After they’d been experimenting with the dildo for a couple of weeks, Nora told Jeffrey she thought she’d like to try taking a lover.
The dildo had been his idea. She had been wondering what it was about size that so intrigued some women, and the more she read about it and talked about it with certain friends, the more curious and obsessed with the idea she felt herself becoming.
When she’d brought it up with Jeffrey, he’d said, Well, he could hardly do anything about how nature made him. She said I know, but what are we going to do about this. He replied, well, we could try getting a toy to play with. From the way her eyes had lit up, he knew he had pleased her, though he had the impression just for an instant that she’d misunderstood what he meant somehow.
But in any case they searched the online catalogues, found something she liked, and it arrived in a plain package a few days later.
It seemed to be enough, at least at first. Pleased as he was that she was so happy with this solution, there were things about it that disturbed him.
One, of course, was the fact that she liked it so much, that it fed some hunger he couldn’t satisfy all alone. He shouldn’t feel inadequate, she told him, it was just a game, something they were doing together after all.
Another was that he felt himself changing in respect to the thing and what his own preferences were. She liked teasing him with it, staring into his eyes while playing with it as if it were a real cock. Licking along it and going Mmmmmm, all the while gazing boldly at him, inviting him to enjoy her performance. This teasing element became more and more pronounced. He had to be involved too-this was something they were doing together, after all, part of their lovemaking-and it excited her for him to lubricate it for her, to put it in her and fuck her with it. It excited her to watch him do that, and though he tried to maintain a strictly functional attitude she really liked it when his gestures resembled the kinds of things she liked to do with it: stroking the lubricant on more sensually. Once, when just as a kind of joke or tease he made a ring with his fingers and stroked up and down on the thing, her eyes went huge and she got very excited. Oh yeah, she said. Oh baby.
Increasingly it was a scary thing for him: he felt some kind of barrier threatening to come down and he was not sure he wanted it to. That he was being led on by his own excitement into some dark territory he didn’t want to enter, but couldn’t help himself. It was her excitement, really, that was doing it: it excited him so much to see her get so aroused, and so a kind of feedback circuit was developing. And he was increasingly helpless to resist it, which scared him even more.
One night when the lubricant bottle was empty she said That’s okay, you can get it nice and wet for me.
After that, it became a regular thing. She didn’t know what it was that excited her so much about it, but she loved watching him do it. He tried to pretend it was just a functional thing, but it was impossible of course. The symbolism of getting it wet for her, licking along it, putting it in his mouth, was unmistakable and excruciatingly exciting for them both. The more he acted it out, the more it thrilled her, and her arousal was infectious, irresistible. In broad daylight he found it hard to believe some of the things he was letting her make him do, yet despite all his resolutions to make a stand, try to get things back to what he used to consider normal, her excitement led them on. In the moment, he found it all the more seductive that the things she liked were so transgressive, so taboo for him. Running his lips along it, his tongue, as she looked on in fascination. God, she said, that is so hot.
And then she told him she wanted to try it, wanted to take a lover. There was a guy at work, a really sexy guy. One of her friends had been indiscreet, had told him about their little chats and how she was fascinated by the thought of a guy with a really big one, and twice now the guy had flirted with her, come on to her. Do I know him, Jeffrey asked, stalling as he tried to get his thoughts together. No, she didn’t think so, most of the people he’d met were in her department, Marketing, and he was down in Shipping.
It all excited her intensely, she told him, not taking note of Jeffrey’s immediate reaction. She’d tried to be discreet, asking around about him, but the knowing looks she got made her feel naughty and kind of slutty and that actually added to her excitement. Because she was married, yet here she was asking around about this guy who all the women confirmed was, yeah, really huge, and gave her this little raised eyebrow look. How do you know, she’d asked, and apparently there’d been this pool party the year before she’d started at the firm and he’d worn a speedo and shamed all the other guys and intrigued the women no end. A few of the more attractive ones, some of them married themselves, had had a fling with him, hence the raised-eyebrow looks when she asked around about him.
But that just added to the thrill, she said, the fact that it would be adulterous, illicit, that she would be “cheating,” being promiscuous. The thought of being the kind of woman who went outside her marriage, who slept with some guy because he was big and she wanted a thrill, excited her. Not that she would really go behind Jeffrey’s back; she liked the idea of him knowing about it. Unless he wanted her to. That could be exciting too, sneaking around, trying to keep it secret and Jeffrey catching little hints and clues and indications. They could play it that way too. Whichever. But she was really intrigued by the idea.
Geez, I don’t know, Jeffrey began, but the momentum of her excitement carried her on.
