Too Close for Comfort

by StangStar06

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Coercion, Tear Jerker, Cheating, Slut Wife, Revenge, Rough, Safe Sex, Anal Sex, Big Breasts, Violent, .

Desc: Sex Story: My wife went to Jamaica

Hi Folks, Don't read this story yet ... Go get a bowl of popcorn, or a beer, or both. whatever your favorite snack is go get it. Now settle down and relax. This is a long one. Those of you who are just looking for a quick story to jack off to should probably skip this one. This is the A version of this story, I believe it is the better one. The other version had the second scene in Jamaica removed and certain parts of the story make less sense without it. It has been edited with great patience and skill by Barney-R (please read his latest stories-they're great as usual) I also want to warn you that there is some violence in this story- I know we're all adults and this is an adult site but there are some sites out there that seem to have forgotten this. Anyway here we go-SS06


I fidgeted on the chair as the old woman sitting across from me wrote mysterious things down on a legal pad. Occasionally she looked over at me. Once or twice our eyes locked as I caught her watching me. I was fairly sure that she was recording her observations of my behavior.

Across the room another woman, the one I was married to for twenty two years, paced the floor as if she was upset.

I looked at my watch again. The old woman noticed and made another note.

"Okay," she said. "Let's get started. Yours is a very unusual case. Mrs. Matthews, can you take a seat?"

I spread my legs to take up more space. I turned at an angle to take up more space too. It didn't matter. She walked right over to the large comfortable chair and looked at me, as if to ask me to move over so she could sit next to me.

"Dahlia, there's a huge sofa right there," I said, pointing at the sofa.

"So, I want to sit next to you," she said.

"I don't want to sit by you Dahlia," I said. "Could you please just give me a little space?" She refused to budge. She even tried to move my legs over.

"Okay, Dahlia, you can have the chair. I'll take the sofa," I said. She immediately turned and jumped on the sofa, smiling at me. I didn't move.

"That's what I have to deal with every time we're around each other," I said.

I noticed the doctor writing things down.

"Mr. Matthews, why don't you start," said the old woman. "This is an unusual case. I'd like to have the two of you just tell me what happened, first. Before we do any exercises or have any type of treatment, let's just talk about what happened to ruin your marriage."

"Our marriage wasn't ruined," spat Dahlia. "Grant just insists that everyone and everything around him is perfect. I made a mistake after eighteen years of marriage and he just wanted to throw everything away. It's just..."

Dahlia stopped talking when she noticed that the doctor had her hand up.

"Mrs. Matthews, you will have your turn, I promise you," said the woman. "But in order for us to work more effectively, we need to respect each other's turns, okay. You do want this to work, don't you?" Dahlia nodded.

The woman looked at me and I began talking.

"As Dahlia said," I began. "We were married. We were more, far more than a married couple. Dahlia was my best friend. She was my soulmate. I know that sounds corny, but it's really true in our case. We were so close that we completed each other's sentences. We were together twenty three hours a day most of the time and had been for about eighteen years when things went to shit.

We lived together, we ate together, and we slept together..."

"When we actually slept," Dahlia inserted.

"Anyway," I continued. "We also worked together. We worked in the same office for the same company on the same shift, doing the same thing. I have to admit that it was fun and I really enjoyed working with her. Scratch that, in order for this to work, I have to be totally honest, right?" Dahlia screwed up her face and the therapist nodded.

"I'll be honest then," I said. "I loved Dahlia. She was so much more than just a wife. She was a part of me. She was my heartbeat. I loved spending every possible second with her. Both times when our daughters were born, I took vacation time to stay home from the time they were born until I ran out of time.

As much as I love my daughters, I was stupid about Dahlia. It was almost painful for me to be away from her. She was the most beautiful woman I knew. Every day the first thing I did when I woke up was to thank my lucky stars that she had married me. And..."

"And the second thing he'd do was pull my legs apart and fuck me until ... Sorry, I won't interrupt again," said Dahlia.

