***
End of Chapter Two
"You don't love her Brian. You don't. You love ME!"
"Brit, we hardly know each other."
"You're going to miss my cum, baby. You need my cum."
She was asking him if his addiction to her had taken. A sheen of sweat broke over his face.
So much gorgeous, hot, chocolatey cum. So thick, so delicious, so creamy good.
Brit's power rod poked him in the stomach. He gazed upon it, knowing he could grab it in both hands and pump her addictive, nourishing seed directly into his mouth, any time he wanted. And it would be all the sustenance he would ever need.
So many missed opportunities. So many chances lost.
Sarah flashed into my brain.
Sweet loving Sarah.
Poor, lonely, frustrated Sarah.
She was close to leaving him. It was so clear to him. Suddenly.
So many missed opportunities.
Brian scrambled to his feet and plodded to the front door, naked as the day he was born. "I'm here. It's me, Brian Cook. That's my truck."
Chapter Three
7:05 PM Sunday
Brian pulled up to the curb and shut off his engine. It was the moment for which he'd been both dreading and praying over the last three days.
Before he could grab the go-bag resting on the passenger seat, the front door of the neat bungalow opened and a pretty brown-haired woman of thirty bounded out. Despite the cold, she was wearing only jeans and a t-shirt. On her feet were open-toed sandals, but she ignored the deep snow as she made her way to him.
He'd managed to slide out of the truck when she reached him. Sarah launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and burying her face onto his neck.
Brian had never seen his wife act this way. She was usually so stoic. Reserved. Sure he'd been missing for a couple of days, but this? This wasn't his Sarah.
Or was it?
"Oh baby," she sobbed into his neck. "You were lost to me. I was so worried."
He hugged her back with everything he had. "I'm okay honey. Really I am."
"The logging camp director managed to get a signal through, just hours after you left. When I said I hadn't heard from you, they started looking. Search and Rescue have been looking for you for two days. Some had given up hope. Someone said you must have frozen to death. So when you called I knew it was a miracle. A sign from God."
"Someone was sure looking out for me," Brian said, his thoughts filled with Brit's telling of how she saved him from an icy death.
"Let's get you inside, baby."
Arm in arm they trudged through the deep snow to their covered porch. Sarah was shivering. Brian wrapped his arms around his wife, feeling protective.
Inside the house, the fire was roaring. It was not unlike another fire he had been basking in front of only a couple of hours ago. The flickering flames, the radiant heat from the hearth, the firelight dancing on the rough beamed ceiling, all this he now associated with hours-long transcendent sex with multiple partners. His cock hardened considerably.
Sarah noticed. Of course she did. He smiled wanly. His brain screamed that she'd see the association. But how could she possibly guess the truth? Two horny sluts with monstrous cocks and a roaring fire? It would not even meet the faintest credibility test.
So he had that going for him.
Of course she'd assume he was just glad to see her. And he was. But there more to the story. A lot more.
Brian looked deeply into his wife's eyes. They'd grown so distant these past couple of years. His preference for logging camps over home. His emotional distance when they were together. They didn't need that extra money - not really.
Sarah's Story
Like Brian, Sarah had begun to move on emotionally. She'd told herself she didn't need him home every day to survive. She prided herself as a tough, backwoods broad. The meat in her freezer was proof of her true aim with the thirty-ought-six. That six-chord pile of firewood she'd harvested in the forest, bucked with her own 24-inch Husky chain saw, split with a maul, and stacked by the house? All that was testament to her independence and strength. She could have a twenty-minute conversation with a stranger about chainsaws, explain the intricacies of a water pump float valve, and make a delicious meal from the fish she'd pulled out of an ice hole that afternoon.
Her independence was a symbol of their marriage. They simply did not communicate on a deeper level. But when he'd disappeared, presumed lost and frozen, something had sparked within her. A regret of unfulfillment, of missed opportunities. She realizes her relationship with her husband could be so much more. If only she could let it happen.
Maybe if she'd tried harder. But at what? To be there for him? To fuck him better? Would that have made a difference? Physically, she'd never denied him anything. But even in bed, there had always been something missing.
She knew in her heart that while in logging camp Brian was not staying true to her. She had no proof, but she was 'sure'. A lingering weight in her heart whispered in her ear: she was to blame.
In years past, she'd wanted a deeper connection with her husband. But something always held her back. She just could not let herself go. She couldn't get past that practical inner dialog. When making love, was she doing it right? Is she really that person? Somehow sex made her feel self-conscious. She had no confidence in the bedroom. And so sex with Brian was inevitably vanilla. Even boring.
But what if she did let herself go? What if she became the wife she'd fantasized, rutting and fucking like a junkyard dog? Would she be ashamed? Proud? Left wanting even more?
Overthinking. Always overthinking.
The bane of her existence.
But in his absences, Sarah would not be a hermit. Friends are the life blood of living in Country. A couple of times a week or so, she'd go to the local Starlite Bar with a few other wives, each of them bonded by being alone. Not loneliness - she was too confident in herself to wallow in that. More like Lone-ness. Alone, adaptive, strong.
The wives and girlfriends of the loggers would cluster together in one of the many local bars, drinking and talking and laughing about their husbands, exposing their peculiarities, their weaknesses. It had taken years of self-reflection, driven by Brian's repeated absences, for Sarah to realize she had a lot going for her.
With Brian's latest decision to spend another four weeks in logging camp and away from her, Sarah had made a conscious plan to take pride in herself. At five-foot-eight, she projected as a confident woman with an easy laugh, a pretty face, a quick wit, and an animated conversationalist. With a stunning pair of size C breasts, long luscious brown hair, and a ridiculously tiny waist, she was a target of desire in the small inner Maine town. When she squeezed into a pair of faded skin-tight jeans that showed off a firm round hiker's ass and a pair of long, lean legs with Toblerone triangle and thigh gap, she was the natural center of attention in any of the local bars where she and her girlfriends would congregate.
Knowing of Brian's regular absences, men approached Sarah like clockwork, right at the start of his four-week stints in camp. They'd make their pitch. She wasn't the only camp wife in town. The women, not being city girls in the least, were direct and confident. If they wanted you to stay, they'd tell you. If they didn't and you hung around anyway, well God help you.
