A Devil's Wage

by cindysbob

Copyright© 2009 by cindysbob

Erotica Sex Story: he and his wife share a fantasy, but things soon take a horrific turn as they realize they are past the point where the word "no" can save her from being raped.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Mult   Reluctant   Rape   Heterosexual   Wife Watching   Rough   Gang Bang   .

[This story contains graphic descriptions of sex activity. It deals with voyeurism and multiple-partner scenarios. Some of the scenes herein can definitely be considered as non-consensual in nature, at the edge of actual rape, and are definitely extremely "rough" at points. If you are offended by such material, please do not read further. All characters are over eighteen years of age.

As always, I do appreciate your taking the time to cast a vote, and really enjoy posted comments. So please, don't hesitate to express your views.]

"What's this?" Ellen said with a mischievous grin, plucking the oversized envelope from high on the Christmas tree. "Has your name on it. See."

"To Frank, from Santa," I read aloud as she slid atop my lap, dallying the card before me.

"Better open it and see what the big guy has to say," she whispered.

I took it from her, ripping the seam with my thumbnail. I could see she was anticipating my reaction, that little air of nervousness, the furtive way she buried her nose into my neck. She'd obviously done the card on our computer; there was my wife sitting lotus style in front of the fireplace, an outsized Santa hat creeping down comically over her eyes. I chuckled at it, the goofy, playful smile of hers—a bushy pink bathrobe, and a truly outlandish pair of bunny slippers.

"Very chic," I commented dryly.

"All for you, Baby," she cooed close to my ear. "Check inside."

The certificates almost fell out onto our laps. Three of them on heavy stationary, each cut to roughly the size of a dollar bill, white with bright holly edging. I angled the top one down for my bifocals as Ellen shyly buried her face against my chest.

"Nice," I blurted appreciatively, reading the coupon again, nudging her with my shoulder.

There she was, front and center, my lovely wife, decked in an equally lovely short red dress—a mini Ms. Claus dress, I guess you'd call it, hemmed with white fur, lots of leg, cut low off the shoulders. The robe and slippers were strewn at her feet, curly brown hair spilling down across her shoulders.

"Very embarrassing," I heard her mutter.

"This could be the best gift I ever had."

"Could be?" she scoffed, punching me softly in belly.

I cleared my throat and read from the certificate, my smile broadening with each word.



I rifled through the rest of them. Ellen had posed differently in each; bent provocatively at the waist, down on her knees, hiking that already ultra-short mini up a wee bit short of her knickers. She looked absolutely terrific.

"Something maybe thirty-two year old mothers shouldn't be doing," she said, finally lifting her eyes to mine.

"You look great," I answered, pecking her lips with a quick kiss. "How'd you think of this?"

"Out 'n out plagiarism," she laughed. "Book I was reading. Writer had her lady character give her husband a set of these."

"Did he make good use of them?"

"They had other issues," she said judiciously.

"Well I can pretty much promise you that won't happen with us."

"Never thought it would," she whispered at my ear, her tongue tracing along its many ridges and valleys.

"Think I'm gonna have to use one of these right now," I muttered, feeling that familiar warm swell low in my chest.

"Uh, uh," Ellen said, wagging a scolding finger. "You supposed to use these for something special, some deep dark fantasy ... And remember, I can't say no."

"That could posit some interesting scenarios."

"Legal tender, both public and private."

"Some very, very interesting scenarios."

"Let's hope so," she said full of play now, pulling me up to my feet, rising tippy-toed to bring her lips to mine, her fingers tracing the front of my jeans—a discovery—and slowly pulling me off towards the bedroom.

I guess at heart I'm a bit of a miser, something that had really not appeared in my character up till Ellen gave me those vouchers. I just didn't want to "cash" them in so to speak, and so, quiet bizarrely, simply hoarded them, secreting two of them in my sock drawer and neatly folding the remaining one in the billfold of my wallet.

Ellen for her part was more than amused by this turn of events, teasing me on more than one occasion as to my ultimate plans for them.

I just couldn't get myself to waste them; that I guess was it in a nutshell. My wife has always been a generous and occasionally daring lover, a girl aware of her innate sexiness and the power it entailed over the men in her life. A flirt in a nuanced way, a reveler in fantasy; a woman relaxed in the fiery lust she still was able to stoke within me.