"Well, we had a pretty active sex life," I began again. "And as I said all the way until my oldest daughter, Rose, turned eighteen and my baby, Lilly, turned fourteen our lives were heavenly.

We would start most days, with a run in the park together..."

"The run came after the morning sex," said Dahlia. "I fucking hated running. I just did it because I didn't want to be away from him and he loved it ... I did it again didn't I?" She shrugged her shoulders and pinched her lips together.

"Yep, I love to run," I continued. "I still do. I ran a lot slower back then, so I could look at Dahlia. I'm not saying anything negative about her now, but back then she looked incredible. I'm not just talking about her pretty face and pretty hair. Dahlia was about the same height she is now, but she only weighed about a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet. Her legs were amazing. Her butt was a work of art, and on her chest were the two most perfect..." I stopped.

The therapist looked at me and so did Dahlia. "I apologize, ladies," I said. "I was inappropriate."

"Actually we're all adults here and I want your honest opinion and feelings," said the therapist.

"Okay, I was one of the luckiest men in the world. I not only loved my wife, I lusted after her. Even after the births of our children, she was my dream woman, my fantasy girl. At thirty eight years old Dahlia was hotter than any Victoria's Secret model. And for eighteen years, she'd fooled me into believing that she felt the same way about me ... But it was too good to be true, because..."

"Fuck you, Stupid," hissed Dahlia. "If it was up to me, we'd still be married. You were the one who wanted the God damned divorce. I would marry you again right now if you asked me ... this isn't working, Doctor. Grant is telling the story from his view point only. He's distorting the facts to fit his version of the story. Whatever happened to Ladies first anyway? Can I go first?"

The therapist looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded.

"Sure, why not," she said. "Mrs., you go first."


Dahlia

"As Grant said, we were very much in love. Notice that I said "WE." I love Grant at least as much as he loved me. Notice I said "LOVE." I didn't say "LOVED," like he does.

And as he said, we were always together. Our desks at work were right beside each other. And we also ate lunch together. Grant and I have tiny little differences in our personalities. I am basically a free spirit. I'm artistic and creative and I guess I might have been considered a bit wild or just unpredictable.

Grant on the other hand was the most organized man I have ever met. Everything with him was scheduled and regular. He was steady and very dependable.

Together, we were the perfect team. We tempered each other's excesses. Grant kept me from being too wild and possibly getting hurt. I kept him from being too boring.

Anyway, one day I was talking with a couple of the women in the office. We started out the usual way. We talked about men. I noticed that the two of them were always looking at Grant, so I made sure to remind them that he was exclusively my property. They talked about how lucky I was and how I had what they both wanted.

We ended up talking about what they did with their nights and we also talked about how Grant and I were never apart.

"Not even every once in a while?" asked Glenda Stevens. "Everyone needs a little time to themselves once in a while."

"Grant and I have never been apart for more than an hour or two for the past eighteen years," I said. "And even then, it just seems wrong for me to be without him."

"Honey, too much togetherness isn't a good thing," said Mary Richards.

"Yeah," agreed Glenda. "After a while, he'll start taking you for granted."

"Hey," said Mary. "Why don't you go on vacation with us? We're taking a seven day trip to Jamaica. The break would do you good. It could breathe new life in your marriage."

I wasn't sure that it was a good idea at first. But the more we talked, the more they convinced me that I really had to go with them. Finally I decided to talk to Grant about it. When I mentioned it to him, he looked like a balloon that someone had let all of the air out of.

But he agreed. He told me it was no big deal. Our girls at eighteen and fourteen were pretty much old enough to care for themselves. He was sure that everything would be fine.

I didn't find out until much later that he was all torn up inside about me going. He didn't want me to go, but he also didn't want to keep me from doing something that I wanted to do. He'd always supported any and every silly thing I wanted to try. So even though he was literally sick about it, he just said sure.

