Anon

She doesn’t feel nervous until the stranger touches her. It’s the feel of his hands that does it. They are different from her husband’s hands. Rougher. Bigger. Calluses on the fingers. He touches the curve of her ribs, and she feels her body shrink from that touch even as she drips wetness. A simultaneous shock of fear and need. Until that point, she realises, she didn’t quite believe in her deepest hindbrain that it was actually going to happen.

But now… now it’s happening. He’s touching her. Running his hands over her ribs and up to her breasts. Cupping them, feeling the weight as though he’s assessing a piece of meat. She does not know him. Has never seen his face. The blindfold that covers her eyes prevents any sight of the stranger, and the ropes that restrain her arms and legs mean she cannot reach up to map the shape of him.

He pinches her nipple, and she gasps and wriggles back into the bed, pulling on the ropes. A low laugh. His voice is different too. New. And it’s the newness of it that’s almost unbearable. A man who she has never met touching her so intimately, so easily. Now his hand is trailing lower, down her belly, over the mound of her pubis. He sinks his fingers into her pussy and crooks them and she cannot hold back a moan.

It’s not fear, exactly. She knows she’s safe – that her husband is watching from the corner of the room. That he has vetted the stranger as thoroughly as he would any man he let near her. So it’s not fear, but something like it. The same feeling she gets on a rollercoaster as it winches up towards the drop. Excitement, perhaps? And beneath that a rising tide of complete submission. Release. A blessed absence of choice.

The mattress moves under her as the man mounts the bed. He straddles her, and she feels his strong legs on either side of her body. The warm, hard weight of his cock rests in the centre of her chest, just under her breasts. On instinct, she opens her mouth.

How must she look to him? Naked and bound, a lurid and alluring thing. Hardly a woman so much as a toy to be used, abused, fucked and left. She hopes she is appealing – that her pussy and her soft body make him want her. They must, because he’s hard and pulsing. She can feel that even now. Even while he’s still outside of her.

He hunches and kisses her on the mouth, and even as she feels a swell tide of arousal part of her is disgusted by the difference. He is less controlled than her husband. Wetter, sloppier. He pushes his tongue deep like he’s trying to penetrate her there as well. And she feels on his face the rough scratch of stubble.

Her husband is clean-shaven always. This is like a colour she hasn’t seen before. A taste she’s never experienced. She longs for it to carry on indefinitely, to give her time to study it, to study her own excitement and repulsion. When he pulls back, she raises her head to follow him, trying to drink in the last moments of the kiss.

Then, in a second, he has slipped between her spread legs and his hard cock is pressing into her. She’s so wet down there – her legs spread wide by the ropes that bind her – that there’s no resistance. He’s inside her before she really knows what’s happening. And there too he’s different again. He’s smaller than her husband, but pushes deeper. He’s harder in his strokes, fucking her rhythmically, slamming his hips home against hers.

She doesn’t mean to cry out – not really. But the noises come from her regardless – high little moans and cries as his cock drives into her, touches deep parts of her. She squirms against the bed, lifting her hips. Letting him take her. She longs to please him, and in doing so to please her husband, who is watching, who is seeing every moment of her being fucked.

And, she realises, to please this stranger as well. He who will never know her name. Who will think of her for weeks after this. A tight, anonymous, dirty fuck in a hotel room.

It’s the thought of her as a hole, as a thing to be used – that’s what carries her over the edge. As she comes she feels herself tighten and pulse, and somewhere in there the stranger comes too. He’s gripping her tight – his full body weight on top of her. (Unfamiliar weight. How differently their bodies lock together!) He is holding her and she is floating anyway, and it’s only as she comes down, slowly, dizzily, that she feels that spent pulsing of his cock inside her.

He pulls out after a minute or two. There is quiet. She lies back and breathes. She feels different. Oddly beautiful. All attention so focussed on her. The men, she knows, will be standing over the bed looking down at her. Admiring her and her just-fucked pussy. She sees nothing, but they see her. Blind goddess. She breathes. There is a slow shuffling. Clothes being pulled onto limbs. Whispered words. The door of the hotel room opens and shuts.

A moment later, she feels someone sit down on the bed beside her. She is almost certain that it is her husband, but until he touches her she will not know. Whichever of the men it is – spouse or stranger – he reaches for her blindfold, to untie it, to let her see again. She licks her lips. “Not yet,” she says. “Don’t take it off just yet.”

* Thanks for reading! If you like my stuff and are in the mood for something longer you can pick up any of my books for the price of a cup of coffee or less. My library ranges from a collection of weird, delicious, perverted spanking stories, to a pseudo-quaint boarding-school-esque fantasy. I'm a full time creator, and every book your purchase buys me more time to write more filth like this. If you think the world deserves better, smarter, more grown-up smut, supporting me through a book purchase is a great place to start.