We'd been married for just over twelve years by then, two kids, a nice home; a nicer life. We had a deep affection for each other, a certain corporal loyalty seeded by years of monogamous fucking.

"I bet you're saving them for something absolutely debauched," she whispered one afternoon, coming upon them as she arranged clothes in our dresser.

"Maybe," I smiled.

"Remember, I can't say no," she grinned, suddenly full of mischief.

"No veto?"


"That's taking quite a chance," I parried, stepping up to nuzzle her slender neck, the sound of the kids running around downstairs telling me that this wasn't going to much further.

"I fully understand the implications, sir," she whispered throatily, lolling her head back with my attentions.

"I could..."

"You could give one of them out to some strange man," she half purred, knowing that this would stiffen me. "Then sit back and watch me have to entertain him."

I chuckled softly. It was always one of my darker fantasies to be a voyeur, a particular bent I'd harbored since I was barely in my teens. We'd been engaged for almost a year when Ellen first pried it out of me, laying in bed, spent from one of those vigorous, mind-blasting fuck sessions you'd have when you were twenty-one. Asking me what my favorite sexual fantasy was, coaxing me, teasing, finally laying it out that I'd probably want to see her with some other girl, the two of them doing it for my amusement. I said she was far closer than she knew, hesitant, wanting to say it aloud, leaping across the dangerous chasm; "not with another girl" ... that pause and the so-delicious grin that crossed her young face as the image coalesced, a crinkle of her nose; "another guy?" Or "guys" I whispered back on that long ago night, still able to hear her peel of laughter as she punched away at my bare chest and called me a pervert.

It was something my wife had always enjoyed playing with, a bit of hushed naughtiness that riled me more than any other single thing. Just like she was doing now...

"That I could do," I heard myself answer with a tight laugh.

"What would I have to do?"

"Whatever he wanted."

Ellen disengaged from my grasp and slipped across the floor, closing the bedroom door and pushing the lock button on the knob.

"Anything at all?" she asked, smiling, lowering to her knees, lifting her blouse over her head. " ... Would you let him fuck me?"

I nodded and walked in front of her, feeling her small hand deftly work my belt buckle, the zipper gliding down slow, then pulling and tugging till I sprang free.

"And you'd watch?"

Ellen had me in her mouth as she muttered the words, wetly sliding up and down my shaft, her tongue swirling beneath me. I rested a hand atop her head, a silky mop of dark hair. I made a small gasp as she gently cupped my testicles.

"What if he wanted to come inside me?" she said, her face hard and shiny as she pulled back from my cock, dropping the straps of her brassiere off her shoulders and just lowering the satiny cups off her rounded breasts.

"If that's what he wanted to do." My hand was shaking as I grasped a fistful of her hair.

"You'd let him?"

I nodded tightly, keyed up as she went back onto me, working faster now, a scrape of teeth, her gaze constantly flickering up to mine.

Footsteps coming up the hall fast, our oldest girl Amy trying the knob: "Mom!"

Ellen fixed her eyes on mine, grinning around my swollen dick, sucking it, rocking her head from side to side.

"Mommy's busy," I wheezed, my tone shaky now.

"I need her!"

"In a minute," I answered, then dropping my voice: " ... She'll be all done in a minute."

"But I need her now!"

Ellen's smallish fingers were stroking that patch of skin below my balls now, a wave a crackling pleasure churning up my body.

"I'm gonna come," I mouthed.

Ellen suctioned harder, her cheeks hollowing out with the effort, a flicker on her face as the first spurt of semen filled her mouth, bucking myself against her hard now, tugging her hair, emptying myself fully as she momentarily struggled for air.

"Mom!" The knob was turning again, rattling harder.

"Here I come," Ellen gasped impatiently, offering me a quick wink as she quickly stood up, slipping the straps of her bra back into place and readjusting the cups. Her mouth glistened lewdly. I reached out and took a firm tit in my hand, gently rolling the hardened nipple through the fabric.

"You owe me one tonight, buddy," she said close to my ear, then bent and picked up her blouse, motioning for me to straighten myself.