Thinking back on it, I missed a lot of things. As the day we would leave drew closer, I got more excited. Glenda, Mary, and I chatted constantly about things we would do on our trip. But what I failed to notice was what was going on right under my nose.

Grant was already suffering and I hadn't left yet. I guess I was too close to see it clearly. But I guess others noticed it and they told me about it. But they never told me until after I came back.

Grant and I were still joined at the hip. He and I still went everywhere together and did everything together. He even helped me shop for things for the trip. But Grant was clearly fading. That is ... it was clear to everyone except me.

The morning that our flight left, he hugged me as if we would never see each other again. But then he did that if I went to the market without him. Don't get me wrong. I was the same way about him. If Grant went hiking with the guys or to a football game or anywhere that I couldn't go with him; even if it was only for a couple of hours, I cried like a baby until he came home.

But this time I was so excited that everything else failed to register.

On the flight, the girls were subdued at first. They were different. Their usually boisterous personalities seemed muted. It was Glenda who spoke up first.

"How the hell can you leave him?" she asked.

"I've never seen anything like that," said Mary. "He looked like he was going to just stand there barely breathing until you get back."

"Shit, if I had someone who loved me like that, we'd never get out of bed," said Glenda.

"Oh shit," said Mary, when she noticed me. "Honey, don't cry. We're gonna have fun. You two need some time apart. It's only for a few days."

I spent most of my time on the flight either looking at pictures of Grant and my daughters, or reading my travel magazines about Jamaica.

From reading the magazines I knew everything about Jamaica. Or at least I thought I did. This means of course, that I didn't know shit.

Stepping off of the plane was like stepping into a furnace. I think they have a special, hotter, brighter sun in that part of the world. The heat hit me like a fist. I could hardly believe that people were walking around in it.

Mary and Glenda, from the looks on their faces were faring no better. We were all thinking the same thing. We needed to get to the hotel as soon as possible.

After grabbing our luggage, we spotted a sign for the tour group we had joined for the trip. We pulled our wheeled suitcases toward the sign and checked in with a smiling local woman who was wearing a straw hat and huge sunglasses. She ushered us onto a bus. We were in heaven as the air conditioning on the bus gave us a break from the heat.

I was so relaxed on the bus waiting for the rest of the group to check in, that I almost went to sleep. The gentle movement of the bus starting off brought me out of my sleepiness though.

Looking out of the window as the bus drove though the streets I saw two worlds. One was full of happy smiling people and colorful signs and banners. There were restaurants, shops, and all kinds of things to do.

But in other places, I saw dark, unwelcoming streets where there were very few people and the people I saw looked sad, broken, or angry. I wondered how there could be two such different cultures in such a small space. As I sat back in my seat though, I realized that my city was no different. Perhaps every city on earth was the same. There were areas where the well to do lived and other areas where the poor lived.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by our arrival at our hotel. We were given our room keys, a copy of the tour's itinerary and instructions on how to get help if we were lost or in trouble. We were also told to stay within the hotel's very spacious grounds or the nearby areas at all times. Anything we needed could be arranged or handled by the hotel staff.

"That sounds like good advice," said Glenda. "I came here to party, relax, and have a good time. Not to show up on one of those TV shows on the ID network."

"It sounds like bullshit to me," said Mary. "I didn't come all the way to Jamaica to hang out in a hotel. I could have done that in Michigan. I'm not going to stay at the pool; I'm going down to that huge beach we just passed. And you two are coming with me."

The three of us were sharing a suite. We looked everything over and decided that we'd had enough excitement for one day. The long flight from the coast and the shorter flight before it, from Michigan, had worn us out. It was almost evening anyway. We decided to grab a quick meal from room service and hit the pool or the beach early the next day.

When we woke up the next morning, the sun was already up and blazing. We decided to have breakfast down in the pool area. Mary quickly convinced us to try out the hotel's beachfront as a compromise between her desire to hit the open beach and our intent to stay within the hotel's grounds. It sounded like a safe alternative that would please everyone, so that was what we did.