Because she really thought she wasn’t going to be able to resist, she was saying. He’d come on to her twice now, the first time just verbally flirting, the second time coming up behind her when she’d gone down to the loading dock to check whether her brochures had arrived. His hands on her shoulders, then her waist, pulling her close. The helpless feeling, being held and controlled by the hands on her hips, and the heat of him through her skirt, pressing against her ass. Soft, but she could tell it was there, and very big, and then she could actually feel it stiffening against her. This incredible animalistic feeling of the thing, arrogant and big against her, size its own justification. We can’t, Derek, she said, I’m married, the little gasp in her voice betraying her, and he’d laughed and said, Right, right, you married, and held her against him a little while longer, just making the point, both of them aware how exciting this was, how little she was doing to resist him.
It had been fiercely exciting, she told Jeffrey; she’d felt just totally abandoned to this animalistic thing between them, the huge cock, and beyond that of course the whole black man-white woman thing which was very primal and powerful.
He’s black, Jeffrey said, rather taken aback.
I didn’t tell you? she said. I thought I’d told you. Anyway, yes, that was part of what made it so illicit, so horny and abandoned and exciting.
In the end, though, somehow Jeffrey roused himself from the strange torpor he was falling into and said No, he really didn’t think he was ready for something like this, it scared him too much. Which his brain told him he really meant, yet somehow the words felt like they had no force even as he spoke them. And she said, Of course it would be very naughty to cheat on him behind his back, she would never do something so naughty if she could avoid it.
Though it was only fair to tell him she didn’t know what might happen if circumstances arose beyond her control.
Pt II
-He had told her “no”-
It was a couple of weeks later that things once again came to a head, so to speak.
His awareness that she was, in fact, cheating on him, had been a gradual thing. He had told her “no,” and part of him had believed her when she said she probably wouldn’t, not without his permission, but another part of him seemed to have ideas of its own.
He was cleaning out her car in the do-it-yourself car wash when he found the remains of the little foil packet under the seat. Not the first piece of evidence he’d encountered, by any means, but by far the most unequivocal. He had enjoyed maybe a week of grace after her ambiguous promise not to sleep with Derek before there had begun to be… indications.
It was not unusual that her position required her to work late, but under the circumstances the first such occasion after their talk filled him with anxiety. Was he wishing she was up to something, or fearing it, he asked himself as he sat on the couch, utterly failing to focus on the programs that unreeled across the TV screen in front of him, one after the other. It got to be 9:00, 10:00. Ten wasn’t unusual, he told himself. She’d worked that late before. He was tempted to call her office, but the weird mix of feelings prevented him. A strange, floating lassitude. Sick with anxiety, yet filled with an insistent, tingling, head-buzzing excitement at the thought that at that very moment their relationship might be changing in ways that couldn’t be predicted, that at that very moment she might be laughingly exploring the thrill of letting another man take her.
In the end, she arrived home around 10:30, with no outward signs of anything unusual having occurred. Perhaps she was less fagged from the long workday than usual, he thought, but nothing to show for sure one way or the other. Perhaps nothing had changed, he told himself, with a mix of feelings, but in fact he knew that was a lie. One thing had changed. He had, in the end, yielded to the strange, mastering impulse that had grown in him as he awaited her return. Muting the TV, slipping his hand inside his pants to caress the erection he’d been unable to suppress all evening. Whether she had done it or not, he had broken down and masturbated, filling a Kleenex with his helpless offering to the idea that she was in fact letting Derek take her for the first time that night.
Over the next two weeks, though, his suspicions began to find more concrete fuel to feed on. Long before their second little confrontation, it was clear that she wanted him to know, that she was toying with him. Having her cake and eating it too: the thrill of sneaking around, the little tests that reassured her he wouldn’t object even if he knew. Mussed panties in the hamper. Little evidences that she’d been home during the day at some point, even though she wide-eyed denied it, sounding maybe just a little too innocent. That was maddening, the thought that maybe she’d been with a lover in their marital bed. The pair of used highball glasses on the end table. The little I-get-to-have-what-I-want look she gave him when he picked them up to take to the kitchen.
A few days later he came home and heard her on the phone in the study. God, Donna, she was saying, you were right, he’s incredible…. No, never, this is the first… No I didn’t tell him yet, but I think maybe he knows. It’s like you said, they seem to sense something, an alpha male kind of thing. It’s kind of cute, really, how helpless they are. Brain says one thing and their-oops, he’s home. Can’t talk now-I’ll tell you later. Bye.
And then her eyes meeting his: Hi honey, how was your day?
It was only after about three weeks that this phase of things ended. He came home one evening to find her at her makeup table as if getting ready to go out.
“We have plans tonight?” he asked. She finished the little line she was tracing around her lips with a tiny brush, then glanced up at him in the mirror.
“I’ve asked someone from work over tonight. Derek-I told you about him. He’s coming around 7:00.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t be like that. He’s sweet and fun, you’ll like him.”
