Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Rape, Drunk/Drugged, Heterosexual, Slut Wife, Rough, Gang Bang, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Violent,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Husband relishes voyeuring the gang-rape of his wife so much that he sets her up the next night. Finds the idea very popular.
Amanda glanced at the younger red-head by the bar. Like normal, the woman she was checking out at her husband's bidding was tall, thin, and not wearing much. Before answering her husband, she set her shoulders square and kept her chin up. "Don't you think she's a little plain?" Amanda commented.
"I think she's worth a night or two," Brent answered, meeting her eyes. She was trying to look so cool, he thought, but he knew she was struggling inside. Struggling to look strong, to not show the hurt from his obsession of other women. He gave her a break and looked away first — down to her chest. Her dark nipples stood out strong against the sheer pink fabric, a flimsy little halter top that hung loose at the bottom of her rib cage. One of his best purchases, he thought, her c cup implants. Didn't take her long to learn how to use them.
"Maybe I'll see what she's up to later tonight." Brent checked out the red-head again before taking a sip of his margarita. Would Amanda break down again? The first few times, now six years ago, she'd complain, but he told her to leave if she didn't like it. Next came the tears; Brent would just kiss them and tell her not to wait up. Amanda learned to accept Brent's dalliances. She had signed the prenuptial agreement, taking with her, in the case of divorce, only what she had added to the estate. Amanda lived off of Brent since the beginning. She was glancing back and forth down the bar, probably to avoid crying.
"Maybe I'll see if the guy down at the end in the white shirt wants to keep me company," Amanda said.
A new tact, Brent thought. He looked back over her shoulder at a well tanned handsome guy in his early thirties. "Sure, if you think you have a chance."
"What do you mean?"
"He probably has all the twenty year old beauties he wants." Amanda was thirty-seven. He was punching below the belt, he knew, but he loved to see her flinch.
"What do think of this dress?" Amanda asked. They were back in the hotel room overlooking the Caribbean. Amanda was still talking of her own seduction. She was wearing a tight flowery tube dress with a frilly neckline at the top of her cleavage and a mid-thigh hem.
"Pretty run of the mill tourist, don't you think?" She didn't answer. She looked hot enough to get most any man, but he was going to take this as far as he could. "A guy like him will look right past you. If you want his attention, wear the white one that I bought you last week."
Amanda held up the few ounces of thin white cloth. "I thought this was for our special night?"
"It was, but it would be sad to hear that you couldn't get laid." Her mouth dropped to a narrow strip of anger, but instead of saying anything, spun around back to the bedroom.
A minute later she emerged in the white dress. It was very short, hanging in a loose flair a couple of inches below her butt. The whole dress was held up by a string tie behind the neck, the strings becoming a narrow swath of fabric barely covering each tit before the two sides joined four inches below her navel. One button at the bottom of her ribs kept half of her breasts covered. Two cloth lines ran diagonal along both sides from her ribs to the back of the skirt. Otherwise, there wasn't any back at all. Brent could see the elastic line of her flesh-tone bra and panties. "Better, but it looks silly with a bra," he said. Amanda snorted a sigh and slipped off the bra. He looked down at her crotch.
Frowning, Amanda said, "It's always got to be a little bit more for you, huh?"
"Do you want to make sure that handsome man chooses you over all those younger sexy girls or not?"
"Fine." She removed her panties. Brent was glad he had pants on to hide his full erection. In ninety-five percent of the world she'd be arrested and probably abused on the way to jail. Her nipples stood out bold and brown against the sheer white fabric. Half of her tits were bare, as was all of her legs, back, the middle of her chest, and belly. The slightest wind or bending would lift the hem up her butt.
"You've got to let him know you're serious," he said.
"You won't be jealous if I don't come home until dawn?"
"It'll be good for you to go out on your own again." He grabbed her waist with both hands. "Drive them wild and tell me all about it tomorrow, okay?"
Amanda's jaw trembled for a moment. She sucked two breaths, swallowed, and said, "Maybe you'll wish... never mind."
He pulled her back to him, held the back of her head and kissed her deep. She didn't kiss back, but when he released he saw the turn of desire in her eyes. Then he said, "You and me tomorrow. Maybe even the same dress."