Sarah became good at the Game. She enjoyed the banter with other men. The Game, the women called it. No cock teasing - just healthy, good fun. Okay, not exactly cock teasing, but close.
Dancing, shots and beer, darts and shuffleboard. Rambling easy conversations, a tiny bit of flirting, and dancing, dancing, dancing.
So many opportunities.
Still, she had never strayed. She was the good logger's wife. She'd turned down the nightly chances that came her way even if she suspected her husband did not.
Correct that. She was certain he was having some tail on the side. As certain as a wife can be without direct evidence.
But her instinct had never driven her to take revenge. At least not the kind of revenge that would lead to another man's bed. She would bide her time, be on guard, ever watchful. And if her suspicions were ever confirmed, well, it would be like Godzilla had squashed Brian like a roach. There would be no second chances.
But now he was here, in her arms, and her need had suddenly skyrocketed. From the hard pole pressed into her tummy, she knew what the next couple of hours would bring.
The baby was still with Sarah's mother. Sarah couldn't function effectively as a mother with Brian missing and presumed dead.
His kiss was deep and tonguey, full of longing, need, lust.
A heady mix of emotions swirled in her brain. She broke the kiss and pushed gently on his chest.
"Get a shower baby, and I'll have something for you to eat."
It was typical of her. Shower and eat. Then sex.
Practical, never passionate.
He smiled gently and nodded. "Be right back."
Sarah watched his back as he disappeared into the master suite. She wanted sex; she just didn't know whether to wait for him to initiate it, or should she?
After eight years of marriage you'd think we'd have that worked out.
While she was thinking about what to do about food, she spotted Brian's go-bag. He'd dropped it in the foyer and had just left it there. Typical. He knows what a neat freak she is around the house. But he'd just got home after a frightening ordeal. She assumed he'd planned to empty it out later. And like always, he'll leave his laundry wherever he pulls it out, then take the bag into the garage to unload the tools and MRE's and other stuff. As usual, she'd pick up his old work clothes wherever he leaves them and put them into the laundry. And he won't say anything, won't even acknowledge what she does for him. To him, it'll just be done. It's often the trigger for one of their regular fights.
He's been through a lot. I'll do it this time and not say anything.
She grabbed the heavy bag, hauling it into the bedroom and onto the bed. The moment she ripped open the zipper, she gasped. Sitting on top of his work clothes was a quart-sized plastic freezer bag. It was stuffed with nylons and garter belts.
The shower was still running. Even after he steps out, he'll be a few minutes shaving.
Sarah picked up the plastic bag and opened it. There must have been a half dozen pairs of nylons in there.
Her first thought was: what the fuck was Brian doing with a bag full of nylons? Who's are they?
Never once in her life had Sarah worn a pair of nylons. They simply weren't practical in the lake country of inland Maine. Truth be told, she didn't even know anyone who did wear them, even out to a nice restaurant. Why would you?
She reached into the bag and buried her hand in the nylons, immersing her fingers in the clingy embrace of soft silk. She sucked in a short breath. Her heartbeat soared; her mouth went dry.
The ultra-feminine sensations running through her fingers and straight to her brain were like nothing she'd ever felt.
Those sensations went somewhere else, too.
Sarah's pussy tingled. She was acutely aware of the dampness flooding her panties.
These nylons. They were so damn sexy. So feminine. So alien.
She pulled out a small handful and held them aloft. They hung before her, so light and airy they seemed to weigh nothing at all. Draping the half dozen nylons over her bare forearm, Sarah felt another tingle deep inside her dampening pussy. When she drew the nylon along her arm she reveled in the feel of them. And she wondered: what have I been missing?
Suddenly she had to have them on her legs. She had to know: what's the secret? Why do women wear these things?
Sarah tossed the nylons onto the bed and tore off her jeans and socks. She wrapped the garter belt around her waist and fastened it into place. And while she'd never worn garter nylons before, she knew instinctively how to put them on and how to fasten the little straps.
She didn't know if these particular nylons were good quality - she had no benchmark to judge. She only knew two things. They looked and felt flawless, and they made her pussy damp.
That was plenty enough for her.
She sat on the edge of the bed and bunched up the first nylon stocking in her fingers. Her heart raced; her breathing turned ragged. This was a first for the thirty-year-old beauty.
She slipped her toes into the opening and worked its heel up and around her own. She wiggled her toes, tightly encased inside the dark reinforced stitching. She'd deliberately chosen a stocking without a back seam, even though a couple of pairs in the bag did have seams. She knew it would take a bit of skill to get that right, and she wasn't thinking about her appearance right now.
She was too damn wet for that.
Sarah pulled on the welt of the stocking, drawing it up towards her pussy. A silky feeling swept up her leg, its stretchy embrace a shrinking shroud of sex merging with her skin, becoming her skin, smoothing it, glossing it, perfecting it.
A tiny bit of moisture dripped out of her slit and down the inside of her thigh.
She didn't know a lot about nylon stockings, but it seemed like these were awfully long. She'd had to fold the top of the welt over to shorten it, right at the very top of her leg.
Maybe he doesn't understand sizing. She could understand that.
Her excitement grew. Eagerly, she grabbed the stocking's mate, slipping her toes into the opening and sweeping the nylon up her leg fast, all the better to feel them work their dark magic on her legs, her brain, her pussy.
She fumbled a bit with the garters. She knew how, but there was no muscle memory. Her excitement impeded the small motor function of her fingers, and she blew out a few of the fastenings. She couldn't help but compare the little rubber nodules to the shape of her own clitoris. The clit she's been working solo with ever-increasing frequency.
At last she got them fastened. She had to redo a couple to get them tight and straight and secure.
She sat there, on the edge of her marital bed and stared down at her legs. Through a long narrow gap between her slender muscular thighs, she could see the floor. The womanly muscles in her calves were defined and prominent. All that outdoor work had honed these legs into lean, shapely, stems. Encased within these glorious glossy nylons, they were objects of pure sex. Pure distraction.
She ran her fingers along her legs, around her thighs and down the outside of her shins. She wiggled the toes in both feet. The ten little digits, happily imprisoned in their dark nylon sheaths were sexy too. Yes, even her toes. She crossed her legs, ostensibly to get at one foot, to feel it, to massage it, but when she slid her legs together in a tight narrow cross, her brain screamed at her.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her pussy was on fire now. The gentle SWISHING sound of the nylons had powered her brain and her pussy to new heights of sexual need. She found herself uncrossing, then recrossing. Then again. And again.