That strange head-buzzing feeling, so much more intense than before. Even the games she made him play with the dildo hadn’t made him feel like this. His face felt hot and he knew he was blushing beet red. She was looking at him, looking right through him, he thought, that little half-smile.
“I want you to be nice, “ she said. “I expect you to be a perfect gentleman.”
pt III
"A Perfect Gentleman"
Greeting her lover, welcoming him into his own home was not as unimaginably difficult as he expected. Part of it was that the relationship was still technically secret, though really that didn't cover much. In fact, it created a curious tension in the air. There wasn't really a good cover story for why Derek had been invited over, yet there he was, and the unspoken reality hung heavily in the room. Yet the fact that it was unspoken allowed Jeffrey to cling to the pretence of normality.
That first time, the three of them together, was more or less an experiment, she told him later. She had wanted to see how the two of them would get along. Derek was charming, in fact. His position at the firm was no reflection on his intellect or abilities. In fact he was the manager of the fulfillment operation the firm ran as well as the routine matters like receiving. He was well versed in the web-database side of the firm's catalog business, having run one of his own before the dot-com crash.
Smart, funny, and his left arm up along the back of the couch behind Nora as Jeffrey returned from the kitchen with their drinks.
He kept it there as they resumed their conversation, drinking his drink with the other hand. Her hand, after a while, coming to rest on his hard-muscled thigh. The casual touches of lovers, as unselfconscious as if this were not her husband sitting here, trying to keep track of the flow of talk through the buzzing in his ears. Derek at one point letting his arm come down around her shoulders, pulling her close. The little half-contented, half-taunting look she gave Jeffrey. Her knees bent up under her on the couch, curled in the protective arc of her lover's strong arm, she fished for the cherry in her drink like a little girl. Trapped it at last and delicately bit it between her teeth.
Meanwhile Derek was on about the Rams, and Jeffrey nodding, yes, that was good, that game against the Vikings was a disaster, not really knowing or caring much about football himself and hardly able to concentrate as he watched his wife idly stroking the other man's thigh, herself quite bored with the topic.
"So," she said when Derek paused in his analysis of a recent game to slurp the last of his scotch, "do you want to eat here, or go out."
"Out," he said. "I thought that Brazilian-French place be nice for tonight. Got my bonus," he confided to Jeffrey, "no point sittin on it."
An awkward moment as they rose to go, Jeffrey rising too, as if to come along. "Jeffrey," Nora said, a restraining hand on his chest, "I think there's some pasta from last night. Why don't you have that. I'll be back later."
And so they were gone. He heard the light tinkle of her laugh on the front walk as they went to Derek's BMW. The crisp, teutonic chunk of the doors, the crunch of gravel. and he was alone. Different this time. This time he knew. He knew, and what's more they knew he knew.
It remained all very casual, all very unspoken after that, but something had changed. He had met the other man, had nodded and chatted politely and acted the perfect gentleman when the two of them just casually left him to go out on what could only be called a date. And she had arrived home after 2 in the morning, hair mussed and blouse misbuttoned, and laughing. And had "awakened" him, though really he had hardly dozed all night, and kissed him and was very very hot, her hand snaking down under the covers and into his jockeys. Laughing into his lips as she felt how hard he was. Then going all serious, that smoldering look she got when she was very excited. The smell of the other man's cologne on her, and other things: night air, cigarettes, a deeper, muskier scent. Animal. And her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down
"Do me like this," she whispered. "Now, after I've been with him." Kissing his way down her flat belly, her sleek hairless mons. "Will you do that for me? Show me you
me." So easy to succumb to these strange impulses in the darkness of night, a ritual aspect to this, her words making it so. Kissing down there, her maddening smoothness, her superb thighs and prominent mons, commanding, the manifest wetness and difference in taste. "Show me, Jeffie. Do me nice, like you do." And when he had finished, she rolled away from him, a contented little sigh and went to sleep, no question of reciprocating, her perfect little butt nestled against his aching erection. After a while, when she was snoring quietly, he rose and went into the bathroom and took care of it himself.
Mostly all unspoken, her relationship with Derek, but things were changing. Over the next weeks he could feel himself changing, gradually being altered. A slow, agonizing process, like being eaten alive and aware of it all the way. She was doing it to him. And part of him liked it.
pt IV
--Being Altered--
Nora had decided it was okay to occasionally bring Derek home with her, when it was convenient. That was what started it, the next phase of things, the shocking thing Jeffrey had done.
At first it was just during the day, when she and Derek wanted to be together during their lunch hour. They had been parked somewhere, fooling around, and it was awkward in the car and she said “This is ridiculous, let’s just go to my place.” So they’d done that a few times, and he’d noticed-no big secret about it. One such afternoon, time got away and Derek was still there when Jeffrey came home from work. An awkward moment-his wife’s lover in a short silk bathrobe, watching the news when Jeffrey came through the door to the TV room. Jeffrey’s tummy all atwitter-he’d seen the black BMW parked in the driveway.