"Mommy!" My other little girl out there now, a shrill chorus—way too shrill coming as it did a mere thirty seconds after I'd just violated their Mom's mouth.

"When you have that other guy over we better send the kids to your Mom's," Ellen said with mock seriousness, holding the knob for another moment while I got fully tucked in.

I sat back on the bed as she sidled out of the door. "What is so important?" I heard her chide happily, the echo of their voices drifting as the three of them went back downstairs. I leaned back, closing my eyes, content in the way you feel after getting a good, spur-of-the-moment, blow-job.

I closed my eyes and thought about Ellen's words, amusing myself with various scenarios, imagining paying off some perilous debt with one of her vouchers, or of losing one across a smoke shrouded poker table—fun images to mull over, even though, thankfully, I had no "perilous" debts and my entire gambling career amounted to occasionally getting in the office Super Bowl pool.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, letting loose a relaxed sigh. I really did get off on that kind of shit; it was just some weird, twisted stuff was all. Harmless fantasy and all that; like a kid knocking off an imaginary tank with a cap pistol.

Just some fun, harmless stuff...

I went out to the Pittsburgh/West Virginia football game that fall. It was a cold, snowy day at Heinz Field, with Pitt just squeaking by for the win. I was out there with my brother, Tommy, and his friend Jack, who'd gotten some majorly sweet tickets from a sales rep.

A terrific time, I drove, my brother sprung for our post-game feast of fries and dogs at the big O.

Perfect, till I realized I'd lost my wallet. I'd had it in my jacket pocket, and didn't realize it was gone till I was parked in a toll booth just shy of crossing back into Ohio.

I'd bought popcorn at the stadium, and beers for three of us. Had to be where I dropped it. I called Ellen from the car and told her what happened, letting her know to put a freeze on my two credit cards.

That probably would have ended it, save for the hassle of getting a new driver's license and all the insurance and registration cards replaced.

Ellen phoned the stadium staff and was told nothing had been turned in, so I just chalked it up to experience. Still, what the hell would it cost someone to just toss it to the side, even after they'd rifled the cash and all.

On Monday I got home from work late, and Ellen had a plate made up for me. The girls were watching television and I was exhausted.

"Got a call on your wallet today," Ellen said brightly as I started eating.

"You did!"

"Guy found it in the parking lot at the stadium," she went on, reaching across to pluck a snow pea from my plate. "Asked if I wanted him to drop it off or just mail it."

"He's from around here?"

"No, he's from Pittsburgh ... least I guess that's where he's from. Said he would be out here for a meeting tomorrow, and said he could drop it off before he goes home."

"Whatever," I answered cheerily. " ... Hey at least I don't have to get all my papers duplicated."

"Yeah, your driver's ID, the registration card..."

"Insurance paper, my medical cards..." I added, absently ticking items off on my fingers.

"And let's not forget that little certificate for an evening of erotic bliss that your wife gave you for Christmas."

I froze, my mouth hanging slack. I'd forgotten about having it inside my billfold. With all the aggravation it had slipped right out of my skull.

Ellen's mouth crept into a wry twist.


"How nice it was for me to be speaking to this strange man, having a really pleasant conversation and all, hearing that all your cash and everything was still inside the wallet ... and then just when I was thanking him so much for being honest and all, he mentions how he almost didn't want to return the "Ellen certificate" ... that's what he called it, the "Ellen certificate". He just..."

"I don't believe this."

"Actually he was very nice about it, not like you're thinking or anything. He was just being a bit of a wise guy, just some mild joking and all."

I leaned back in my chair, the back legs creaking with my weight as I settled onto them.

"Of course I'm sure he also was hoping to fuck me," my wife went on in a hushed tone, wagging her brows for emphasis. " ... I did look pretty snazzy on those pictures I took."

I just shook my head a bit.

"Anyways," Ellen went on. "He is coming by tomorrow after five with your belongings."

"You think it's a..."

" ... a good idea that he comes out to our house?" she shrugged. "I'm not sure, that's why I think you are going to take a half personal day tomorrow and be here when he comes by."


"Good, now finish your dinner," she said, helping herself to another snow pea. " ... An "Ellen certificate". How completely mortifying is that?"