Several more drips rolled out of her and onto the floor.
Something was missing. She needed the full experience.
Shoes!
Sarah's not a stiletto kind of girl, but instinctively she knew a sexy pair of heels would drive her skyward in both height and sex appeal. Regretfully she had none.
And then she remembered.
She raced to her closet and found a long-forgotten shoe box on the upper shelf.
Her wedding shoes.
White, tight, with a four-inch pencil stiletto. At her wedding they'd hurt so much she couldn't wait to get them off. Now she was convinced that putting them on would get her off.
She stepped into her cream-colored wedding shoes and turned to face the full-length mirror. With a sharp intake of breath she realized something about herself she'd never before known.
Her legs are fucking spectacular.
Long and shapely, defined with lean womanly muscle, gorgeous thigh gap, closing together then expanding to the little triangular gap right below her pussy. Sarah instinctively knew her legs were perfect.
She slipped over to the bed and sat back down. She drew her knees up to her chest and lay on the bed in roughly fetal position, slipping and sliding her hands all over her legs.
So sexy. So gorgeous.
Her sweet little pussy was on a hair trigger.
Out of the corner of her eye was the go-bag, still on the bed. But there was something else. Something different.
Tucked down the side of the bag were two of the biggest, baddest, vibrating dildos she'd ever seen.
And they were greasy.
What the fuck?
Acutely aware she was intensely horny, Sarah picked up one of the vibrators. She examined it, turning it over in her hands, looking at it from all angles.
Of course she used a vibrator. She owned a couple. Her husband's long absences made that imperative. But this?
This was a multi-ribbed, glistening black monster festooned with clitoris-sized nodules around its circumference and up and down its length.
Without thinking, she found herself gripping the toy in two hands and pushing the head up her nylon thigh, right to her pussy, pushing on her panties. The absurdity of her actions barely registered in her brain; her pussy was calling the shots. With ever-increasing force, she slid the head of the fake dick in and out of the Toblerone triangle of her gorgeous, feminine box.
As her pussy responded, she drew it higher, pressing it onto her clit harder and harder. Her eyes darted to her nylon legs and she thought she was going to cum. An unstoppable urge swamped her brain.
She needed this. She was going to have this.
One hand still on the dildo, her other hand slipped into her panties. Two fingers slipped home and caressed her now-soaking slit.
She was close. Already.
She pulled her panties down and swept them off her legs. Turning the vibrator around in her hands and parallel with her thighs, she pointed it straight at the opening to her sopping pussy.
She switched it on to full power.
She'd failed to notice the shower had stopped several minutes ago.
"What are you doing?"
Sarah's hand snapped away from her pussy. She half turned and looked at her husband. He was naked, save a white terry towel wrapped around his trim waist.
She dropped the vibrator onto the far side of the bed, out of his sight. He'd never seen her with a vibrator. Besides, the real thing was just a few feet away under a terry cloth towel.
She turned to him and lay prone on the bed, opening her legs for him. She licked her lips and reached towards him, daring him to get within range of her grasping claws. She was hot, determined he'd not get away from her, even if he'd wanted to.
Her husband's face softened, even as his dick did the opposite. The towel around his waist fell away, revealing her prize.
"I want that," she thought.
It's mine and I'll have it.
He strode confidently towards her. His eyes were glued to her nylon legs and the creamy stilettos, his admiration ample confirmation of his plan to seduce her with something new. Something sexy.
Suddenly she knew. Or thought she did.
Sizing notwithstanding, he must have bought the nylons for her.
Her pussy oozed; her tunnel opened wide, beckoning him.
When he got to the bed he picked up the go-bag to drop it on the floor and get it out of the way of a riotous fucking of husband and wife. She bit her lower lip and readied herself to take him inside her, to squeeeeeeeze him down and make him her fucking bitch.
No more spreading your legs and letting him cum. Not this time. This time was about Sarah and how many fucking times she could cum.
Husband Brian was going to get fucked. Relentlessly, mercilessly, she was going to cowgirl her man into complete submission and when he's begging for relief, she'll jill herself off with his vibrator and bring him right fucking back. Then do him all over again.
Fucking nylons.
Her lustful eyes never left him as he crawled to the side of the bed to drop the bag onto the floor. She admired his bare muscular ass. It was pointed at her, strong, muscular, firm.
And bruised.
Sarah was not one to stare at her husband's butt hole, but she knew something had changed. Something very fucking strange.
His asshole was bright red, surrounded by rings of mottled brown and blue bruising all over his ass cheeks.
What the fuck?
Sarah's lust dropped like a turd in an outhouse.
"Brian! What's with your ass?"
He froze. Regaining his composure, he sat on the bed, getting the evidence safely out of sight.
Her husband's face was a mask of pure guilt. Pure, adulterating, I-had-no-fucking-idea-it-showed guilt.
"Brian?"
It was a simple word. But with it came accusation, condemnation, questions.
She thought about the go-bag. He hadn't asked her to unpack for him. In fact, he always does that himself. She just missed him so much and had gotten over a big scare. She'd wanted to do something nice for him.
So maybe he didn't expect her to find that stuff.
The nylons. The vibrating dildos.
She lunged at the bag and opened it wide. Inside was a bottle of lube.
It was starting to make sense. His lengthening absences. His recent coolness towards their love making.
The past few months, Brian had definitely changed. Drifted away from her. She'd been sure he'd been getting a woman or women on the side. But now, she wasn't so sure. The nylons. The too fucking long nylons. The vibrators. His bruised and swollen ass.
That stuff wasn't for her.
It was crazy but it all fit. It was for...
"Brian! You have to level with me. Right here, right now. Are you crossdressing? Are those nylons yours? I mean, holy shit, ARE YOU GAY?"
My husband's face turned white. "No! No! Absolutely not! No fucking way, NO!"
Sarah regarded him closely. "So it's a no then."
"Sarah..."
"That's enough. I believe you. I think. So what the fuck is all this?" Sarah waived her hand across the "extras" from Brian's bag.
"Uh, uh, well, uh..."
