my hand. Before I could even think clearly, my pants and briefs were around my ankles and I was bent double over the back of our sofa.
The first blow of the belt was a burning shock, and the several that followed seemed to light a fire across my buttocks. Yet, in spite of the pain, I also felt my cock swelling against the leather of the coach. And I felt a raging anticipation, a sense of delicious wickedness, that never had accompanied any previous sexual act. This is what I had always wanted and had missed.
There was a pause in the blows across my back and I heard a rustling sound. I started to rise.
"Stay where you are," Liz hissed. I did. The rustling stopped, and then I heard the swish of the belt, louder than before, and felt a tremendous thwack across the chapped skin of my ass. And another. And another. My cock pushed into the leather of the sofa like a steel rod.
"Stand up," she said.
"Turn," she said.
I did. The rustling sound had been Liz stripping off her clothes. She stood naked before me, a light dew of moisture crowning the short hairs of her neatly trimmed bush.
"Kneel," she said.
I did. She walked to me, then stood with her legs astride me and grabbed my head, simultaneously pulling it into her vagina while violently thrusting her hips forward into my face. The impact actually split my lip. I opened my mouth to her womanhood while she furiously humped my face, pinning my head against the back of the sofa. My ass burned. I could taste the blood from my lip mixed with her juices. I could feel her fingernails digging into my scalp and nearly pulling off my ears as she pulled me harder and harder into her. I came onto the carpet without even touching myself, just as she roared into a seemingly endless orgasm.
When she was done, she released me and I collapsed to the floor. She tapped her toe next to the stream of semen on the floor.
"Lick up your mess," she said.
I rose to all fours, then lowered my head and lapped the cooling, salty liquid off the floor.
I felt her foot press down on the back of my neck.
"This isn't over," she said. "I was humiliated in front of others, you in the privacy of our home. You're working from home tomorrow."
Her tone indicated that it wasn't a question. I attempted to nod my ascent against the force of her foot.
"I will arrange a delivery for you at noon exactly. Follow its instructions exactly."
Again I attempted to nod.
"Good," she said. "Now, since you seem to so enjoy lapping up semen, I shall go collect more for you. When I return, you may lap it out of me."
She slipped back into her shoes and pulled on her raincoat, not even putting on another stitch. Two hours later, she returned home. She threw off her coat and shoved me to the floor, then pulled my head up onto an Ottoman. She sat roughly down on my face, filling my nose with the scent of other men and their cum. I lapped for what seemed hours, through three of her orgasms and two of my own. We showered and went to bed. Liz drifting off immediately and me wondering what tomorrow's delivery would bring.
Liz left early, dressed in a plain black pants suit. I threw on some old jeans and a T-shirt and tried to concentrate on some market research in our home office, but my mind constantly drifted to the delivery coming at noon.
At 12:00 exactly, the doorbell rang. It was Ricard, a young black man who handled local deliveries for our company. Ricard stood 6'2" and had the body of a NFL linebacker.
"Ricard," I said.
"Your wife told me to come in and wait for your reply," Ricard said, handing me a buff-colored inter-office envelope.
"All right," I answered, stepping aside to let him into the living room. I opened the envelope and read the letter.
Now commences your public humiliation. I have positioned three web cams in the living room and am watching even as you read this letter. Ricard, as you may know, is gay. Before you say a word, I want you to undress and drop to your knees. Then I want you to look Ricard directly in the eyes and beg him to use you in any way he desires. This demand is non-negotiable. If you do not comply exactly, you will never see me again. And remember through every moment of your degradation that I am watching.
I folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. I had never had so much as a gay impulse in my life and, in fact, the idea of another man's cock in my mouth or, God forbid. my ass, actually sickened me a little. Yet I was getting hard. The idea of my wife watching me, the idea of her seeing me surrender, this overcame whatever reservations I could muster. I had turned my back to Ricard while reading the letter and had still not turned to face him. I pulled the T-shirt over my head, unfastened my jeans and pulled them and my briefs off, throwing them to the wall. I turned to face Ricard, who looked shocked, and I dropped to my knees. Looking directly into his eyes, I said,
"Ricard, I beg you to use me. Use me in any way you wish."