Brent waited until she had gone, afraid she would lose courage and change clothes or even not go at all if he left first. She was going to get noticed all right. As he watched her walk away, all he could see was her butt peaking out at the bottom of the tiny skirt and her bare back, sandy hair covering the tie. From the back, she looked topless. From the front, it looked like it wouldn't take much for her to take it off. He took a quick shower and readied for the night.
Saturday, just after dark. Thousands of partiers. Teenage girls tilting back quarts of beer, their soft bellies bare to the night. He ordered a margarita himself drinking it fast. Two young ones were giving him the eye from across the room, his preferred conquest when out alone, but tonight the fluttering in his groin was for his wife and the stir her outfit would cause.
Brent entered the bar they had been in earlier that evening, where Amanda had seen her own fantasy. With another two hundred people, it didn't look like the same place. He made his way to the bar for a drink without seeing his wife. Brushing past dozens of bare shoulders he strolled the perimeter of the noisy scene. In a less crowded corner was the man she had pointed out before with his arm around her waist, groin to groin, tipping sips of alcohol into her mouth. Brent stood staring while he emptied the glass down her throat. He then tipped her back and licked a spill from between her breasts.
"Should have seen her when she came in." A large guy in his early twenties in shorts and a tank top drinking a beer was filling Brent in. "Damn. Walked right up to him. Other guys trying to get her attention."
"She's not his girlfriend?" Brent asked innocently.
"Never seen her before. Bill lives around here — that's the guy she's rubbing up against. He always seems to get them anyway, but this one just walked up in her fuck me outfit and said hi, I'm Tiffany."
"She looks a little drunk."
"She's more than a little. That's the third she's put down with Bill and she wasn't sober before."
Bill had a hold of Amanda's arms twisting and pulling her to the techno beat, her tits bouncing in and out of the loose dress. "A lot of slutty girls around here," Brent said.
"She's further out there than most though, believe me. She's gonna get used tonight."
Brent took his drink upstairs finding a view from behind a poll of the spectacle his wife was causing. Was this how she thought to get even with him? Whore herself into some playboy's bed? Brent wasn't the only guy following Amanda's seduction show. Three guy's were already up on the second level starring down. The downstairs was crowded, but many eyes were following Amanda.
Bill took Amanda back to his table and sat her in his lap. He sloshed a refill from the margarita pitcher, took a sip, and then put it to Amanda's lips. As she tilted her head back, several pairs of eyes dropped to the bareness of her chest. She swallowed twice before trying to pull away, but he kept tipping. Liquid spilled out the side of her mouth and down her neck. Amanda sputtered and choked. Bill laughed, so did two other guys. Bill licked up her neck before smothering her in a French kiss. His hand slid from her knee up the thigh to just under the hem line, pinched the fabric and held on as he continued to her hip. The bottom of the dress lifted enough to let everyone know that this one wasn't even wearing underwear. "Damn," Brent said to himself. Bill stood her up, lifting her back onto the crowded dance floor, never leaving her lips, never letting go of her dress. Amanda's bare butt faced an audience. She reached around behind to pull her hem down; Bill dropped the fabric before she got there, drunken Amanda, perhaps, none the wiser of what had just happened.
Amanda separated from his kiss and pushed back, staggering a step to keep her balance. She swayed her hips. Bill moved in, spinning her around, pulling her back into his chest. He rubbed his hands up and down her waist. Amanda lifted her arms over her head and played with his hair. Her nipples strained taught against the thin white dress, her liquid filled belly peeking out under the one button. Her eyes were closed, but the men opposite her were bug-eyed.
Bill reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Brent saw a knife blade. In a quick swipe, the one button dropped to the floor, the knife back in his pocket. The sides of her dress popped open, a wide vee from her neck to the bottom of her belly, the edge of both nipples showing. Brent was watching the public stripping of his wife.
Amanda's reflexes being a bit slowed down, she didn't bring her arms down for a long ten seconds, during which time Bill twisted her until one breast was bare. Amanda felt her exposed breast and spun into Bill while she slipped it back in. Bill squeezed her tight so that she couldn't search her front for the button. He lifted her from the waist up to her toes for a kiss, then let her slip back down, all except her dress, which ended up at her hips.