I don't know why, but I started to laugh, and saw Ellen falter after a moment, her hand covering her mouth as a thin giggle escaped, a high blush rising on her fine cheekbones.

And so it was that I was home by one the next day, the weather outside very cold. Our youngest daughter was home from kindergarten at two and Ellen was upstairs in the small office she kept, doing a set of account books for one of her audit clients.

I have to admit that the whole situation had given me quiet a charge, the fact that this guy had found my wallet and had seen Ellen's certificate. It was intriguing; he had my wallet, the pictures of her that I kept inside, an old snapshot of her in a bikini at Cape Cod, formal portrait stills of her and my two girls, a picture of the two of us at our wedding reception.

It was around four-thirty when the door bell chimed. I glanced out the window and saw the BMW convertible parked in our drive, top up of course, winter salt and grime giving it a leached-out grayness.

Ellen was down the steps and at the door in a lick, clearly wanting to get there ahead of me.

"Hi," she said, stepping back a bit, her head craned upward.

"You're Ellen." I saw only the hand with my wallet in it, the voice deep and masculine, cool and sly. "I'd recognize you anywhere."

"Come on in," she said, ushering him inside with a wave. I noticed that she'd changed her clothes since I'd gotten home—a turtleneck traded in for a chic white blouse, which together with her slacks perfectly accented her thin, athletic frame, a healthy bounce to her tits.

"I was looking forward to..."

"This is my husband, Frank, and this is Amy," she said quickly, gesturing to me as I came up from the opposite side. There was just a flicker on his face. I knew he must've been hoping that she was alone; just on the percentage that you never knew what was going to happen when you got a woman alone.

"Hi," he said without missing a beat. "I'm Tony Conti."

"Great to meet you, and thank you for that," I said heartily, pointing to the wallet, taking it from him as he held it out for me. We shook hands. His grip was strong, like being snapped up in a machine press or something.

"Hey no problem, man," he said pleasantly. "I'm glad I found it."

"Good game, huh?"

"Not for me, man. Not for me," he laughed, shaking his head, crouching down at the knees to try shaking hands with Amy who was hugging against me thigh. "You're as pretty as your Mom," he said, making her hide her face harder into me.

"Would you like something to drink," Ellen spoke up.

"No, no, I gotta get going,"

"I appreciate you bringing it over like this," I said. "I hope it wasn't too far out of your way."

"Not at all," he said casually, still smiling at my daughter. I watched him for a long moment. He was a very big guy, extraordinarily large through the shoulders and neck, clean cut, with a dark complexion. I was guessing that he was maybe in his early thirties tops, neatly dressed in a dark overcoat.

"You went to West Virginia?"

"Yeah, played for 'em when they still sucked," he laughed.

"What'd you play?" I asked with real interest now.

"Special teams and I started as an end for half my senior year," he replied. He was six-five easy, a broken nose that healed out of line a bit; he towered over me, and was a good foot and a half taller than my Ellen who was a very petite five-one.

"Sure you won't have a drink or something," I asked, repeating Ellen's offer.

"No, I really do have to get back on the road," he said, then thinking of it for a second. " ... You go to the games a lot?"

"When I can."

"You Ellen?"

"Once in a while," she lied.

"Well, here," he paused, reaching beneath his overcoat and coming out with a business card. "Give me a call and I'll try and get us tickets to one of the better games."

"Thanks," I said, again shaking his hand, or rather having my hand nearly disappear in his.

"Yes, thank you," Ellen added quickly, coming up on her tiptoes' for no other reason than to look good. He took her hand and bent to gently envelop her with a quick hug, a pretty bold move if you asked me, as it came with people he'd only just met.

I pulled the curtain back as he backed out of the drive, feeling Ellen up at my side.

"Is it in there?"

I glanced over at her. She looked off a bit, frazzled in an odd way.

I flipped open the wallet, fingering through the bills till I found it, sliding it up for her to see.

"I think he wanted to give it to you personally," I whispered, checking to see that Amy had run off to find her sister.

"I think he wanted to give it to me too," she smirked.

"I could call him back."

"He'd kill me," she said, stroking her fingers up my chest.

"He was a..."