Derek’s easy manner, his authoritative and total lack of embarrassment was part of the explanation for what happened later. “Nora’s upstairs, in the shower,” he said. Their eyes meeting, Jeffrey’s eyes dropping first, accepting Derek’s assumption of the proprietary role here. The sports report was coming on as Jeffrey entered the room. “Rams getting their asses kicked as usual,” Derek said, disgusted.
“Can I get you a beer or anything?”
“Beer be nice.”
Looking back, the thing he’d tried to forget, tried to put aside at the time, took on greater significance. When he came back to the TV room with a Sam Adams and a glass, Derek had sprawled back on the couch. The short robe had pulled up and from the angle at which Jeffrey entered the room a shocking, heart-stopping length of his cock was visible.
The thought of it, the image of it, seared into his brain. Trying to put it aside, but impossible, getting worse rather than better as they sat there watching the screen, waiting for Nora to come down. Trying to keep himself from edging his eyes over there, failing. This was totally novel, totally unlike him, yet the fascination was magnetic. The thing itself. Was it really as big as it had seemed in that one little glimpse? Another glimpse of it, a heavy, swinging movement under the silk when the sound of the shower stopped and Derek got up to go get dressed.
Later, Derek took his leave of Jeffrey’s wife, out there in the foyer. Their murmurs audible over the muted TV (a commercial break). Shifting clothing and the unmistakable sounds of their kiss. “Call me tomorrow,” Derek said, and Nora answered “Yes,” and then the door shut. That horrible, sexy floating feeling again-so hard to resist it, and now featuring the image of that cock, her lover’s cock-its arrogant superiority, length and girth, the serpentine sense of sleeping power and danger.
And she came into the room, soft and warm in a terrycloth robe after saying goodbye to her lover, and sat with him on the couch. Arm along the back of the sofa, fingers affectionately twirling a lock of his hair.
“Watcha thinking?”
“Oh, nothing really.”
“He’s nice, isn’t he.”
“Seems like a good guy.”
“I asked him to spend the weekend here.”
Stunned silence, on his part. Sipping his beer.
“You can sleep in the guest room. Kay?”
“I… I guess.”
“Don’t be like that. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
Be like what? In fact, he was struggling to hide his erection-not that it was all that difficult; after all, it wasn’t a massive, shocking thing like what he’d seen between Derek’s… stop it.
“I
you,” she was saying. “You’re so good for me.” Moving over, straddling him, blocking his view of the game. “Want to come down on me? Want to do me now?” she was whispering. “I want you to. I like it when you do me like this.” Drawing his hand in to feel the wetness-more than just hers. He’d done it before, after she’d been with Derek. A couple of times, in the dark, Nora waking him, all excited after her date. That horrible letting go feeling when she was so hot over him, so panting and excited by the over-the-top-ness of it. Never like this, though, in the light, so obvious-still wet down there, and not just from the shower. And obvious that the two of them weren’t using any protection, he kept meaning to talk to her about that. But she was hissing, ooh, nice, darling, yes, you do it, you do it good. Hardly the moment to raise the issue.
It was over the weekend that the thing happened, the amazing, terrible, transformative thing. Saturday night. Or more accurately, Sunday morning. Late, anyway. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, the TV covering some of the sounds from upstairs. And some time after midnight he’d awoken to the awareness of movement nearby, clinking glass and the fridge door shutting out in the kitchen. From the heavy footsteps he knew it was Derek out there. Bleary eyed, he sat up, trying to decide whether to go to the guest room. Somehow that was more… determinate, more of an acceptance than just crashing on the couch. Rubbing his eyes as Derek came into the room, plate in one hand, beer in the other. Muscular torso showing through the loose silk robe, which he hadn’t bothered to tie. Japanese ideograms on it; Jeffrey wondered what they meant.
“Little snack,” Derek said, lifting plate and glass. As he did that, the wings of his robe parted. Jeffrey unable to answer, his mouth suddenly dry. The thing there, obvious even in the dim light. An electric thrill running through him, his defenses down with sleep, the strange erotic dreams he’d been having. Derek’s little grunt of recognition at the direction of Jeffrey’s gaze. A moment of relief when Jeffrey thought he was going to continue on through the room, heading for the stairs-but no, he was just putting down glass and plate on the side table. And then moving to stand in front of Jeffrey where he sat on the couch, right up close.
“Little snack?” he said.
Not so little, oh no, not little at all. Huge. She’d said it was big, but, gosh, he thought, staring at it. He was getting an erection: he felt himself getting hard in his shorts as he stared at the thing partly hidden by the silk bathrobe, the heavy swinging movement there. The awareness of his own erection triggered something. That same helplessly aroused feeling. Floating. To succumb to it, to yield to it-and this would be even worse, wouldn’t it. Oh a thousand times worse.