As soon as we got on the beach we got a table. Mary summoned a waiter over and ordered a breakfast of fruit, juices, and coffee for the three of us. Everywhere we looked there were people in swimwear. We noticed that the clothing we had brought with us, although straight from magazines that proudly proclaimed it as stylish beach wear was clearly too much.

Even matronly fifty year olds were wearing less than we were. After breakfast we went back up to our suite and changed. I changed into shorts and a T-shirt. I wore flip-flops and since my boobs needed a break from confinement, I just wore one of my sports bra tops that I wore for running with Grant.

Glenda had on a really pretty sun dress. She gelled her hair back to get it out of her face and bought a huge straw hat to keep the sun off of her skin. Glenda, being a red head had very fair skin.

"Really, Glen?" asked Mary. "You look like a frigging librarian on vacation. At least just throw on some shorts and a T-shirt, like Dahlia."

"I wish I could," said Glenda. "But I burn very easily, and my boobs are too big for me to run around in a T-shirt."

"Oh Jesus, Glen. You act like every man we run into is just after your tits. Believe it or not, Dahlia and I have boobs too. Put on a swim suit and live a little. We're here to relax and mingle," said Mary.

"What if I meet a really nice man? I don't want him to think I'm some sort of whore," said Glenda.

"We're not here to meet nice men," laughed Mary. "We're here to get drunk, get fucked, and forget about it. This trip is about blowing off some steam and relieving the pressure of working every God damned day."

"Okay, why don't you be Mary, and relax the way Mary wants to, and let me be Glenda," said Glenda sharply.

We went back to the beach and took a table further down on the beach. From where we sat the border between the hotel's property and the open beach was only a few yards away. There were people as far as the eye could see.

There were all kinds of people. A lot of them were beautiful young people on break from college. I was glad that I hadn't worn a swim suit. There were so many beautiful young women and handsome young men chasing them that I would have gotten lost in the shuffle. No one is really interested in a forty year old woman in a crowd like that.

There were also families and a few older couples, although most of the families and older people stayed closer to the hotel. The activities were less raucous the closer you got to the hotel.

For the first three days we did the same things. We went to the beach during the morning hours, where Glenda whipped out her book of the day, and sat under a big umbrella in her huge straw hat and read. During the afternoon hours with the sun at its height, we went on bus tours, explored the island, and saw the sights.

In the evening we went out to clubs and restaurants. We danced, ate, and had drinks until we could barely walk. It was on the third evening that it started. I was dancing with one of the guys from our tour group. I had been going a little bit further every day it seemed, and that evening I was really drunk.

I was dancing really close with him, too close, and his hands were all over me. I was feeling no pain and when he started grinding on me, I just smiled and let him.

The next thing I remember was Glenda coming over and pulling me away from the guy. She had a really stern look on her face and told me it was time for us to leave. Then Mary came over and told Glenda that I was a grown woman and I should be able to have a little fun if I wanted.

"Jeezus, Glen," she's only dancing. "Who are you supposed to be her mother?"

"No, I'm supposed to be her friend," said Glenda. "I just don't want her doing anything that she'll regret."

"I'm fine," I said. "I won't dance with any other nasty men." I sounded fine but I was drunk out of my skull.

"I'm going back to the hotel," said Glenda. "I'll see the two of you when you get in." Everything in my brain told me to go with Glenda.

"Glen, we only have two days left in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I don't want to get back to Michigan and have nothing to remember it by," said Mary.

Glenda just nodded and after looking at me one last time headed back for the hotel. Mary grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the restaurant we were in.

"Shit, I thought I would never get away from her," she said. We went down the beach further and further until we saw a huge bonfire burning right on the beach. We were away from the hotel grounds and most of the people were Jamaican. There were a few tourists there but they were mostly younger people.

The acrid smell of powerful weed was thick in the air. Music was playing. It was a type of music I had never heard before. It was very rhythmic and percussive, with a singer doing more chanting or speaking than actual singing.