"Because unless you can prove me wrong, dear husband, I don't see how all this is for me. Well? Is it?"
She studied his face, acutely aware of his mounting discomfort.
Definitely not for me.
He started to speak, then aborted. His eyes darted to her legs, those objects of pure sex he never knew, or perhaps acknowledged, that had lurked in his bed all this time.
"Do, ah do you..."
Sarah's patience was at an end. "Do I what, Brian? Spit it out."
"Do you like the nylons?"
"What a thing to ask me. Okay, then. Yes, I like the nylons. I love them, actually. But you could never have known that. You never thought I'd see them. These belong to someone else. Don't they? DON'T THEY?"
"Well, yeah I guess so."
"You guess so? What the fuck does that mean?"
"I...I didn't pack them."
"So who did then?"
"She did. They did. I didn't pack that stuff. They did. They told me there was stuff in there for you."
Confirmed.
"Who she? They? Who the fuck are you talking about?"
Sarah stared at him coldly. His affairs were out in the open at last. But something didn't add up. How could multiple women be in on this?
He went silent again. Sarah was about to blow her top when he stopped her cold.
"I was raped."
The blood drained from her face. Of all the things Brian could have said.
He could have pleaded that he was drunk and fell in with some slut. Or that he'd been seduced in a one-time tryst of regret and betrayal. That he'd been lonely and horny so hired a hooker. At the very least, her suspicions of him fucking other women at camp would be confirmed.
But this? Anything but this.
Sarah's heart had just about stopped. All she could manage was a single word. "How?"
Brian told her the story of how his truck got stuck, how he set out onto the ice, fell through and was rescued. He described waking up between the two women, each far larger and stronger than he. Horny Futa girls with massive meaty cocks, fully intent on plundering the muscular male ass that fell into their laps.
"They raped me, Sarah," Brian said. "They fucked me for two days and nights solid."
Yeah right. Every man's fantasy.
Believe me honey. I tried to get away. I really tried.
"You couldn't get away?" Sarah's voice was full of contempt.
"These, these Futa, they were six and a half feet tall. Enormously strong. They made me do all sorts of perverted things. Oh Sarah they made me do crazy things. Incredible, degrading things."
Sarah had heard the stories about beautiful big-dick girls, but she'd never seen one. At least not to her knowledge. They had a reputation for being reclusive. There was little information out there about them.
"Brian, we have to call the police. This is criminal. You were raped. Did you report them?"
"No."
"Well we have to. Where's my phone? Where were they? What lake? Where's this camp?"
Her husband sat there, still and quiet by the side of the bed. He looked at Sarah, then shook his head.
"What do you mean, 'No', Brian? What's going on? What are you not telling me?"
The silence hung between them like a wet turd, its stink growing more rotten with each passing second.
And then, in a moment of absolute clarity, she understood.
He enjoyed it.
Sarah perched herself on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs and folded her arms under her breasts and stared at him with the intensity of a monitor lizard tracking a juicy bug.
She thought about what had happened to her marriage that pushed this man's man of hers towards thick, hungry girl-cock.
She picked up one of the glistening black dildos and turned it over in her hands. Far longer and thicker than her husband's very respectable cock, it made her feel powerful, more aggressive, confident. She squeezed it in her fist. Her thumb and forefinger only partially wrapped around its girth, leaving a gap of two inches or more.
She held it up. "Were they...this big?"
Her husband appeared to have lost the power of speech.
"Bigger? Brian, are they bigger than this?"
He nodded.
"So let me get this straight. Two mysterious Futa girls drove their fantastically huge girl cocks into your ass, bruising it terribly you should know, and you - you enjoyed it. Didn't you? You liked getting ass fucked by two horny monster girls."
He pursed his lips. "Not at first."
So he did enjoy it.
"When, exactly? When did you start to enjoy getting forcibly gang raped in the ass, Brian?"
Sarah was aware she was becoming quite shrill, but she figured the occasion called for it.
"Well," he said, thinking hard, "I would say it was after Ursula came in my mouth and down my throat. It was pretty much after that happened that I couldn't find it in me to say no to them."
"You blew her? Let me get this straight. You find yourself trapped between two - Futa girls - and you give this, Ursula, a blow job, swallow her cum, and let them both fuck you in the ass. Do I have that about right?"
"Yeah, pretty much. But Sarah, look. Please honey, I don't know how it happened. I don't know why I let them. There was something magical about them. Their cum was incredible. Like rich Belgian chocolate, and I couldn't get enough. Once I tasted their cum, I couldn't stop."
"You couldn't stop sucking out their cum?"
"It was - addictive. I couldn't get enough of it."
"And what about the ass fucking? Was that - addictive?"
"I resisted at first. I said No...'NO!' I said. But they were so...persuasive. They convinced me I'd love it. And once they both blew their loads down my throat, it was all I could think of. So after that, Yes, I loved it."
"So you blew both of them. Not just this...Ursula. Who was the other one?"
"Her name is Brit."
"Of course it is. So you weren't raped?"
"What do you mean? I told you. I was raped."
"It's obvious from the way you tell the story the memory excites you. The way I'm hearing it, this was the greatest weekend of your life. Yeah?"
No answer.
"How many times did you blow them?"
"I don't know."
"How could you not know? Twice? Three times. Give me a ballpark estimate here."
"Ten."
"You performed ten blowjobs over one weekend? Seriously?"
"Ten each."
"This is insane. Okay, how far did they get..." Sarah held up the dildo..." inside of you? Show me on this one. Come on, we've gone this far, might as well own up to it all. Start with your throat. How much of them did you take?"
"Pretty much all."
"But you said their cocks were over a foot long."
My dear husband just shrugged at that.
"What about in your ass?"
Her husband pursed his lips and whispered. "All of it."
For the first time in her marriage, possibly her entire life, Sarah was speechless. She tried to talk, she really did, but nothing would come out.
"They fucked me all weekend Sarah. They spit roasted me and traded ends to do it again. And again. And again. I was a tool, a living receptacle into which they thrust their throbbing girl cocks. Over and over, back and forth, in and out. Brit would slide her cock down my throat while Ursula drove hers into my ass, then both out. They even coordinated so as to cum together, locking arms above me."