Ricard smiled. I was not a kind smile.
"You want it pussy boy?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Didn't know you swung that way."
"Neither did I."
He chuckled. "First time?"
"Yes," I said.
"It's gonna hurt," he said.
"Good," I answered.
Ricard stepped forward so that the front of his brown Dickey slacks nearly touched my face. He opened his pants and pulled out a member easily twice as long and twice as thick as my own. He grasped the base of it and swung it against my cheek a few times. It hit with the impact of a slap.
"Open your mouth," he said.
I did. He placed one hand under my chin and the other on the back of my head. Then he slammed his penis into my mouth and partly into my throat. I gagged.
"Throw up on me and I will beat your pathetic ass," he said. "One way or another, you're taking the whole thing. I want to feel my balls slapping against your chin."
Tightening his grip, he thrust forward with his hips again. I went completely slack. I could barely breath and felt as though my tonsils had sheared loose. Yet, if I were to die here, chocking on this black cock, then I would die happy knowing that Liz was watching.
With each violent thrust, he forced more and more of the cock into my mouth, into my throat. It felt as though it had almost reached my stomach. Finally, my nose was pressed into his wiry pubic hairs and his swollen scrotum flattened against my chin.
He suddenly pulled the whole cock loose at once, in a stream of saliva. He grabbed the hair on the top of my head and pulled my to my feet.
"Broke that whole in," he said. "Time for the other."
He turned me to the sofa and threw me over the back of it, exposing my ass.
"Reach behind and spread your cheeks," he said.
I felt the his hands grab my hips and lift me so that my feet were off the floor. I had no leverage at all, no way to resist. I barely felt the tip of his cock press against my anus when he lifted up on the balls of his feet and then drove it fully into my bowels with the entire weight of his body. The pain was excruciating, a feeling as if a rifle had been fired into my ass. I heard him grunt as he made one final push, seating his cock firmly into me as far as it would reach. Then, he slowly lifted, pulling the cock back, back, back until only its tumescent black-purple head remained within me. He let himself fall onto me again, spearing me with his prick, his weight crushing the air out of my lungs. Over and over he would pull his cock nearly out of me and then slam it back in with all the force he could muster.
Looking forward, I saw that Liz had placed one of the web cams on the coffee table beyond the sofa, just even with my face. Looking into it, I blushed with shame and desire. For this is what I wanted. To offer anything to please her. If her letter had instructed me to allow Ricard beat me to death, I would have knelt and taken the blows until I faded into oblivion.
The pace and violence of Ricard's cock pummeling into my ass increased. I could feel sweat breaking out on his skin. His hand left my hips and his arms slid under my arms and then up, his hands closing behind my neck, putting me into a full nelson. He bent me back into him, painfully, as he continued to thrust into my ass, now with astonishing speed.
"Gonna fill your ass now, pussy boy," he said. "Gonna fill your sorry white ass with my cum."
I felt him explode with in me, felt his seed fill my bowels and begin to run down my legs. Finally, he collapsed on top of me for a moment, then stood and pulled out of my ass. My rectum felt like a two car garage with its door open.
"One more thing, pussy boy. Your wife told me to tell you not to move when I was done. Didn't know what that meant then, guess I know now. Guess she wants a good look at your punk ass covered in my cum. You are one sorry little fuck." He walked around the sofa so that his now mostly limp prick hung in front of my face. It dripped with cum, with my blood and with filth from my bowels.
"If you think I'm putting this mess back in my pants, you're fucking nuts," he said. "Clean it off."
Again, he grabbed my chin, forced open my mouth and rammed his cock inside. I did my best to remove all the filth from his member, even as I felt it swell again in my mouth. His attention switched from hygiene to lust. He grabbed the back of my head with both hands, slamming his cock into my mouth and throat. Shortly, I felt his ball sack pull up, and more hot cum issue forth, flooding my mouth.
"Good pussy boy," he said, pulling out and tucking his cock into his pants. "Now you just lay there over that coach till wifey gets home."