Mary looked around in several directions and finally dragged me over to a couple of guys that I had seen her talking to earlier in the day. They were standing in front of a little shack on the beach. One was a middle aged blond guy with very blue eyes. The other appeared to be Hispanic. The blond wrapped his arms around Mary and kissed her. She kissed him back. His friend came over towards me as Mary and the blond guy went into the shack.

He reached for my arms and tried to pull me towards him. I struggled with him and tried to pull away. "No," I yelled.

"Come on baby, relax," he said in heavily accented English. "We're gonna have some fun, that's all." He gripped my arms tighter. It seemed like his hands were made of iron. I couldn't pull away from him.

"Leave her alone!" said a voice from behind me. The Mexican guy shrugged his shoulders and went inside the shack. I noticed a look of fear on his rugged face

I turned and noticed a big Jamaican man beside me. I had seen him before. He worked at the hotel. He was a lifeguard at one of the hotel's pools. I was so shaken up that I was no longer drunk.

As I thought of what to say, I noticed another man slipping inside of the shack.

"Thanks," I said. He smiled and nodded. Around us, the sounds of dancing and singing and screaming grew louder and wilder. I was caught between asking him to walk me back to the hotel and trying to get Mary to come out of the shack and walk back with me herself.

I decided the smartest thing would be to get Mary. I headed towards the shack and the Jamaican man moved quickly. He inserted himself between me and the steps to the ramshackle little hut.

"You don't want to do that," he said. "Trust me; you should wait for her out here."

"I'll take my chances," I said. I stepped around him and stepped onto the porch. I pushed the door open and stepped into to the one room shack.

Mary was there. I could hear her moans which told my brain what was going on. Mary was surrounded by men. There were white men, obviously tourists, or maybe men that worked in the area and several Jamaicans too. She had a dick in her mouth and one in each hand. There was a man behind her fucking her with the biggest dick I had ever seen. Two more men were in front of her one rubbing her stomach and breasts while the other rubbed her pussy. I realized then that the man behind her had his penis in her ass.

The man that had been rubbing her pussy bent his knees and lined up before impaling her from the front. It was surreal. I was shocked. From across the room a Mexican man was taking his clothes off and another man, a balding white tourist that I recognized as part of our group both locked their eyes on me. Before they could come to me, as I stood there too shocked to move, my friend grabbed me from behind and pulled me out of the shack.

"I tried to warn you," he said softly. I needed to breathe. The scene I had just witnessed had shocked me to the core.

I'm not anyone's description of a virgin. I'm forty years old and have given birth to two children. My husband and I had a very active and very imaginative sex life. Mary wasn't doing anything that I hadn't ever done, but it was just the thought of doing it with so many men at the same time. And they were just pounding away at her. They didn't care if they hurt her. She obviously meant nothing to them.

But at the same time, Mary loved it. She was fucking them back just as vigorously as they were giving it to her. Her screams and moans told the story. I would never be able to look at Mary the same way again.

The man next to me handed me a bottle. It was a very strong spirit. It started my head to swirling again and helped me to forget what I had just seen.

"How did you know?" I asked as I took another sip.

"She does it every night," he said. "At least for the past three nights. Usually she gets here later. Sometimes she does as many as ten or twelve. There were only about eight in there when you looked but it's early. She usually stays for three or four hours and then hurries back to the hotel. Some of my friends told me about it after the first night."

"But she's..." I began.

"Not hurting anyone," he said. "And she's here of her own free will. The men there will make sure no one hurts her. They don't want to do anything to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs."

As we sat there drinking, I grew more and more relaxed. So relaxed that when he handed me the biggest joint I had ever seen, I puffed it. I hadn't smoked since my college days and it was far stronger than anything I'd ever had.

Most of what happened was a blur after that. I woke up with Mary slapping me awake.

My head hurt. My mouth tasted like the inside of a sewer and that wasn't the half of it.

"I didn't think you had it in you," smiled Mary. "Until I saw it in you."