Sarah knew she should be disgusted as her husband told the story of the Futa girls' methodical rape of his body. It shouldn't matter if it's women raping men. Right? Rape is rape. It's still wrong, still illegal as hell. She should be outraged. She should be grabbing her shotgun and roaring out in her truck to get revenge on the women who brutalized her man.
On the other hand, maybe she didn't trust her husband. She knew good and well he'd been getting tail at camp. She just couldn't prove it. Brian has cheated on her before and he probably cheated on her this past "lost" weekend.
Sarah even found herself wondering if the story about being rescued from the lake was true.
She should be vivid. She should be calling a lawyer on Monday morning and getting the fuck out of Dodge. Futa girls or not, Brian cheated on her. And she wouldn't have known had she not opened his go-bag.
Or would she?
But she wasn't feeling any of that.
As Sarah listened to her husband's rape story, something unexpected was happening deep within her core. She began to sweat. Her heart raced. She felt a tingle in her pussy and found her fingers swirling around there. They came away dripping.
Sarah looked at the straps fastened to the sexual appliance. Yes, it'd fit. This would work.
With feverish fingers, Sarah wrapped the straps around her waist and cinched them tight. She grabbed the go-bag and pulled out the bottle of lube. Upending it, she squirted a liberal amount all over her new monster appendage.
Sarah stood beside the bed wearing nothing but a pair of sexy garter nylons, sky-high heels and a stupendous, glistening black vibrating dildo strap-on, dripping with lube and sticking straight out from her core.
Brian looked into his wife's eyes and for the second time in his life, he felt fear.
"Now wait a minute!" Brian said. "No way, no fucking way."
He turned and scrambled away from her, towards the head of the bed.
Big mistake.
Sarah had grown up an outdoors girl. She was expected to do all the chores her three brothers did. Chopping wood. Hunting deer. Digging holes. Fixing cars.
Sarah was no city girl. She was no gym rat. At five-eight and a hundred-and-forty pounds, her body was tough and lean and strong. She didn't have to take shit from anybody. She could beat most city men in a fair fight and when necessary, she fights dirty.
Dirty as fuck.
Horny as fuck.
So when her red-assed husband tried to crawl away from her, she was having none of it. Sarah dove onto her husband's back and sank her claws into him, drawing from him both blood and a yelp. She got all of her weight on top of him and held him up on all fours, wrapping her legs around his waist into a scissor lock.
Sarah locked her ankles together and squeezed with everything she had.
"Sarah!" he gasped. "Sarah! Let. Me. Go."
She didn't.
She leaned into his back and wrapped her arms beneath his armpits and around his chest, grasping her hands together in front of him.
Sarah squeezed her husband's body like a boa constrictor, her powerful legs and arms locked together and hanging on for dear life. With every exhale of his breath, she tightened her grip, weaking him.
Brian was on all fours with his tiger-woman wife on top of him. Short of slamming her backwards into a wall, there wasn't much he could do about it.
He never knew how strong she was. And she wasn't letting go.
Brian was tiring. He lowered his upper body to the bed, perhaps to throw her off balance. But all it did was to open another vulnerability.
His balls and shaft swung loosely between his legs. Sarah felt his cock swing into her ankle. Without a thought, she unhooked her feet and slammed her left heel backwards, into his package.
She connected.
Right in the nuts. Sarah's heel drove the breath out of her husband's body. She released him and in a flash and dropped behind his ass.
With the butt of her palm, she roughly spread his knees apart, grabbed his hips and kneeled down onto his calves. Gasping for air, his legs trapped, he was helpless.
Now that she was in the position, she could see the bright red rosebud of his asshole.
She wanted it.
You liked it when they fucked you in the ass, didn't you Brian baby? Let's find out how much.
Sarah put the bulbous head of the rubberized vibe tool on her husband's well-used red rosebud. With a mighty shove, Sarah drove that monstrous, black, clit-festooned length of lube-glistened fake meat forward and slammed it deep inside her husband's naked ass. She drove it home in three hard pulses, then reached underneath and turned on the power.
"EiiYeeeeeeee." A high-pitched girly mewl spilled out of her husband's throat.
Her husband's screams drove her lust sky high.
She dialed up the power. To seven.
The wild vibrations tore through Sarah's under-utilized vagina and stimulated her clit unlike anything she'd ever thought possible. She began to stroke in and out of his firm male ass, driving the dildo deep into his hole while rubbing her clit around and around the tiny orgasmic rubber fingers of the tool on the instroke.
Her attack, swift as a mongoose, had shocked her husband with its force. But she didn't care; he obviously enjoyed being taken that way. She had taken control, turning her husband into a passive receptacle of a dick-girl's conquest. Her resolve hardened. He would have to take all she could dish out. She wouldn't stop until he begged her for more, more, more. She would see to it.
There's a new alpha in this house. From here on, I'm the fucking boss and you're my bitch.
He made one attempt at regaining the upper hand. Still on his knees, Brian tried to crawl away from her, to pull her out of him. She understood his game. He'd turn on her, slam her onto her back and fuck her, expecting Sarah to be the good wife and take it.
She parried his escape attempt by getting to her feet, still imbedded in his ass. Her core remained pressing down with most of her weight, her hands on his shoulders. Keeping him off balance, she shifted the rest of her weight to her core, lifting her feet off the bed. She drove one hundred and forty pounds of tiger girl into Brian's ass, holding it there as she ramped up the power to a 'ten'.
He screamed. "Sarah, please! Easy!"
By now, Sarah was almost out of her mind in lust. She railed on her husband's ass, stimulating her clitoris with those magic fingers on every stroke in a wild frenzy of wanton sexual abandon.
"You've been fucking other women at camp, haven't you?" she growled. When he didn't respond she screamed "HAVEN'T YOU? Don't fucking lie to me. Haven't you?"
Taking his silence for confirmation, she bottomed out and swirled her clit into the vibrator and exploded. Her orgasm swept over her, rendering her into a shaking, vibrating rag doll. Multi-orgasmic, Sarah knew this first was only the beginning.
She realized she had a wonderful advantage over any man. Her new girl-dick would never go soft; her reckless libido would only grow with each shuddering orgasm.
She gripped onto his hips for strength and slammed into him. The shaft moved smoothly in and out of his ass, every instroke tickling her clit and building another. Still kneeling on his calves, she had leverage over him and was not about to cede her advantage.
