Just One Drink (60 page)

I was not especially fucking nuts about this plan by any means whatsoever, and as I mounted him and began to thrust to his moans of perverse enjoyment, I seriously began to wonder just what the hell I had allowed this relationship to become.

But, through all of it, I never quite gave up on the notion that this could all just be a passing phase, that he would either start to tone down his many requests once all of this intense fucking was out of his system, or perhaps I would be the one to adjust and get used to his various kinks. I mean, I knew it wasn't especially unusual for couples to play around like this in the bedroom. I just thought it was unusual for the variety and intensity of such kinkiness to be quite this severe, or as one-sided as ours was to say the very fucking least.

Still though, our weird sex life aside, I just couldn't help but find myself emotionally attached to Philip as a lover, sex being an anomaly in terms of the otherwise wonderful and harmonious life the two of us shared together. It all came back around to compromise, I decided, and I tried to still my resolve in such a manner that reflected that. No couple's dynamic is absolutely perfect, and I shouldn't have reasonably expected that from what Philip and I shared either.

I could live with this part of the deal if it was absolutely necessary, grateful as I was to have a man like him in my life at all, and deciding that, as rare as a connection as was that the two of us shared, a little bit of stretching my comfort zone in the bedroom was not all that much of a compromise.

The straw that broke the camel's back, however, eventually came when Philip made a very specific and, frankly, quite unreasonable request. It actually stunned me when the words passed forth from his lips, leaving me astonished and thinking that, perhaps, I had misheard him upon his saying it. I asked him to repeat it, and sure enough, it was precisely what I had thought he said. I felt myself completely devoid of the language necessary to respond to such a request.

Predictably enough, it was something he had cooked up with some inspiration from his copious consumption of porn, although it wasn't really something I would have expected him to ask of me in a million fucking years... Quite simply put, Philip wanted me to cuckold him- to watch another man have sex with me on our own shared bed, and in front of his very eyes. I was floored by it, my mind boggled by the fact that he'd even had the gull to make such a request.

I closed my eyes, a migraine suddenly overtaking me quite thoroughly as I tried to formulate some sort of response that could even begin to verge on adequate. Yet, for the very life of me, I couldn't even seem to decipher what the hell would have even turned him on about the idea of having another man fuck me, given that seeing another woman having sex with the man I loved would have caused me to snap and want to claw her eyes out in a heartbeat.

I must have remained silent and unresponsive for ten fucking minutes upon his making of the request. Sitting with my eyes closed and keeping my breathing as measured as I could make it as I struggled to maintain some semblance of composure. I could feel my hands balling up into fists of their own involuntary accord, and I was only too aware of the fact of my nostrils flaring like a damn lizard as the anger pumped readily through my body.

And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure what it was that changed things for me. I don't know what sort of switch was flipped in my brain or what sudden realization washed over me, or whether it was simple resignation that led to the unknotting of my insides. The massive exhalation of breath and the gentle fluttering open of my miserable eyelids.

I just didn't care anymore. I was done resisting, done putting up any front of sexual propriety or sane intimate conduct... Objectively, I supposed there was no moral right or wrong to it, and as fucking uncomfortable as I was at the notion of his proposal, I was just too tired of trying to talk sense into him. It was either give into his requests or walk out of the relationship. I thought for some reason, and at the present point in time I didn't have any sort of willpower to start anew with someone else.

I tried to rationalize it to myself as best I could, and as I actually began to visualize it, the kinkiness of it did begin to arouse me just the least bit. I mean, it had seemed like ages since I'd introduced my naked body to a new and unknown man. If nothing else, it would shake things up to some degree, add a dash of spice and danger to my existence, even if I did still harbor quite the bit of reservation about the prospect all the while.

Sighing heavily, I agreed to allow Philip to begin looking for his cuckold, with me, of course, holding the final say as far as the candidate selected was concerned.

And in no time at all, there he was, a stranger coming into our apartment like it was nothing at all. Mark was his name, and in my present anger with Philip at the time, I had to say he was looking pretty damn good to me... I mean, in general, I couldn't begin to deny that he was a handsome little fucker. He had dark hair and a positively stunning face, masculine but delicate, with penetrating eyes and a smile that could practically melt the panties damn clean off of me with one glance.

His body, meanwhile, was a glorious sight to behold, his physique indicative of an almost obsessively healthy lifestyle, with muscular features and a wide frame, the overall package something any straight woman in her right mind would surely crave.

It did, admittedly, take a bit of warming up before things could really get underway between the two of us- or three of us, if you counted Philip cheering us on from the sidelines. The three of us came into the bedroom, a surreal feeling as any, you can bet your sweet ass, and Mark and I each sat down on the bed. The creaking of the springs beneath our weight was incredibly awkward for some reason, and I found myself looking away, gasping for a moment.

The weirdness of the situation really hitting home for me in an undeniable way as the stillness of the room settled in around us. My eyes then fell to the corner of the room, in which Philip was seated on a chair set up for his monitoring of the situation, fully dressed but, I could tell from the crotch of his jeans, sporting quite the bulge of erection before the two of us had even begun.

I shuddered, and then turned back to Mark, testing myself by staring into his eyes for as long as possible before feeling the overwhelming urge to turn away. I then cleared my throat, my cheeks beet red I could tell, and asked him if he'd like something to drink before we got started.