----
pt V
--A Primal Impulse Awakened--
It was so strange, how it happened. It was like, there was a certain expectation here, and he felt himself moving to comply with it. Couldn’t seem to help it. His hand lifting-he was watching this happen-coming to rest on the hard-muscled hip, firm under the silk. The hand pausing only for a moment there before sliding inexorably inward.
Looking at what he was doing. Marveling at it. His own hand, moving over like this, at once outside himself and yet inside himself as well: the tingle of anticipation, the shock of what he was about to do. Heart thumping, the sense of helpless floating. No, part of him moaned. Yes, the other part insisted. Oh so shocking, exciting, yes.
His hand sliding into the warm between the wings of the bathrobe, parting the ideogram.
At the initial touch, a little grunt. Crisp crinkly hair then the shock of smooth skin. Every nerve tingling as he did the unthinkable thing. Fingertips first, touching it. Touching the cock. Heart in his throat, thumping as he watched what he was doing. Just touching lightly, up near the base, hesitating… then sliding down to hold it.
It was huge. The shock of doing this surely exaggerated that impression, yet it was an empirical fact as well. Exciting: how big it was. Smooth. Warm. Heavy in his palm.
Heart thumping-he couldn’t be doing this, but his own penis now fully erect and throbbing eagerly between his legs. Whatever his brain was saying, his erection was trying to drown it out: Oh yes! oh, god, oh yes, yes, yes!
And he knew what it was. This instinctual thing, this primal thing she’d been trying to awaken in him. What she felt-she’d been increasingly open about wanting him to share that in some way. His brain tried to refuse it but his cock-his cockette, she’d called it recently-knew and led the way. He only had to relax and do what it commanded. This was correct, this was proper: the throbbing cockette wanting to demonstrate its fealty to the superior cock. Confused thoughts his brain could not accept, but could not resist either.
The shocking reality of doing this, the strange, lively feeling in his hand as it swelled, like hot water filling a balloon, getting heavier. Pulsed, once, twice, again. He squeezed it, once, experimentally. It responded, flexing back against his tightening fingers, stiffening.
Hiss from up there as he made a ring with his fingers and pulled down, the thing flexing up, extending itself magically, marvelously out into the air.
Part of him had been playing this role, the compliant husband, for months. It wasn’t really him, just an exciting, if scary and sometimes perplexing character he was playing in a sexy game. That part of him was holding the cock, the eager, compliant servant, squeezing it. Feeling it become tight, stiff and rigid under the rubbery skin. Running fingers up along the underside. It bobbed and lifted, bobbed and lifted.
And he knew what he had to do, the true right and proper thing, to show his respect, his worship. Kneel to it, said the voice in his head, his cockette throbbing, excited at the idea.
His mind saying no no no as he felt himself sliding down off the couch, carpet rough under his knees. Gripping the base, staring straight at the thing extending so far out beyond his fist, lifting rhythmically as it clenched with pulses of excitement.
I can stop. I can stop this, he kept thinking. But the circuits between his consciousness and his will seemed all to have been neatly, surgically snipped.
Carefully, tentatively but willingly, his cockette rewarding him with bolts of pleasure up his spine, he leaned carefully forward, eyes shut, tingling, tingling. Knowing it was coming, yet it was still a shock when warm rubbery texture bumped against his lips.
A deeper grunt from above.
Ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head, he pressed his lips to it, kissed it.
Part of him thrilled at this. Part of him knew this was right. To kneel like this, kissing the cock. Not just to pleasure it, but to signify his acceptance of the what was happening to him, the transformation he had been undergoing. An opportunity to further that transformation, to work at it, loyally, faithfully, diligently.
These thoughts presented themselves to him, claimed him. Mind vibrating in alarm with each touch of his lips against it, the piercing awareness of what he was doing. Lips moving along the cock. Soft appreciative sounds from up above, a hand on the back of his head, reassuring, encouraging. “Yeah, baby. That’s right. Uhm, yeah.”
How could he be doing this? Scary, and yet so thrilling to know he was behaving correctly. He heard himself moaning, making little grateful sounds as he began mouthing along it. A privilege to be allowed to do this, he should be grateful, he was grateful.
To show that, to vocalize his pleasure, his gratitude was itself a transgression, a thrill. To let his tongue drag along it, to moan rapturously while doing that, the instinct claiming him. The new feelings establishing their grip on him, the hand in his hair gripping firmer, the sounds of satisfaction deepening. “Oh yeah, Oh you like that. You good now, good at it, uhhh yeah.”
The thrill of knowing there was still more to do here, another step further to be taken. “Oh god,” he moaned, thinking about it, kissing, kissing, letting his lips part around it experimentally.