But then she noticed something she hadn't expected. Her husband began to sink back to meet her thrusts. When she pulled out, he leaned back.
He liked it.
She knew his prostate was getting the full treatment. She leaned over him and reached down to grab his rock-hardness. Getting it fully in her hand, she squeeeeeeezed it, digging her fingers into his soft orgasmic glans.
Brian screamed as his dick spasmed in her hand. His spurts timed with her thrusts onto his prostate and she knew it was the most intense orgasm she'd ever given him.
But even if her husband might be done, she wasn't. Not by a long shot.
In her orgasmic stupor, Sarah's strength grew. She wailed on his ass, pounding him over and over and over, all her frustrations, all the missing chances.
All his infidelity came rising up like bile, to be spit out and rammed right back into his girly ass.
Sarah came again. And again.
Beneath her, Brian was exhausted. That wasn't a problem for her. Even if he'd probably had enough, she had not.
She slid the vibrating tool all the way inside his ass, right to the hilt. Sarah wrapped her legs around her husband's thighs, forcing him to lay flat on his stomach. She locked her ankles together. She curled her arms around his chest from behind and clasped her hands together.
She was locked onto him, her hold unbreakable, especially in his weakened condition.
"Sarah!" he cried weakly. "Sarah please get off of me. Please."
"Fuck you, Brian. Those girls fucked you all weekend. You can damn well lie here and take it from your wife!"
She had him in every way. Physically, emotionally. Sexually.
This time she didn't pound him. The urgency was gone. He was her prisoner; he wasn't getting away. So she took her time fucking him.
Still hilted, she stopped stroking. She wiggled her ass a bit to gain maximum contact with her swollen clitoris. Still holding her husband secure, Sarah rotated her core slowly, sensually, building her pussy into something really fucking special.
She nuzzled into the back of his neck. "Stay with me, baby. We're going to lay here for a time while I have my way with you. Mmmmm, my pussy feels so nice. Does this feel good? Do you feel all filled up? Do you love it when I ass fuck you? You love it, don't you baby?"
Beneath her, Brian just groaned. His resistance was shattered.
But Sarah needed him in the game. She gave the dildo a hard stroke, pushing a gasp out of his lungs. "Don't you baby? Hmmmm? Don't you love this?"
"Please Sarah," her cheating husband choked. "Enough."
That pissed her off. She'd been feeling soooo good.
"Not fair Brian. Not fair at all. I want mine. Give it to me. Give me your acceptance or we are done. Submit to me. Submit. Submit."
Sarah rotated her core around his ass more vigorously. She was punishing him for all his past infidelities, all his emotional absences. Now that she was taking back her joy, she wasn't going to let him deny her.
Getting maximum contact, she swirled around and around his ass. Her clit was on fire.
"Okay, Sarah, Yes. Yes. Do it. Fuck me. Fuck he hard in the ass. I deserve it. I want it. I love it."
At his words, Sarah's pussy exploded. Her vision filled with stars. Electric joy radiated from her pussy and swamped over her entire body. Sarah writhed and squirmed atop her man, rutting into his well-used ass, enhancing her orgasm, extending it. On and on and on she came. In the heat of pure lust, her arms and legs gained strength beyond belief. Her grasp of him tightened to crushing levels. Her legs, strong from a life of outdoor work, squeeeeeezed his to nearly the breaking point. Her arms pushed the air from his lungs and threatened to break a rib or two. She was that far out of her mind.
Never had she ever cum like that. What had she been missing these last ten years?
Missed opportunities.
Well no more. She knew at last what she had to do.
When finally she was done fucking his ass Sarah pulled out and let her husband have his rest at last. She fell on her back beside her unconscious mate and caught her breath.
And she developed her plan.
***
Next morning, Sarah awoke bright and early beside her sleeping husband. She put her hand on his shoulder, but he was dead to the world.
Sarah kicked off the sheet draped over her body.
She was a little stiff from her adventures of last night, but not too sore. With a feeling of grim satisfaction, she did not expect the same report from her husband.
Sarah extended her full-body stretch as far as her limbs would allow. She felt luxuriously decadent. For the first time since she could barely remember, she was completely sexually sated.
Simple explanations escaped her. The feel of the nylons had been transcendent. Who knew? They'd gotten her started. They made her feel sexy, feminine, and so alive. When she picked up the huge rubbery dick and felt it in her hands, at once rock-hard and yet pliable, her pussy tingled. But when she'd spotted her husband's well-ploughed ass, realizing it had been plundered while he'd been away, a fire she'd never before experienced had swept over her, blinding her with lust and need, filling her with overwhelming thoughts of domination and violence and simple, raw, animal thrusting.
Sarah didn't know if she and Brian would get through this. His infidelity had still not been fully articulated, let alone thoroughly discussed. She was beyond angry with him. But she wasn't leaving him. Not just yet.
Some inner force had awakened within her. She was determined to see it through.
Laying on her back and staring at the ceiling beside her sleeping man, she refined her plans. Delicious plans.
Vengeful plans.
The house basement. It was still roughed in and raw. She'd seen the potential for a great space to entertain, to play games, work out, maybe watch movies. She had been making plans to do the work herself given Brian's long absences at logging camp.
An idea for a different use for that virgin space swirled in the mists of her mind, slowly taking shape, firming up. Becoming real.
During his absences, she'd read stories. Hot, erotic stories. Stories about wives cheating. About big black cock. Group sex. Even stories about Mother-Son incest. But none got her more excited, more wet, than stories about female dominants. Sarah recalled one particularly intense story about a wife who had grown tired of the vanilla sex her husband was offering her. So she upped her game. Changed her work wardrobe and started dressing in front of him in stockings and garters that she wore only for the office. Fuck-me heels and tight pencil skirts. When her husband got suspicious that she was fucking around on him, she went crazy on his ass, 'how dare you accuse me of cheating', that sort of thing. She told him if he ever wanted to fuck her again, there would have to be changes. She was going to start making the decisions. He was going to have to satisfy her before he got any. The turning point came when she had him lying on his back on the living room floor. He was naked, with his dick ramrod straight and throbbing. She was fully dressed in her tightest black leather miniskirt, thigh high black leather stiletto boots and tight silk bustier with plunging neckline.