Many men were doing nothing but watching the strip show. Brent didn't know if Amanda was too drunk to know, too drunk to care, or actually enjoying being the center of lust. Did she think she was in charge?
While Amanda backed off enough to pull down her hem with one hand, Bill took the other and spun her out. Her dress flared open. Amanda stumbled. Bill caught her off balance and took her down into a dip, one arm pinned behind her back, and licked between her breasts. Amanda couldn't move. One nipple popped out into the open air. Bill stared at it, guaranteeing everyone else doing the same, then blew on it until it swelled. Instead of licking the swollen nipple, he just stood her up and pressed her close, whispering into her ear.
Brent was hyperventilating, his cock stiff. He had always relished showing her off in public in tiny tight outfits, but he never thought he would so enjoy seeing other men use her. What had taken it too a whole new level was Amanda's attempt to get back at him, turn the tables. The worse she got it tonight, the more Brent would have control over her. He took another sip of beer and peered down again.
Bill had his arm tight around Amanda's back, her dress spread open to the middle of her nipples, all the way to the top of her crotch. He kept raising a glass to her lips; she would sip, he'd insist, she'd take a gulp. Bill took her into a small group of men and women, squeezing Amanda against his side. Brent had no idea what they were laughing about. A couple of women gave Amanda looks of disgust. One said something to her. Brent read the word "button" on Amanda's lips. The other woman just shook her head.
Another slug of tequila. It was mostly just three other men in the conversation now. Bill put his glass in Amanda's hands and walked off towards the bathrooms. She protested to his back and stumbled. Two of the men caught her, hands on both arms, bare belly and back. The other man stood in front, blocking her view, running his eyes up and down her chest.
Brent saw the fear in Amanda's face. She would try to smile, but only her mouth cooperated, and then, for only a flicker. She pulled lightly against the hands that held her, but they didn't let her go. The techno music drummed hard, lights flashing, shouting. Close to three hundred people in the big club by now. A few men were still watching the Amanda show from floor level and up above, where Brent was. The men on each side of her pressed their groins into her hips, still pinning her arms. Free hands gently stroked her belly and back. The man in front licked his lips while staring at her, but didn't touch. If they laid her out on a table right here, would anybody even try to stop it? How many would join in? Brent's mouth was dry from breathing fast.
Bill had returned, standing only a few feet behind Amanda and her capturers. As he approached, the guys relaxed their hold. Bill put a hand over her eyes while encircling her waist with his other arm, pulling the dress off of one breast. The other men still held her arms while Bill talked into her ear. He slipped the dress back onto her breast and motioned for them to release her. He turned her around and French kissed her, pinning her head when she started to pull away.
Bill leaned over to talk to one of the guys, then announced a goodbye. He picked his way through the crowd holding Amanda's hand, pulling her behind him. She staggered along, bumping into people, sometimes holding her dress closed, only to release while catching her balance, the dress reopening wide to the stares of those close by. Men steadied her with hands on her mid-section as she passed, sometimes bumping her into the arms of others. Bill pulled her along, rarely looking back, giving permission to the fondling. He appeared to be taking routes through single guys.
Brent hurried down the stairs, keeping about twenty feet back. Near the door, a woman stuck out a foot tripping Amanda. She stumbled along nearly horizontal, her tits dangling outside the dress. Bill turned around. "Don't mind her, she's just a little drunk. I'm gonna go throw her in the ocean and sober her up."
Out on the street, Bill took Amanda in a side hold. Heads turned as he marched her past clubs and restaurants. The three men who had held her while Bill had gone to the bathroom followed a few paces back. Brent dropped in behind them.
On they staggered past hotels and clubs. Bill bought a beer and kept putting it to Amanda's lips until she drank most of it, then tossed the rest. A tourist pointed a video camera at them and Bill obliged him by pinning Amanda's arms, twisting and bending his slut for the night until each breast had popped out of the dress.
Amanda was too drunk now to walk on her own. Bill held one of her arms over his neck and lifted her tight against his side with his right arm. Amanda's bare front causing a stir from everyone that passed. The march led out of the main strip to the daytime beach joints and some larger hotels. The three guys and Brent followed.