“Uhhnn,” came the sound above and his cockette rewarded him with answering spasms of its own.
His own moan, deep, rapturous, as he yielded, dreamlike, let his lips slide slippery along the head, let it press its smooth slippery bulk in between them.
Trying to pull back-some last fragment of himself-but No, the man grunted, hand firm on the back of his head, and the thing bulged in, pressing his lips wide apart and sliding in and in, his own sounds, shocked and choking and lost, rapturous. The part of him that was shocked and wronged and terrified now banished to some small whimpering corner, the whimpers coming out as sounds of gratitude: this was right, he must do this.
He wished he could touch himself, wasn’t sure it would be allowed. Yet his own erection strained on the edge as he felt the other cock become weighty and iron-hard. Pulling off, the sleek head gleaming wetly in TV light, declaring its need, its intention to have what it needed.
Oh yes, he gasped, oh god, and slid his lips over it again, slid down then up, trying to do it so smooth and perfect. Pulling tight down on the base and the head flaring stiff and smooth like hard rubber. Bobbing his head and grunting, his sounds merging with excited gasps from above, the hand clutching tighter in his hair. Bobbing and licking and bobbing slow, then faster, faster. Derek stiffening, his muscles locking, trembling, the thing supremely rigid. Gasping, nearing the edge. Jeffrey pulling off, letting his tongue slide slowly along under it
And while he was doing that the sound came, angry and rapturous, “Uuuuuuuuhhhhhh! UUHH!” and he felt wetness flick his cheek, a thick muscular pulse against the ring of his fingers. And then the hand forcing him down on to it, the thing surging into him. His own choked sounds, opening to it, letting himself be used, taken. Letting it force him into rapture, his own sounds choking and gasping and squealing as it pumped into him. Feeling his own erection tingle at the edge, then tip over at last, just from the squeezing of his thighs and twitching helpless shifting of his hips, the final signal of his acceptance.
The next morning, the sun rose as usual, life got ready to go on, and part of him insisted that it was all the same as usual-that he was the same as usual-even as he put the coffee on and listened to the sounds of the other two stirring upstairs.
But it was not usual. He had passed some kind of boundary last night, like it or not, and over the hours and days ahead that fact, and its consequences became clearer with every passing moment.
--An Evolving Situation: Her Idea, Pt VI--
It was hard, coming to terms with what had happened, what he was becoming.
Nora told him not to worry, not to be difficult, but to relax and accept things.
A period of experimentation with subservience ensued.
It thrilled her to have him like this: interested, willing to help. What could he be made to do, how far might it go? Those were her questions. After all, the games they’d played with the dildo were one thing, but Jeffrey actually coming down on Derek was quite something else. Protest as he might that it was just a one-time thing, clearly something had been awakened in him and it excited her to explore the limits of it.
Even as, simultaneously, she was exploring a few limits of her own.
Derek was rather, well, a dominant person, as was increasingly obvious. The fact that Jeffrey had sucked his cock, Nora explained, opened the possibility of a further evolution in their relationship. Of course Derek had told her what he’d done-she thought it was charming, appropriate, cute. Sexy. She’d insisted on watching, the following day. Wide-eyed and fascinated as Jeffrey knelt to him. This time with Derek on the couch, eased back and relaxed, almost disinterested. Jeffrey awkward at first, then losing himself in it. His increasingly eager and helpless moans, and her fingers in his hair, caressing, almost comforting. There, there. Ooh, isn’t that nice? Look at you, god. Oh honey.
Later, she made him do it again, only this time she didn’t let him finish. She wanted him to hold it, guide it into her as she mounted it. Swinging her leg over Derek to straddle him on the couch, decorously pulling her robe up out of the way. “That’s right, no, a little higher-there.” And slowly sat herself down, the rigid erection he’d labored at slowly pressing into her.
This was dark, something dark had been awakened, and despite his efforts to put it aside while he was going about his duties at work, or doing his other daylight activities, it was not an illusion or fantasy but something real.
She liked fooling with it, experimenting, teasing.
Two things emerged that following week. One was that, in all honesty, Derek was rather possessive, she told him. This came up around midweek, when Jeffrey was with her, wanting to make
. Almost more out of a sense of wanting to reassert some kind of control, some hold on normality than anything else.
She didn’t mind she said. If he wanted to. It was basically okay. With her, at least. But maybe it would be better if he didn’t, anyway. “Derek says…” she began, then stopped short.
“What?”
“Oh nothing.”
“No really, what?”
“I’m afraid you’ll get upset.”
“I’ll be more upset if you don’t tell me.”
Well, she said, it was just, Derek was kind of, well, possessive. It was kind of a sexy thing about him. He didn’t mind other things, but he’d sort of prefer it if she and Jeffrey not… if Derek were the only one having her in that way. She had told Derek she didn’t know how Jeffy would react to that, though she had admitted to him that it was kind of sexy. The idea of being an exclusive possession to him.