"Mary, stop it," I said groggily. "Don't touch me. Who knows where your hands have been."

She just laughed. I was pissed. "You're a whore," I spat. "You let all of those men fuck you."

"What do you think you were doing with that Jamaican guy when I came out of the hut," she laughed. "I waited for you to make sure you got back okay."

"Stop lying," I said. "You're just trying to get me to share the blame with you. You want me to be a whore because you are."

"Dahlia, I'm a single woman with a very high sex drive," she said. "I like to fuck. I like to fuck a lot. It's why I've never been married. I have no children and no man at home waiting for me. I can do whatever the fuck I want. If anyone around here is a whore, it would be you. How many times have you returned your husband's calls since you got here? That poor man was practically in tears at the airport and you're here fucking a Jamaican guy right out in the open. You weren't even smart enough to do it inside where no one could see you."

My stomach suddenly felt as if someone had punched me in it. She just shook her head. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her phone.

"I thought you might want a souvenir for your old age. Or maybe if your perfect marriage falls apart you could use it for revenge," she said.

She handed me the phone and it showed two people having sex. A large muscular powerfully built Jamaican man and a smaller slim but flabby, white woman thrusting her pelvis against him as hard as she could.

The camera got closer and focused on the face of the woman. It was the same face I saw in the mirror every morning and the face was free of regret and clearly enjoying itself.

I threw up. I felt as if a huge hand just reached out of the sky, grabbed me around my waist and squeezed everything in my stomach out onto the sand.

"Nooooooo!" I screamed. "I was drunk. I was high."

"It doesn't matter," said Mary. "Shit, I took the video FOR YOU. I already told you that. I thought you might want the memory. I have lots of videos of myself. I won't have this body forever. In ten years I'll probably be built like you. Plus there's always the fact that when you break up with a guy, the best way to hurt him, is to show him a video of you fucking someone else and really getting into it. You can tell him that he NEVER made you cum like that. It just destroys them."

"Delete it," I screamed. "Please Mary, delete it now!"

"Okay, calm down," she said. "You didn't kill anybody. You didn't start a war or destroy anything. As near as I can tell all you did was made one guy really happy."

"Mary please, don't tell anyone," I begged.

"Calm down Dahlia," she said. "What happens in Jamaica stays in Jamaica. You keep my secret and I'll keep yours."

We turned and started walking towards the hotel. I felt miserable. My ass and pussy were both throbbing and not in a good way. I felt as if I'd been torn down there.

The worst possible thing about it was the ache in my heart. I kept thinking that as soon as Grant saw me, he would know. He'd notice something was different about me and I wouldn't be able to hide it.

We got back to the hotel without further incident. We slipped into the room without waking Glenda and I got into the shower. Luckily our suite had two bathrooms because I stayed in the shower long after Mary had finished and gone to sleep. I kept thinking if I stayed under the water long enough, I could actually get clean. But I had no such luck.

Glenda woke me up at the normal time but I felt as if I hadn't been to sleep at all. "You look awful," she said. "Maybe you shouldn't drink so much."

I looked across the room to where Mary stood. She looked as fresh as a daisy. As she'd said, she had no guilt to burden her.

We went to breakfast but I found that I couldn't eat. I tried to call home but only got the answering machine. Then I remembered that life had gone on and even though I wasn't there, Grant had gone to work and our girls would be in school.

I left a message telling him how much I missed him. And that I would be the first one off of the plane.

We went to the beach as usual and I fell asleep in a lounge chair under and umbrella while Glenda read her book and played scrabble. Mary spent her time people watching as usual. But as I watched her I realized that all along, she'd been planning and setting up her nocturnal activities.

She must've done that on the first three days as well. She would watch the beach until she found exactly the type of man she was looking for. It didn't matter if they were married or single, young or old. Once she found one she'd get up, and amble over to them. She would exchange a few words and come right back to us. It never took more than two minutes.

Glenda and I had no idea what she'd been up to. It no longer mattered to me what she did. We had our pact. I'd keep her secret and she would keep mine.