Bill suddenly turned to the left and disappeared between two buildings, a surf sport rental and a daytime restaurant. The three guys turned the same corner. Brent ran around the far side of the surf shop down to a storage shed near the surf. Bill and Amanda stood only thirty feet away at the surf-line. Tiny waves lapped lightly at their feet. He lifted her to her tiptoes while deep kissing her sloppy drunk mouth. The three guys stayed back by the edge of the building, their eyes fixed on the naked bottom of her butt. Bill pushed her back.
"Do a little strip dance for me."
"Not here," she managed, glancing to where the guys watched. She took a couple steps towards Bill, "Take me to your house and I'll do anything though. Just you and me." Amanda managed a smile, but Brent knew that even in her intoxication she knew of her danger.
"Maybe sometime — if you earn it, but I want you right now, right here on the sand. Take off your dress."
She shook her head softly and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you want to see me naked, you've got to take me to your bedroom."
"That's how you want it, huh?" He stepped into her, uncrossed her arms slipping them over his neck, and pushed his lips into her. She didn't fight. What could she do? His hands roamed her naked back and waist, then up to her neck where he pulled the bow-knot out of her flimsy tie. The strings dangling free, he twisted into her, holding her head against him. Amanda started struggling. Releasing her with a push, her dress fell to her waist before she caught it.
She stumbled back, fumbling the strings back to her neck. "No! I said only in your house, please." Both of her hands tried to get some form of knot to hold the dress up again.
Bill stepped towards her, "I got another idea." With her arms up behind her head, he rammed his fist up under her ribs. The impact lifted her off her feet, landing her hard on her back in the sand. She covered her belly, trying to find a breath. Bill watched the helpless woman struggle, then leaned over grabbing the bottom of her dress. Lifting and pulling, he drug her across the sand until he had the dress in his hands. Amanda lay at the water's edge, nude and gasping for air.
Bill just watched for a minute, all of Amanda's strength going to an occasional suck of air. He reached down for her feet, yanking her out straight, and pounced on her. It didn't look to Brent that she was trying to fight him off anymore, maybe she hadn't recovered from the punch to her stomach. He spread her legs without a struggle. Brent reached down to his own erection, his heart racing. For several minutes he watched as this stranger ground his wife into the sand. Bill came with a gasp, shuddered a couple of times, and rolled off of her. All Amanda managed was to clasp her hands over her crotch and roll part way away from the street.
Bill rose to his feet and pulled up his shorts. "She's all yours," he said before walking off.
The three scavenger rapists circled their prey. "She looks dirty to me. Let's give her a bath."
One on each leg and one on her arms, they flung her out into the surf. The water was only knee high and the surf less than a foot, but it rolled Amanda under as she struggled to keep her head up. One of the guys stripped and stood out in the waves looking down at her. Amanda had managed to rise to her knees. The man grabbed her by the neck flipping her over backwards. With one hand he held her head underwater. Amanda's arms splashed and flailed, but she couldn't break the death grip.
Brent stopped masturbating and stared shocked at the drowning of his wife. He couldn't let this happen. As he stood to rush to her defense, the man lifted Amanda above the waves. She retched sea water, choked, and sucked a couple lung-fulls of air. The man bent Amanda's back over his knee, shoving her head below water again. One hand pinning her free arm, he took one breast in his mouth while toying with Amanda's life. Twice he let her head up for desperate breaths before dunking her again. The last time she struggled for a moment before going limp. "Don't kill her man!" one of the other guys shouted from the water's edge.
He lifted her off his knee encircling her waist with one arm and holding her head up by her hair. She vomited a cup of sea water in a series of convulsions. He carried her the few feet to shore dropping her at the feet of the other two. Amanda lay in a heap just as she landed. "Washed and ready."
They rolled her on her belly. One man spread himself on her back and entered her from behind. He dug a small hole under her face. "Got to puke? You go right ahead little prick tease."
Brent stopped stroking himself long enough to keep from shooting cum against the wall of the shed. After the first man came in her ass, the second flipped her over. He spread her arms and legs. "Please don't hurt me," Amanda managed in a sobbing croak.
"Then don't even struggle. Do everything we say." Amanda lay spread-out like a sacrifice. He shoved his dick into her cunt. Thrusting hard, he appeared to be trying to grind her into the sand with his two hundred pound bulk. After ten minutes she was half buried.