She had to explain this to Jeffrey so he’d understand. It wasn't about leaving him; quite the opposite really. It was something she could give to Derek that would please him. The fact that he’d given her so much, sexually, was something Jeffrey, as her husband, should appreciate, too. How alive and happy it made her feel to be with him and to know that her husband wanted her to be happy in this way. The new feelings he’d awakened in her. It wasn’t just his size, though that was part of it, or the racial thing, which gave her such a liberated feeling, shameless and free. It was wanting to surrender to him, more fully. He liked kind of dominating her, teasing her about being, well, married-reminding her she was a proper, white, married woman, yet she needed him in this incredibly animal way. Most of the time, in public, he was sophisticated, ivy-league. But in bed he could adopt this other persona, his big stiff cock hard-throbbing for her as she took it out, worshipped it, Derek spanking her, slapping her with it before entering her, stopping his motion when she was begging for him. Taking her up to the edge, then talking to her, making her admit things, talk about Jeffrey, promise things. She couldn’t help it when she was like that. “I’ll treat you right,” he had said, “but you be mine, know what I’m saying.” Yes, she gasped, yes, eager for him to do her the way she needed. “This here,” he insisted, gripping her haunch, moving in her at last. “Mine. That right? That’s what you want, isn’t it.”
Of course when the moment was over she knew this wasn’t something she could ask of Jeffrey very easily. Really, she wasn’t even sure how serious about it Derek was, whether it was just a game, a role he was playing. But that made it even more interesting, more sexy to think about doing it for him, getting Jeffrey to agree to it. Especially now that Jeffrey had done the nice thing for him, she felt it would be appropriate. She knew it was hard for him but she wanted to explore this new thing. This kind of surrender to Derek. It was expanding her horizons in such a fascinating way.
All the while she spoke, her hands on him the way she knew he liked, making him share her excitement at these dark yet fascinating ideas.
“Do you understand?” she said, testing how hard he was, squeezing him.
“I… I guess…”he gasped.
She got all excited. It was so great to be able to share this with him. It was funny, but Jeffrey agreeing to give up this thing-and she knew how important it was to a man-would bring them closer together not separate them.
The second thing was sort of a correlate to the first. It only emerged a few weeks after he’d agreed to the restriction on his conjugal relations with her. And it led to something of a crisis, a point of ultimate decision….
--Into the Dark: Her Idea, pt vii--
In truth, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it herself. Well, she knew exactly how she felt about it when she was with Derek, but kind of like Jeffrey, she wasn’t so sure when they were apart and she was back in her workaday existence. Explaining it to Jeffrey was hard when she was so conflicted about it herself. But she felt it was only fair.
The thing was, Derek liked to go in her “natural,” as he put it, and she liked feeling him that way. So for a while she was using her Sponge, but then one time he had taken the little package out of her purse and dropped it in the waste basket. And then he’d come to her and it had been hotter than ever, incredibly hot. Later, she’d had misgivings, but in the moment, in the act, those misgivings only added to the thrill, the sense of abandon. Increasingly she felt that she wanted it to happen. If it didn’t, it didn’t. But if it did, well, then it did, and increasingly, even in her daylight thoughts she felt the allure of that. A kind of ultimate possession. There were difficulties about such a thing, to be sure, but she was increasingly confident she was okay with that. She just thought Jeffrey should know, that’s all, that she would not refuse this to Derek, that it was part of where they were going with this thing and that it thrilled her more than it scared her.
She was explaining all this to Jeffrey in the guest bedroom (Jeffy’s room, she called it now) her hand between his legs, gauging his reaction. Well, he could hardly help responding, given how things were, the increasing control she was exerting over him. Predictably enough, the thing was betraying him by throbbing away against the nylon--by this time, he had accepted a degree of feminization. “You’ve got such a cute butt,” she’d said, “why not wear something that shows it to better advantage.” Indeed, the wisdom of this had been apparent. In the appropriate apparel it was easier to adopt the proper attitudes when he was assisting at her vanity table, or demonstrating his respect for Derek in those ways that Nora, particularly, seemed to enjoy watching. Worked as a reminder, too, when he was at the office-those times when it was so easy to slip into old ways of thinking, but then he’d shift in his chair to answer the phone or fetch something from a file cabinet, and the disturbingly sensual feeling of sleek fabrics on sensitive, depilated skin would firmly settle him back in the new track his life was meant to run in.