She'd put her high-heeled foot on his chest and stared down at him. She'd let him cum if he called her mistress and gave her three orgasms before he got his. And when it was over and they'd both cum as she'd demanded, he was devoted to her. Over the next few weeks, she amped up her domination. She made him lick her pussy 'til she came, and then she'd just get up and take her shower. She'd make him take her out on the town, where she dressed in leather and lace Domme fetish wear, while making him wear a cock cage. At the clubs, she'd flirt with men shamelessly, dance with them, invite them to their table while she toyed with her husband's key. But unless he strayed, that was as far as she took it. He got the message and followed her around like a slathering dog, begging to serve her on the off chance she'd have sex with him. She'd upped her game even further, often tying him up for hours and torturing him by masturbating in front of him with her vibrator to the images of men from her office on her phone.
She was never unfaithful, but she sure got his attention. It gave them each what they needed and fixed their marriage.
When she'd finished reading the story, Sarah was soaking wet having cum twice by her hand.
These were the stories she'd loved. But it was only fantasy.
Right?
She thought about those thigh-high leather boots, sheer dark nylons, leather bustiers, studded chokers. Restraints, whips, blinds, pincers, ball busters, cages, anal plugs, gigantic super-powered vibrating monster dildos. Restraint tables, sex chairs. Guest chairs.
Her favorite Literotica story hadn't included the wife fucking her husband in the ass. Sarah smiled and thought more about the story. She thought 'the story isn't exactly what I want, but maybe I can 'make it my own'?
She'd loved abusing her husband's ass last night. It all fit with the fantasy she'd been developing. Brian had shown her he liked it rough. And he likes to pretend reluctance and non-consent.
She made a mental note to research basement sound proofing.
Couldn't have the neighbors hearing his screams.
The sheet between her legs was soaking wet. She swirled two fingers around her clit and inside her pussy, for just a moment.
That's all it took. Her plans had made her hot and needy.
She came like a rhino, the full-body orgasm swamping over her.
Recovering her breathing, she glanced over at her husband's prone form. And she smiled. Finally, she thought, she had a use for him.
She rose from the bed, leaving him snoring. She had a quick shower, made the coffee, and pulled together a couple of breakfast wraps. She dressed in her tightest jeans-and-tank-top combo. No bra. And a pair of Brian's gorgeous sexy nylons. She dug in her closet and found some high-heeled boots she'd bought on a whim during a vacation trip to Texas.
She looked in the mirror with satisfaction, preening her hair and touching up what sparse makeup she wore, then gathered up a change of clothes for Brian.
She grabbed the vibrators, extra nylons, and lube and packed them back into the go-bag along with a change of clothes for her. Dropping it by the front door, she climbed the stairs to the master bedroom.
Sarah shook her husband awake, not gently. "Brian, it's time. Up, up, get up."
Sleepy-eyed and groggy, Brian sat up. "What? Where am I? Oh, Sarah, uhhh." He rubbed his eyes and looked at his wife. "What's up?"
"Get up, Brian. We're going to see your girlfriends."
"What girlfriends? Who? You mean, no, no, no. You don't mean..."
"Oh yes I do. And you, dear husband, are coming with me."
"Wait. Are you talking about Brit and Ursula?"
"Sure am. Right now. Up."
Still dazed from the roughest sex he'd ever had with his wife, he reluctantly swung his feet to the floor. Sarah got him dressed in a flash. She enjoyed seeing him half limping down the stairs.
She gave as good as she got.
Thrusting a coffee thermos into his hand, she picked up the go-bag and frog marched her sleepy husband to the truck. She smiled to herself, taking wry satisfaction as Brian gingerly eased into the passenger seat. His ass was extremely tender, probably in hot pain. After helping him with his seatbelt as if he were a toddler, she slammed the door and rounded the truck to the driver's side. Firing up the big F-350, she backed out of the drive and roared into the woods.
Next stop: Camp Futanari.
Sarah was going to find out what the fuss was all about. She was especially intrigued to meet the mysterious Futa Alpha Dommes of Cabin 2.
She smiled to herself. A devious plan had formed in her brain overnight. She hoped the dozen or so self-described monster sluts will accept her peace offering and buy into her plan.
For most of the drive, Brian leaned into the passenger window and snored. She let him be. He was going to need all the rest he could get once she delivered him back into the maw of Camp Futanari. Her plan was to feed her cheating husband to the dozen or so self-described monster sluts, gift wrapped and ready for them to use, abuse and generally fuck the living shit out of him over the next three days and nights.
If two were heaven, twelve should be transcendent.
This would free Sarah to talk with Brit and Ursula. And if she was tempted, then why not?
Sarah's pussy warmed in anticipation of their arrival. She thought about slipping her fingers inside her jeans during the drive but decided that building anticipation was worth holding off.
Masturbating while driving her truck?
Such a thought had never even remotely entered Sarah's brain. Until now.
What was happening to her?
All she knew was that some unseen force was driving her forward, into the unknown. Could the Futa pheromones still be attached to Brian? Had they burrowed into her brain as they had so clearly subjugated Brian's?
When she was close to the camp, at least according to Brian's directions, Sarah shook her husband's shoulder. She was facing a fork in the road, each one taking a different path around the lake. Of course, there were no signs for Camp Futanari.
"Brian, wake up. Which road? Which way is the camp?"
Brian reluctantly sat up and groaned at the pain in his ass. The left fork was ploughed and sanded, the other had only two snowcat tracks. He pointed right.
Sarah wheeled the big 4X4 down the snowy path. She soon encountered a heavy steel gate. A steel arch bridged a dozen feet above the road with a heavy carved-wood sign.
Private Property.
Trespassers will be harshly dealt with.
The gate was not locked. The only tracks in and out were those of a snow cat.
Seems like the right place.
After getting through the gate and closing it behind her, Sarah climbed back into her 4X4 and headed down the lonely forest road. The trees here looked somehow more sinister. Darker. Bushier. Much more tightly packed together.
The effect was not lost on her husband. "Sarah, maybe this isn't such a good idea. You have no idea how dangerous these - these Futa women are. I think we may be in over our heads."
Sarah thought about that for a moment, then rejected his concerns outright. He was one to talk. He'd already had the greatest sex of his life here.