The first man who had dunked her lifted her up by her hair to her knees. "Suck. Or I'll punch your face in." He slapped his erection against her cheek. She took the big head into her mouth. "All the way in." Amanda opened her mouth wide and took him in, gagging all the way. With three inches of his cock down her neck, it was all Amanda could do to keep air in her lungs. He held both hands against the back of her head and shoved as deep as he could go. Amanda's gagging convulsions brought him off. He held his fist against her eye until she had swallowed everything. "Your good at that. Lots of practice I bet." One of the other guys laughed. "Keep it down. Don't you dare spit it up my top quality cum."
Amanda held her arms against her chest, barely staying upright on her knees while she fought the urge to vomit.
"Stand up." Amanda appeared not to here. "I said stand up." He slapped the side of her head. It wasn't a hard blow, but Amanda fell onto her side. He grabbed her hair yanking her back up to her knees. "On your feet." Amanda got one leg under her before the pain of having her hair pulled sent out a voluntary yelp, then a heave of semen. The guys stopped laughing.
"I'm sorry," Amanda sputtered.
"I told you to keep every drop. Now I'm insulted." He threw her to the other two guys. "Hold her up."
He balled his fists. "No," Amanda pleaded.
"Cheap little tease." They squared her off in front of their accomplice, one hand supporting her under each arm and the other pulling her arms back. Sand covered her tits like a sheer bathing suit. His fist smacked into the middle of her belly forcing a deep groan. He didn't give her recovery time, driving his fist in deeper, her legs buckling. "One more. Lift her."
They raised her until her sagging legs straightened. Shallow convulsions from a deep pain sent dribbles of semen down her chin. Having no strength left to tighten her gut, she could only watch as his fist rocked back then plowed forward with an upswing into her stomach. She heaved from the impact, then went completely silent, her eyes wide but vacant. Her head dropped as her entire body went limp.
"That's enough man, let's go," the big man holding her said. They dropped her unconscious on the sand, flat on her back splayed out as if sleeping. The two men stared down at the beaten beauty as the man who punched put his shorts and shirt back on.
Amanda groaned and coughed. They watched as she fought for breath. Her puncher lifted her by the shoulders. "If any of us ever see you again, we'll kill you. Got that little whore?" He shook her. "Huh?" Amanda couldn't answer.
He gave her a shove into the surf. She landed with a slap as a small wave engulfed her. "She'll drown!" one of the guys said.
"Good. Leave her. Tourist woman gets drunk and drowns in the undertow. So what." They left.
Brent ran closer, hiding behind a boat. His wife raised her head for a coughing breath as another two foot chopping breaker fell on her back and churned her down into the sand. "Come'on Amanda," he wished silently. Brent didn't want to have to save her. A slightly larger surf would have taken her under. Amanda pulled herself out of the surf on her belly until the waves only lapped at her legs.
She laid coughing and sobbing for several minutes. Her wet body glistened in the moonlight. Brent wanted to shove his hard cock into his wife, put a mask on and rape her, but he couldn't let her know that he watched everything, letting it happen. A loud car drove by, music rumbling. Amanda pulled herself to her knees. Her dress lapped in the surf's edge a few feet away. She crawled to the sopping white dress, pulling it open. She worked the wet material over her head, stood up with it jumbled at her bust, stumbled, fell, stood again yanking the dress down over her hips.
Even by the moon, Brent could clearly make-out the entire outline of her nipples the way the wet fabric clung so tightly. Her cleavage lay open to the bottom of her belly. She found her little clutch purse half buried and turned towards the street walking fast, the bottom of her butt exposed. Brent noticed one shoe lapping against a rock, picked it up, and followed his wife.
Amanda ran a desperate staggered path down the street. It was no more than a fast walk for Brent, careful to let her stay a couple hundred feet ahead. A middle-aged couple stopped to stare at her as she rushed past, shaking their heads. Four young Mexican men came out of a bar in front of her. "Want to party, baby?" They stood in her way. She ran right into them. They groped and grabbed while she knocked at their hands.
"No! Let go!" They held onto her dress until her entire chest was exposed, then let go laughing. Amanda fell, but was on her feet instantly. Her left hand pulled the front closed while she ran.