“This is good for you, isn’t it?” she was asking, softly stroking down there. “I know it’s sometimes… difficult. But it’s correct, too, isn’t it, what the others said. It really is best.” The “others” being the group they’d recently been meeting with, a kind of club or “support group,” as Nora had called it when she first told him about it. Cult group, more like it, he wanted to say. But it was true, it was a little easier, knowing they weren’t the only ones. He even felt a little superior at times, though in contradictory ways. He’d obviously progressed farther than Nathan, for instance, and Jeremy. On the other hand, what had been done to Donny-he shuddered-surely one was entitled to draw the line somewhere. Though the little predatory looks Nadine, Donny’s wife, gave him, and the little conversation they’d had when she took him aside, the third time the Group had met… Well, he was just glad Nora had been off with her lover and hadn’t heard any of that.
But anyway, to focus on the moment: Nora explaining about this new possibility, this thing that excited her so much, but also made her rather apprehensive, and she wanted his supported, needed to be sure that her husband was with her in this.
And he wanted to be, honestly; by now his predominant attitudes were aligned with The Program, as it was called among the members of the Group. But part of him still clung to this idea that it was all just a game, that it was role-playing and eventually things could-and someday would-return to “normal.” And what she was suggesting was something that went beyond the realm of fantasy and play into irrevocable reality.
That, of course, was also its allure, the risk that made it at once so scary and thrilling for her-and in a different way, for him also, he had to admit, his sensitive, denuded cockette throbbing steadily in response to her gentle, teasing manipulations. It was weird. She was talking about letting her lover get her pregnant, letting another man sire a child on her, and as she played with his rigid cockette in the slippery material his predominant feeling was one of helpless, opiate-sweet lassitude.
“Just in case,” she was saying, “you know, it happens. So you won’t be surprised or difficult or anything. It could be really good for us. In ways you don’t even know about yet. I need to know I-we-can rely on you, that you’ll be good about this.”
Yes, he was nodding, eyes wide, trusting, looking into hers, Yes, Yes, his erection tingle teetering on the edge. Softly she leaned forward, kissed him, her manipulations becoming a steady finger-flutter. Her lips pressing hard, making him accept this-which he wanted, desperately wanted, though not perhaps what it was obviously going to signify-pressing harder, pinning him to his pillow as he jerked, choked, moaned against her lips and came, throbbing and throbbing and making a terrible mess of his underpants.
It “might” happen, she had said, but it rapidly became clear that they were trying to make it happen. She was timing her cycle and Derek’s visits became more frequent, sometimes spending the night during the week.
And there was more to this than just the thrill of the permanent alteration it would work in their lives, the commitment it represented to the lifestyle so prized by the Group.
There were many things about the Group that husbands were not invited to think about or know. Part of the rigidly stratified status structure that was the Program. Nevertheless, certain things could not be missed. One was that this pregnancy Nora and Derek were trying for would greatly enhance their status. Another was that there seemed to be more at stake in such advancement than one might have thought. There had been certain indications of this during Group meetings-that there was something more serious underlying meaning to these gatherings than a mere social get-together for people who shared a certain predilection and life-style. This became clearer at the fourth Group meeting they attended.
“I hear Nora and Derek are trying,” Donny said. They were in the library with the other husbands, awaiting the pleasure of the Members out in the main room. “It’s a good move for them. You too. My-darling-mistress-Nadine"-he always said it like that, hyphenated like a formula-“thinks you have real potential, and if that’s the case, well, sky’s the limit.”
He (‘he,’ here, being understood as a term of convenience) sipped his drink, eyeing Jeffrey over the rim, gauging his reaction.
”You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you.” Amusement touching his lips. “Look around. What do you think this is?” Obediently, Jeffrey cast his eyes around: aged oak panels glowing warmly, books, the tall ceiling. “You think our host is just a friendly guy who likes to invite over a few friends who share his tastes?”
Well, obviously the name Justin Overstreet had not been unfamiliar to Jeffrey-one of the few black men in the highest echelons of the corporate world, his name appeared in a respectable position in Fortune 500’s personal wealth survey, as testified by this North Greenwich mansion. Indeed, the sight of the rambling turrets and wings appearing through the evening fog as they drove up, their first Group meeting, had greatly impressed and reassured Jeffrey, banishing all fears of anything tawdry or debased in what he was becoming involved in.
“There’s considerably more to this than you think,” Donny said, sipping his champagne flute, leaving a little lip gloss on the edge. “Your little Group is just one finger of something much bigger. You should be aware of that, on some level, at least. My-darling-mistress-Nadine and I are evaluators. We have our eye on you.”
Perhaps it was that, the sense of the Organization behind the Group, and behind all, the Program, that accounted for what happened. What Jeffrey, to his great astonishment, found himself agreeing to. Or perhaps it was merely the increasingly addictive allure of moving beyond prior bounderies, of traveling into the dark. The promise of a secret and mysterious entree into power and wealth and luxury-well, so he assumed; he didn’t really know-if only they had the courage to stay with it. There was, after all, a logic to it. For such benefits, there must needs be certain… sacrifices….
