A text message alert goes off on my phone, abruptly waking me from my sleep. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I slowly become aware of the delicious ache between my legs. It’s that familiar warm flood of arousal I often experience during a sex dream. On this occasion however, my stupid phone awakens me instead of a slow, glorious orgasm.
I’m still wearing the dress my husband picked out for me earlier in the evening for our friend’s birthday drinks. I smooth my hand over the silky fabric, up to my breasts. My nipples are hard and the slightest touch sends jolts of pleasure down below, making me part my legs further. It’s then that I notice the gentle pressure of fingers on my inner thighs. Peter?
I raise myself up to see whose hands were on my legs but I’m distracted by a figure standing at the side of the bed. Even in the dimly lit room, I instinctively know the hulking form is not my husband, and I soon suspect nor is the person whose hot breath is over my naked crotch. I reach a hand downwards and grab a handful of unfamiliar curls. I’m alone with two strange men.
I try to scream, but a hand swiftly covers my mouth. It belongs to the larger man who is now looming over me. With his other hand he gestures for me to be quiet. Alarm turns into panic as I wonder where my husband is. Is he still having drinks with our friends? How did I even get here? My body starts quivering involuntarily as my mind considers the precarious situation. The man with the curls speaks,
“Relax. Your husband knows we’re here with you. He let us in.”
My eyes must have conveyed surprise and confusion in equal measure.
“Check your phone.”
The hand over my mouth withdraws. I contemplate making a run for it, but as soon as I grab my phone from the nightstand, I feel less vulnerable. I turn it on and see the text message that disrupted my blissful slumber:
Trust me. You know what you need to do. I’ll check in on you later. Love you. P x
Cryptic as my husband’s message is, I feel reassured and my shoulders relax. I lay back on the bed, still lightheaded from the many glasses of champagne I had earlier. I recall wanting to rest for a while and my husband taking me upstairs to a room which I now know he had organised beforehand. Was this punishment giving my neighbour a blow job without letting him know first?
Before I can ask for an explanation, the curly-haired man straddles me, smirking. He extends an index finger to my lip and slowly drags it down along my chin and towards my chest. The finger continues its journey until it finds the pit of my belly button through my flimsy dress. It’s enough to reignite the arousal I felt when I woke up. I feel annoyed by this primal response.
“My mate and I have a deal. Up to you to accept.”
His finger continues its journey towards my pubic bone and my body betrays me again, eagerly interpreting the touch as a pleasurable gesture. Making small circles with his finger, he continues to explain,
“If I make you cum with my tongue in ten minutes, we both get to fuck you.”
“And if I don’t cum?”
“We’ll walk out of here with blue balls, ” he laughs. “But I don’t think that’s likely. Do you?”
“And if I don’t take this deal?”
“Your husband said you’d know what the consequences are.”
I know exactly what he means so I nodded my acceptance. I start to resent these two men and the situation I’m in, but choose to use that irritation to fuel my resistance. I will refuse to cum, as much as my body was starting to crave stimulation.
I lay back as the man with curls positions himself back between my legs. He firmly pushes apart my thighs, exposing my pussy which is already moistening. I gasp in response but quickly compose myself. When a warm tongue slowly slithers up my pussy lips, it takes all my willpower to not moan. My body can’t lie though, and I shudder as he takes his tongue back down to start another slow lick.
“You’ll be lucky to last two minutes you horny little slut. I’ve been told you can’t help yourself.”
I should be offended but his words only make my pussy ache more. I quickly glance over to his mate, hoping an eyeful of his ungainly form would quell the urge to cum. It might have worked if not for the huge bulge at his crotch. His jeans are stretched tight over what is obviously a massive erection. I try to look away but my eyes are transfixed.
Aware that I’m staring, the hulking figure unbuttons his fly and eases his hard cock out. The 10-inch shaft jumps out upon release before its sheer weight brings it hanging back downwards. He roughly handles his cock, jerking and squeezing it. The smooth head glistens with copious pre-cum. I must have been vocal in my appreciation for the curly-haired guy stops work and looks up.
“You like that big cock? Well you’ll be fucking mine first. That thing will leave your hole gaping for days.”
His grinning mouth is wet with my juices.
“I heard you like being stretched like a good cock whore.”
His words cause an intense stirring in my pussy and my head fills with thoughts of taking such a massive cock. I quickly turn my head away from the huge prick and look up at the ceiling, ignoring the skilled tongue resuming work on my pussy. He was getting close to flicking his tongue over my swollen clit and I knew I’d need a lot of strength to not cum instantly.
When his tongue finally meets my bud, I can’t stop myself from arching my back and uttering profanity. I suck my breath in deeply, willing my body to repel the strong waves of ecstasy. I breathe out again once I’m safely away from the edge. I’m not sure how many more minutes of this exquisite torture I have to endure but I know the hardest moments are yet to come.
With his attention now on my clit, I concede I’m in trouble. Every suck and flick makes my pussy throb. I’d love nothing more than to grab that curly head and grind my sopping cunt into his face but I remind myself what’s at stake. I want cock so badly but I don’t want these two strange men to get the better of me. Men who think I’m a slut wife and some easy pussy to use.
I find a steady breathing pattern and coax myself away from the overwhelming need to climax. This works well until I hear grunting and the unmistakable sound of a slippery cock being pulled hard and fast. I resist looking his way but I know that beast of a man is watching me and masturbating. The guttural noises he makes conjure an image of him thrusting that big cock deep inside me. It’s too much.
The man with curls senses that I’ve lost my resolve and starts using the tip of his tongue to massage my pulsating clit. The pressure is firmer than before and a long moan escapes my mouth. I’m quickly at the edge again and close to tipping over. I inadvertently begin to move my hips in rhythm with his tonguing. My body if fully in control now and ready to surrender. Then, without warning, I’m rudely yanked away from the edge.
Every inch of my body is wracked with the sweet pain of being denied a long-awaited release. I catch my breath before sitting up to work out what happened. It seems both men had silently left the room, leaving me alone, confused and desperately unfulfilled. Did I manage to last ten minutes? If not, why was I left so cruelly at the brink when it was clear I was ready to go over?
Before I can console my unsatiated wet pussy, my phone interrupts me yet again.
Don’t ever suck a cock again without telling me. It’s not nice to be deprived. Is it? Love you. P x