"He'd fuck me and there'd be nothing left. God, could you imagine him on top of me," she cooed sexily, a surreptitious glance around to make sure the girls were gone as she glided down to my crotch.

"He definitely was hoping to. You know that."

"I sort of flirted with him on the phone," she whispered, clearly aroused now. "He was talking about the, you know the paper and all, and ... and I was maybe a little too flirty with him, saying I hoped I could get it back from him ... that's why I wanted you here tonight. I was all worried when I hung up and thought, like, are you crazy talking to some strange guy you don't even know like this."

"How 'bout when you saw him?"

"Jesus I..."

"I'm sure you could've reclaimed your property very easily."

"God, he was gargantuan," she giggled, darting back from me as she heard the girls coming down the staircase.

"Maybe we can go to a game with him," I smiled, rewarded with a punch to the shoulder. " ... I am going to fuck you so hard tonight," I went on, just moving my lips over the words.

"You'd better," she answered aloud, waving a palm in front of her face as if to cool herself. "I really do need it."

And so we humped hard that night, and the next. Ellen was really taken with the whole thing, surprisingly so, as she had always been more that a little reticent with divulging too much of her own fantasy life.

As for me, I was absolutely subsumed with the thing, probably because I'd never before seen my wife so aroused by any fantasy, particularly one that skewered into my psyche like this one did. Sure she would be full of play at times with me, enjoying the various titillating games and exchanges we'd drifted into over the years of our marriage, the sexy give-and-take banter, but never like this. This was raw, some dark place just for her, with me almost redundant, feeding her scenarios, giving her more rope.

"Can you just imagine him on top of me," she'd moaned as I climbed her that first night, thrusting harder as she literally exploded into her first orgasm; a certain chaste shyness afterwards, as if wary of having left to much open for me to see.

Two weeks went by like that. Intense, often numbing sexual marathons; sometimes fucking her from behind, a position she hadn't had a particular taste for in the past, driving myself into her mossy, indolent depths as she clutched the headboard with whitened knuckles, whimpering as she crashed between climaxes, I could tell that it wasn't even me behind her anymore, that she was that far removed within her mind...

Two long weeks and then I got the call.

"Guess who called?" Ellen's voice came over my office speaker phone.

"Who," I asked distractedly, shuffling through a report on my desk...

"Come on, guess."

I heard the lilt of barely suppressed excitement in her voice. I reached over and plucked up the receiver.

"Oh, I'm guessing now."

"We have tickets to this weekend's game, if we want them."

" ... That's nice. I didn't realize you were such a fan."

Ellen giggled uneasily. I could imagine her shifting from foot to foot, nervously glancing around our empty living room.

"So," she said.

"It's in Wheeling? Who're they playing?"

"He said it's in Pittsburgh. The Steelers..."


"It's this Sunday."

"Ellen, you sure you want to go?"

I let the words settle in hard; I had to say it. This screwy fantasy was out there, but this was different, and at least I was going to come out and say it. I didn't want my wife getting into deeper waters than she realized, or me for that matter.

"It's just a football game."

"Hon, I'm thinking Mr. Conti is—I think he's looking forward to something a bit more entertaining than just a game."

I paused, waiting for her—not surprised at the hardening of my cock, trained dog that it is.

"I don't know," she said finally, sounding flustered.

"I'm not saying don't go, Hon, " I replied evenly, realizing for the first time that my wife, who I trusted implicitly, might actually be turning the thought of sleeping with this strange guy over in her head. "I'm just saying that you have to..."

"I wanna go," she chirped, as if glad to spit the words out.

"Ellen we can talk about this tonight, okay?"

"No, I'm saying I want to go, I want to go to the game ... I'll chicken out if I don't say yes now. I wanna go!"


"We'll just watch the game, okay?"

My office door was open just a crack and I got up and closed it completely.

"Look, this Tony guy wanted to pop you right in our house," I said softly, choosing my words carefully. "You know that. You saw his expression when he saw me and the kids there."

" ... Yeah, I know."


"If you don't want to go..."

"I didn't say that," I countered, my hands trembling a bit. "I just want you to know what you're maybe getting into with..."