"Dahlia what's wrong with your hand?" asked Glenda, looking up from her book.

"Nothing," I said. "I guess that I'm just not used to being without Grant. Whenever I feel funny or shitty, I'm used to having his hand to hold onto. I want to go home. I'm never letting my husband out of my sight again. Coming here was a mistake. Even when we go out to see the sights, I'm not really enjoying anything because I keep thinking that it would be so much better if Grant was here."

"Well you're certainly lucky to have him," said Glenda. "He's definitely attractive. And he's so nice too. That's why I wanted you to watch what you were doing last night. It would be a shame for you to lose a man like that. I don't think you'd find another one like him."

At once terror clutched my heart. All I saw before me was an image of myself alone. I vowed that it would never happen. When we left Jamaica, the only person who would know what had happened was Mary and I would kill her if I had to.

A bit later in the afternoon, we were just about to go back to the hotel to catch a tour going to an exhibit of local art, when a big Jamaican woman came to speak to me.

"You will not go on the tour with your friends," she said. "You are to stay in your room. You can say that you are not feeling well, or that you need to rest."

"Why would I do that?" I asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"I have no idea," she said. "I am doing this to repay a debt. I was told to give you the message. I was also told that if you asked any questions, I was to tell you to remember last night. I have no idea what any of it means." Then she simply walked away.

Glenda came over to me and asked what the woman had wanted.

"She works in that souvenir shop that I was telling you about," I lied. "We were talking about the T-shirts. I wanted to get T-shirts for the girls."

When we got back to the hotel. I lay down on my bed. "Hey come on sleepy head," said Mary. "We've only got half of today left and then tomorrow. After that we're going back to working our asses off and our boring normal lives."

"I miss my boring normal life," I said. "I'm tired, I think I'm going to catch a nap and meet you guys when you get back here after the tour."

"You do look kind of out of it," said Glenda, with a note of concern in her voice.

After they left, I began to worry. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I knew who the message was from, but I wonder what he wanted.

I didn't have to wait long. Within five minutes of my roommates leaving, he knocked on the door.

I opened the door and he quickly stepped inside. I remembered his features from before everything went fuzzy. Seeing him brought some of it back. The drink he had given me had calmed my nerves after the other man had tried to drag me into something I didn't want to do. Seeing Mary in action had shocked me even more.

Obviously the liquor had been stronger than I thought. I remembered smoking a really strong form of marijuana as well. That had been a mistake. I had smoked weed only a few times in college and even then, it went straight to my pussy.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He crossed the room and opened the blinds widely. He tapped the side of the plant on the desk. His presence overwhelmed me. He seemed to be so strong. Even in his hotel uniform, he seemed almost too primal to be trapped in the clothes.

He smiled at me as if he could read my thoughts.

"F-F-fine," I said. He moved even closer to me. He didn't make any sudden movements. He moved very slowly. He reached out one huge hand and I just watched it as it got closer to me.

I gasped as the hand cupped my vagina through my shorts. My mind cried out about how wrong it was, but for some reason I said nothing. He leaned over and kissed me. At first the kiss was gentle. But it grew more insistent by the second.

The hand rubbing my pussy stopped and I groaned in protest. But the hand, joined by the other pulled my shorts and panties down around my ankles. Then the hand resumed its exploration.

I spread my legs giving him better access. He pushed one finger inside of me. I had already begun gushing vaginal lubricants in preparation for what was about to happen. He pushed my purse off of the bed and onto the floor. Then he pushed me down onto the bed. He pulled his pants down revealing a monster of a penis.

I knew then, why I had been so sore this morning. I shuddered at the thought of him pushing that monster inside of me. But at the same time I knew there was no way it wasn't going to happen.

He crawled up my body and hovered over my mouth. He fed it to me and I opened my mouth as wide as possible and still barely got it inside. I licked and sucked like a madwoman and it only served to make me want it more. My pussy throbbed in anticipation. Finally he pulled it out of my mouth and positioned himself between my legs.