Most of the late night partiers turned their head to watch the pathetic bedraggled spectacle stumble past, but no one offered assistance. Not real help. A young white tourist stuck out his leg causing Amanda to sprawl face down on the sidewalk. His buddies helped her up, holding her arms out away from her side, peering into the wide open gap of her filthy dress, which they assisted down off her shoulders. Several people watched, unsure of what was taking place, or if they cared, or which way they cared. Brent couldn't hear what was said. The young men, unwilling to rape her on the street, let Amanda yank free.
Amanda avoided groups as best she could. She couldn't run anymore. Breathing hard and staggering, she turned into their hotel. Brent rounded the hotel corner in time to see her fumble the key into the lock, practically fall into the room and slam the door.
Brent looked around; no one was watching. He leaned against the wall, feeling relief that she made it back, boiling over with the images of what had been done to her. He didn't want it to stop. He knew she came close to being seriously injured, or worse. Give her a little time.
Brent stopped for two beers, downing the first in one breath. Several girls around worth at least one night. But after what he saw? Brent wanted Amanda, wanted to use her. Would she hide it all from him? If so, she'd have to bite her lip no matter how much his screwing her hurt. If she confessed, she'd be so humiliated she'd never complain again. A woman saw Amanda's one shoe and asked if he was looking for the match. "Cinderella, I guess."
Brent set her shoe by the door and let himself in without knocking. Amanda lay motionless under the covers. Inside the bathroom, her dress lay over the shower door, not exactly clean, but she must have rinsed it. There was a lot of sand in the shower floor. He took off his clothes and slipped in beside her. She laid curled in a tight ball. "I thought you'd be out all night showing me how easy you could get guys," he whispered while rubbing her shoulder. "I had an amateur blow job in back of a club, but I told her to grow up and came looking for you." He pulled on her shoulder and leg, rolling her part way over. She flinched. "I had a good offer on the way home, but I want my wife."
Amanda's breath was stifling pain. He moved on top of her, feeling tears that he didn't acknowledge. He pinned her arms. "No, wait."
"Wait for what?"
She started to cry. "I'm sore."
"Did I ever turn you down after another woman?" Talk or get raped again, he thought.
"They were rough."
"How many guys did you do?" Amanda was openly sobbing. "What? Did you get drunk and say yes to everyone?"
"They weren't nice to me. I'm hurt. Do you have to be so mean? I'm sorry I went out." Brent kept her pinned, his hard-on at the edge of her cunt. Her anger disappeared like a burst bubble. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I hurt inside."
She looked so pathetic. He wanted to shove inside her overused cunt. No, she'd had more than enough. Be nice to her. She would do anything later. Right now she was openly bawling. He slipped his arms around her. "Okay sweetheart. You can tell me about it later."
Brent lay at his wife's side for an hour, his cock stiff and ready, his mind reliving the spectacle of his wife's exploitation. In the morning, he made her tea and a bowl of fruit. He cradled Amanda in his lap, keeping a steady stream of fruit in her mouth until the fourth time she told him no more, please.
"Can we go home today?" she asked.
"Our tickets are set. Just you and me today, okay? Unless you have plans with other guys." Amanda didn't answer. "It's noon, let's go out on the front deck."
He slipped her thin silk robe over her naked body, tying it very loose. Amanda pulled it tight. Brent slipped the tie off and tossed it on the bed. He led her to the edge, pressing her belly into the railing. Amanda held her arms crossed over her chest. Brent lifted the robe in back and pressed into her naked ass. "How about I screw you right here and now."
"No Brent, please, someone will see."
"That doesn't usually bother you." He turned her around, taking her wrists down to her sides, her robe falling open. "I want you now."
"I'll try back in bed, all right?" Amanda gasped. "Oh my god!" She was looking down at her high heel shoe from last night by the door. "Oh no!"
"What? One shoe's missing?" She pulled him towards the door. He pinned her against the jamb. "What is going on?"
"They know where I am."
"The men that raped me."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I ran home barefoot!"
Amanda stood against the jamb, her face locked in a pleading terror, her robe open and off of one shoulder. Brent took her inside and backed her against the closed door. "You tell me everything that happened last night right now."