"He's not going to rape me or anything," she said suddenly, and I knew she probably had the exact image flash through her mind as was now flitting through my own—Tony Conti rampant, ripping my wife's clothes off, stripping her nude with sadistic delight, a mean glare as pinned her to his bed. My legs went rubbery with the thought.

"No," I said reassuringly. "But..."

"You get to say what I do," she blurted.


"You get to say what happens," she said hurriedly, as if wanting to spill it out before she lost her nerve completely. "If you want, you can give him one of the, you know, the papers I gave you."



"Ellen, look I..."

"I have to go," she chattered, though I knew she didn't, and heard the line click off. I sat there more than stunned, breathless, my heart racing. My office is a prime bit of corner real estate, but is fronted with floor-to-ceiling glass. I needed to get there, but my erection simply wouldn't slacken.

I laughed to myself in daft amazement, and put the phone back on its hook.

"I don't believe this," I muttered, sitting there for several minutes. It was true that this was always a fantasy I'd always enjoyed, but fuck, it was only just that, just a fantasy. Normal people didn't entertain lunacy like this. But at the same time I was also extremely excited, no denying that.

I thought some more, and then remembered his card. I'd slipped it inside my wallet, wondering now why I'd even saved it at all. Just tell him no, we couldn't make it—hell, just tell him to go fuck off was more like it. Then I thought maybe I was just being an absolute nut with the whole thing, a paranoid jerk.

Tony Conti picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Frank, how are you? Did Ellen tell you about the tickets?"

"She did."

"It's with Baltimore, man. It'll be an outstanding game ... My buddy Art got 'em for me. He used to be a West Virginia player too, only he was good."

"Yeah," I muttered weakly, wanting to just cut him short and tell him we couldn't go.

"He was my roommate when we were out there. We try and do a couple games a year together, you know, have some fun like we used to in the day."

"Yeah, well..."

"I was telling Art about the wallet thing and all, and about you and Ellen, and he suggested that I should offer you our extra tickets ... We usually bring a couple chicks out there with us, but I figured that you two might wanna make it a day."


"Yeah, Art thought that certificate your wife gave you was a riot."

I shook my head, caught so off guard by him saying it like that that I couldn't form a single word.

"I was joking with your wife that maybe you could trade us two of 'em for the tickets," he went on into the silence, his voice tightening noticeably, a tense laugh dropped on like an exclamation point.

I looked out into the office, watching people moving to and fro, the blood whooshing in my head, I tried to speak, but again not a sound came.

"Hope I'm not being rude or anything, Frank" he said at last. "Ellen didn't say yes or no, but she seemed to be interested in..."

I slammed the receiver down and took a sharp breath. My hands were shaking violently, and I felt faint for a second or so. It was impossible for me to think, the words—Ellen's, his, mine— tumbling through my consciousness like bits of shattered masonry.

I wished I kept a bottle stashed in my desk like some of the other managers.

My phone rang.

My secretary: "Mr. Pratt, I have a Mr. Conti calling."

"Put it through, Jean."

"Hey, Frank, I'm sorry if I..."

His sentence petered out. I held silent, closing my eyes, trying to focus.

"Look forget about it okay?" he went on, sounding embarrassed. "I just misread things is all. I really thought I caught a vibe from you, and when I was on the phone with your wife, she seemed to..."

"We'll come to the game," I cut in. "Ellen and me."

" ... Great. That's ... um, that's great."

I looked out to make sure Jean had replaced the receiver.

"Sorry I hung up like that."

"Hey, it's cool," he went on. " ... I guessing you guys never really did anything like this before, did you?"

" ... No."

"Don't sweat nothing, man," he cut in. "If it feels right when we get..."

"Two of my wife's vouchers for the two tickets, right?"

Tony Conti laughed across the line.

"That's the deal, isn't it?" I went on.

"Yeah, that's the deal ... Why don't you two come out the day before, on Saturday. Art lives up in Shadyside and we can all stay there. Have a little party that night."

I didn't answer, the silence hanging awkwardly between us.

"You okay with it, man?"

"Yeah," I answered. "It's just that..."

"It'll be a great time," he said, bolder now, cutting me short again, taking hold of the thing firmly. "You want to get in with it or watch, whatever. And we'll ... we won't get rough or anything like that if you don't want us to. You just..."