He pressed forward gently but firmly. With infinitely slowness he pushed the head inside of me as I could only watch. It felt as if he was splitting me in half and I screamed. Inch by inch he fed me the monster until I could take no more.

With the head of his penis lodged against my cervix it could go no further but there was still a portion of his thick snake outside of me. He pulled back and then pressed forward stretching my tortured pussy even more. Stroke after stroke, he increased his pace until he was just slamming me against the headboard. I heard screams and moans and then realized that they were coming from me.

Then I felt it. This was the point where normally, at least with my husband, I would begin to feel waves of pleasure. But I felt only friction. It was too much. Soon the friction became pain and a burning sensation.

"Stop," I said. "Get off of me!" He continued sawing away at me. As I watched his face it suddenly dawned on me now stupid I had been. He didn't care that I wanted him to stop. What I wanted didn't matter. There was no expression of love for me on his face. That was what I got from Grant. This was just a man fucking some whore who let him have her. I was no better than Mary. In fact I was worse. Mary knew her partners and gave her consent. Mary did it because she wanted to. I didn't even know this man's name. I was just some stupid tourist who had given him her body the night before and he wanted more.

He came to my room and after exchanging fewer than ten words; he'd reached out and started rubbing my pussy. And I had not only allowed it, I had made it easier for him. I had by my actions encouraged him. Suddenly he thrust even harder, making me feel as if he had just split me in half. A slight grunt and then he pushed even further inside of me if that was possible, before releasing a flood of warm fluid.

Afterwards he just rolled off of me and began dressing.

"Not bad," he said. "A little vanilla for my tastes, but not bad. Too bad you're only going to be here for another day or so. I'll have to get what I can out of you before then."

"No!" I said sharply. "I'm married. I won't do this again. Stay away from me, or I'll..."

"You'll what?" he sneered. His friendly tone was gone, replaced by a cajoling yet menacing tone that suggested that my cooperation would be in my best interest.

"You'll either do as I say for the next thirty six hours or so, or your husband back in Nebraska will find out what kind of slut he's married to. If he has any balls or any self respect at all you'll be replace by another Midwestern farm girl before the ink on the divorce papers is dry."

"Michigan," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"We're not from Nebraska. We're from Michigan," I said.

"Who gives a fuck?" he snapped.

"What happened to your accent?" I asked.

"Bitch, I'm from Chicago," he said. "My parents were Nigerian, so I can turn the accent off and on as need be. But that's not for you to worry about. You just be ready when I call you. Perhaps you need a reason to be ready ... I mean other than your fascination with my dick."

He pulled out a phone and stuck it in my face. He pressed a button and a list of emails came up. He turned to the window and waved. I thought he was crazy. But then I understood why he had opened the blinds. Someone from across the courtyard waved back. As I watched another email with an attachment appeared on the list. He opened the attachment and a video started to play.

It showed him walking into the room and talking to me. It showed him reaching out and rubbing on me and me, leaning back and opening my legs for him. I snatched the phone out of his hands and smashed it against the floor.

"Do you really think I can't get as many copies of that video as I want?" he asked. I just looked at him stupidly.

"Don't worry about the phone," he said as he left. "You've already paid for IT and more. You might want to report your credit card stolen so all the shit we bought with it, comes off of your account. I'll be expecting to see you tonight."

At that moment, as if to make things worse, the phone rang. For the first time in days, I spoke to Grant. His voice was a combination of joy at hearing from me and misery because we had never been apart for this long since we'd been married. It was silly because it had only been four and a half days, but I felt it too.

It felt as if we were a world apart.

"This was so stupid," I said. "We will never be away from each other for more than an hour or so again."

I spent the rest of the time until Glenda and Mary got back talking to Grant on the phone. He filled me in on everything that he and the girls had been doing since I left. I told him about everything I'd done. Leaving out what had just happened and what had happened the night before.

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