Little did Brian know his wife's pussy was soaking wet and throbbing. No force on Earth was going to stop her from seeing what the fuss is all about. These Futa were the epitome of the alpha dominant female. Sarah had this one chance to see it all for herself. She knew she'd regret it all her life if she didn't grab this opportunity by the throat and see it through.
"Suck it up, Brian. It's happening."
"I - I don't think I'm ready for another round with these monsters girls, Sarah. You have no idea what -."
Sarah stopped the truck. "Brian, I want to understand this. I need to know what's going on. You've cheated on me - call it what you want, but you willingly had sex with two women. Even if, as you claim, they raped you first. You've told me you enjoyed it, and you were all in after the first time."
"But, not at first."
"How hard did you resist? Come on, be fucking honest for a change. Two gorgeous women, a roaring fire, snowed in together for days. Every man's fantasy, right? So tell me, husband. No more bullshit. Was it rape?"
Brian's first instinct was to deny, deny, deny. But Sarah saw it in his eyes. She saw it all.
"I'll turn around right here if that's what you want," Sarah said. "But that means we're done. I don't believe you anymore Brian, and that fact alone probably means we're done. But unless I get some real answers, we may as well start looking for lawyers."
"I don't want to lose you."
"Could have fooled me."
"How can I make this right?"
"Shut up and let me drive."
Sarah met his gaze. She wanted him to confess, to tell her everything. Not just what happened. But why. What was he feeling? What had been missing in their marriage that made him so - needy?
But what about her? A fire had been kindled deep within. She had to see it through. She had no illusions these worlds would merge. She was at a crossroads herself and she didn't yet know which one to take.
The answers were not coming from him. They were down a lonely forest road.
Brian nodded towards the windshield. Sarah set her jaw and put the 4X4 back in gear.
They entered a small village of massive, two-storey log homes lining a winding narrow lane. Each home was set back from the road, some up to a hundred or more feet. Each home site had been cleared of just enough trees for a narrow driveway and for the home itself. The dense forest grew tight to each home like shroud. Sarah crept along the winding lane until she came to its end. She'd passed at least a dozen homes and what looked like a community center complex of three buildings, all made with thick, rough-hewn logs.
The end of the road was punctuated by a circular turnaround, which she navigated. Coming back in the direction of the camp entrance, Sarah scanned the cabins for signs of life.
"Which one was it? Which cabin do Brit and Ursula live in?"
Brian sat forward and scrunched up his eyes to see in the approaching gloom. It was already 4:00 PM and night was fast approaching. "I can't tell. I wasn't conscious when they brought me in. When I left, the snow cat windows were pretty fogged up."
Brian was no help, so Sarah scanned the cabins for lights. According to her husband, the main camp inhabitants would not yet have returned to camp, as the storm had only very recently abated and the roads were only now being cleared. So if they could find a cabin with the lights on, they could at least knock on the door and ask for directions.
Sarah turned into the driveway of the first cabin with lights. It was one of the largest private dwellings in the campsite, and while the lights were dim, several windows were illuminated. Whoever lived here would know which cabin was Brit and Ursula's, Sarah reasoned.
Pulling up to the path leading to the cabin front door, Sarah shut off the engine. She took a deep breath.
As she was about to exit the truck, Brian put a hand on her forearm. "I've got a bad feeling about this Sarah. You don't know what these monster sluts are capable of. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen."
Sarah patted his hand, forcing herself to be civil to him. This was the scene of Brian's infidelity and she wasn't overly sympathetic to his protests. Besides, she was tired of driving on slippery roads in this gloom. She definitely did not want to drive for three hours back home in the dark in these conditions. That decision had been made.
I've got this.
Hopefully this was Brit and Ursula's cabin. She was looking forward to meeting the women who had raped and seduced (in that order) her husband. She wasn't angry with them. She was more curious.
And still horny.
"Come on Brian. We've come this far. We're going in."
Sarah opened the truck door and waited for Brian to trudge around the vehicle to join her. They ploughed through the deep snow, up the short path to the front porch. On the door was a rough-hewn wooden sign. It was illegible. Wind-driven snow had caked onto the lettering, obscuring it.
Sarah brushed away the packed snow. The sign itself was of rough texture and in the minus ten cold, the snow adhered like glue. She pulled out her pocketknife and tapped the butt end on the sign. Enough snow and ice fell off to reveal two letters.
'ab'.
Sarah rotated out the blade and carved out another letter.
'Cab'.
"Sarah, wait."
"Shush", she said, still carving.
'Cabin'.
From the width of the sign, it was apparent there was only one more character. She loosened the ice from the sign with the point of her knife while brushing it away with the other hand.
Finally, a big chunk of ice fell away and Sarah stepped back to admire the product of her efforts.
"Cabin 2".
Brian gasped. "Sarah, we have GOT to get out of here."
His wife was about to knock when Brian snatched her arm away from the door.
"Sarah!" Brian's voice was a harsh whisper. Sarah thought he sounded - frightened.
She turned to him. "What is it? If this isn't Brit and Ursula's place, they'll know which one is."
"You don't understand. This is Cabin 2!"
"I can see that."
"This is NOT okay." He started to back away. "Trust me honey, this is all wrong. We gotta go. We gotta go NOW."
"So there's a bunch of Futa women in here. They'll help us."
"No. They won't. They'll eat us alive!" Brian started to turn back towards the truck. "Come on! Let's get out of here."
Sarah sighed. He's such a baby. Her husband turned away from the front door towards the truck.
"Oomph!!"
Startled, Sarah whipped around to face three stupendous forms blocking the path. Brian had stumbled into one of them.
She sucked in a breath. They were women. But not just any women. Each was more than a foot taller than she and Brian - one even more. They wore form-fitting winter outerwear of the type some women wear to posh winter resorts. Such women weren't there to ski, but rather to show off their hourglass bodies and long, lean legs.
But it was their faces that got Sarah's attention.
These women weren't just beautiful. They were goddesses. White-blonde hair, hollow cheeks, full lips and bright blue eyes. They were Nordic princesses of the highest order.
And one of them had wrapped her arms around her husband's shoulders. The other two stepped up and blocked the path completely.
"Look girls," said one of them. "Fresh meat."