For my part, I was certain that I would need a generous shot of alcohol in me before things could get underway, and indeed my hands trembled as I poured out two generous glasses of wine. Mark and I clinked our glasses together in an awkward toast, and I downed the contents of my own glass in almost a single gulp, practically choking myself on the stuff, and my heart pounding in my ears as I watched Mark finish up his own.

Finally, it felt impossible to delay the proceedings any longer, and the two of us set our glasses aside. It started very gently at first, almost sweetly so- or rather, it may have felt sweet if the circumstances had been different, but still I couldn't help but be charmed by Mark's consideration for me in what was clearly a tense situation. He began to touch me, very, very lightly at first, though not in any way that might have seemed overtly sexual to the untrained eye. It was bizarrely erotic as the warmth of his fingers burned through my skin and lit up my every nerve, sending shivers down my spine and causing goosebumps to erupt across my flesh.

It felt as though I was just beginning to thaw out a bit, though, and accordingly I felt it only proper that I reach up and reciprocate his efforts. His own skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch, a bit damp from perspiration perhaps, but overall quite wonderful. I loved the chiseled nature of his features, and the act of peering into those mesmerizing eyes of his became far, far easier the longer I attempted it.

And finally, I began to lean into him, slowly, very slowly, and in the very very back of my mind I was distantly aware of Philip leaning forward in his chair to gawk at us as we neared one another's lips. But, at this point, I was so swept up by the mood and the tipsiness of the alcohol that the presence of my boyfriend was an entirely secondary matter. In fact, it began to feel as though he was no longer in the room at all, disappeared suddenly and without warning, and leaving me to do something very, very naughty with this quite devilishly handsome stranger.

And then our lips met.

Sparks of sensation began to surge from my mouth into the rest of my anatomy, causing me to gasp and inhale Mark's breath and to tremble as the sweet, sweet air swept into my lungs. All inhibition seemed to bleed away in that moment, all thought ceasing, as I was inundated by the glorious sensations of romance, the miraculous fact of supervised infidelity, and the splendor of giving myself up to a strange and potentially dangerous new male presence in my life.

We pulled apart after what must have been several minutes. Staring into one another's eyes, and my desire for him at last uncorked to the extent it needed to be. Then, the two of us flung back into one another at almost devastating speed, and all hell broke loose right there on the spot. This time around, the two of us kissed like there was absolutely no fucking tomorrow.

Our mouths locked together as though to never again be separated, our arms wrapping around one another and our hands sliding greedily along every warm surface. Every sweet nook and every crevice, feeling one another up, massaging and caressing with such glorious reverence that I began to shudder beneath the sweet splendor of his touch.

It was a sheer beauty of an affair to say the least. Hot and sticky and agonizing, one act flowing into the next with almost undetectable transition. After some time of the two of us locking lips and swapping spit in this manner, my new lover began to peel me out of my clothes. Article by article by article, denuding me of my blouse and my skirt, and spending a dreadful amount of time on my lingerie.

He playfully worked the straps up and down as though threatening to finish the job but never progressing all the way. The warm sliding of his palms an agonizing experience, and the sweat percolating from my pores as the moments ticked by. At last, he did get around to stripping me of my bra and tossing the fabric off the bed, promptly bringing his face to my titties and suckling on me like a fucking newborn.

His tongue rolled in slow, agonizing circles around the perimeter of my nipples, his teeth sinking lightly into me, and causing the flesh to grow hard, erect, and sensitized with arousal. I moaned as though the life itself was flowing out of me, and shook with pleasure as he seized the opposite tit in his fingers, squeezing it tightly, and nearly causing me to collapse from the sensation.

Then, when I was thoroughly putty beneath his grip, he pulled away from me, leaning back, and peeling out of his own shirt. I gazed in awe for several moments at the sweaty, heaving plains of his musculature, his pecs and his six-pack abdominals, and certainly not least of all the deeply cut V-lines of his Adonis muscles, mouthwatering and decadent. So rich that I could barely stand to look at them for long without feeling overwhelmed.

He fell gently back down onto me, descending onto my body like a blanket and ravishing me with his warmth. After so much temptation he put his hands on the waistline of my panties, slowly beginning to slide me out of them. To dredge the fabric down, down, down along me, from my waist to my thighs to my knees, all the way down to around my ankles. Then, he proceeded to push my thighs wide open, my buttocks trembling as I braced myself for his arrival, his head drifting forward as though to unbirth himself, and my eyelids drifting slowly shut.

I started, shrieking with pleasure as I felt the hot, wet spade of his tongue piercing softly into me, scraping into the floral folds of my pussy and scooping up through my anatomy in a manner that defies description. He kissed my cunt, and tasted me as though its flavor was perhaps the most decadent thing he had ever before had the pleasure of devouring. He licked and lapped and suckled on my pussy with the most agonizing of slowness, gradually working his head into a bobbing, agonizing rhythm, and my thighs beginning to tremble uncontrollably as he progressed his way through my body.

My knees begin to collapse around his beautiful, bobbing head, seeming as though they might reasonably cave in his skull with pressure as the sensations racked my body, my nerves lighting up like the lights of a fucking Christmas tree, and my anatomy so boggled with pleasure that I couldn't have told you which way was up.

And then, after what seemed a lifetime of this torment, Mark's tongue hit my sweet spot, and I began to moan with orgasm, my spine arching and my buttocks clenching, every inch of my flesh seeming to convulse and to tighten, then to slacken and unravel as I slowly drifted back down. The waves of climax like some destructive force, and yet the agony, I knew, only just beginning.