"I'll just watch." I could almost hear him smile over the phone, my stomach sinking as I whispered the words.

"Good, it'll be better that way."

"And you can do whatever you like. I think she'll like it a little rough," I said in a voice I didn't even recognize.

Art Carson was even bigger than Tony, a literal wall of a man, thick and solid, a neatly trimmed beard, thick black hair. He met us as we pulled into the driveway of his large home on one of Pittsburgh's better neighborhoods, a broad lawn, a Land Rover standing in the opened garage.

It was just past five o'clock, light flurries in the air, the gloom of dusk mantling everything.

He'd watched us as we slowed our car coming down the street, backing up a bit to swing in to where he stood.

"Hi," he said, choosing to come around my side of the car, watching me carefully as I got out, offering me his massive hand. "I'm Art Carson."


The passenger door creaked as it opened. I glanced over as Ellen slowly got out, hesitant, skittish.

Art Carson's expression brightened for an instant, a carnal malevolence registering in his stare. It was so fast, but I knew he had mentally stripped my Ellen raw in that instant, driven his cock into her body with every bit of power he possessed.

"Hi," she said, a low quaver registering in her tone, looking like she was ready to bolt.

"Hello," Art responded, trying for a reassuring grin. " ... Let's get inside. Tony is here already."

"Ellen looked at me and took a few steps, waiting for me to come around—I took her forearm, she looked scared, as if wanting me to stop this now; to rescue her, to take her away, back to our home and our pleasant life.

"Come on," I whispered gently, leading her up the long stone walkway, following several steps behind Art, After a moment Tony opened the door, a barely suppressed leer on his face as he swung it open for us. " ... It'll be okay."

Art Carson's house was richly furnished. I found myself wondering what he did for a living. He and Tony were making small talk as we walked through the rooms, the words not registering with me at all. Ellen met my eyes, looking slightly dazed. Tony took our coats, his hand casually gliding down the center of Ellen's back as he stepped away.

"So," Art said, opening the door to a room that was obviously his den, a small bar off to one side, an antique billiard table at the far side, comfortable-looking leather chairs and a sofa arrayed around a door-sized flat screen. "Want a drink?"

I shook my head, but Ellen nodded after a pause.

"What would you like?"

"Gin," she whispered hoarsely. I couldn't remember the last time my wife had had a drink, other than wine.


She nodded again, looked about the room, as if searching for the escape hatch.

"Come on," Tony spoke up, gesturing to the couch. "Have a seat."

We sat down on the couch; Ellen was swallowing dryly, her shoulders rigid with stress.

"Here you go," Art came over, holding out a tall glass to her. Ellen gulped, her eyes darting, another deep pull off the gin.

"Made it strong," he went on. "Hope you like?"

Ellen nodded. I looked at my wife and thought of these last couple days, a rollercoaster ride of emotions and recriminations from that first night.

I'd said it as soon as I walked in that night, pinned her tight, mashing her pert breasts against my chest, a strained whisper so the girls wouldn't hear, told her that I promised both of 'em, Tony Conti and this friend of his, that they could have a pull on her, my breath hot on her face, a perceptible tremble wracking through her small body. Her skin was moist, almost clammy; I tasted her neck, the salt, the fucking excitement. I met her eyes, told her I said they could do what they liked with her.

We fucked without preamble an hour later, up in our bedroom, the television in the den on louder than normal for the girls, our door locked, no foreplay, her slacks off, my trousers tangled down around my ankles, standing as I held her against the edge of the bed, a hard thrust into her sodden vagina, getting leverage, fucking her as fast as I could, seeing her instantly slip into her first orgasm, thrashing, smothering a pillow across her own face to muffle her shrieks, riding my weight into each lunge, telling her how I told them to be rough with her, rough as they wanted, do what they...

And then the awful crash, the spent seconds, reality tugging us back, Ellen in tears that first night, making me promise to call him to say no, then backing out by morning, then again that night, that hazy peek of what we were being drawn into, the knowledge that we were staring off a cliff, looking down into the abyss.

But each night I have to admit that I was getting more turned on by it, the pull stronger, the rationalizations better defined, that it wasn't anything that would change things between us, that it was just sex and nothing more. I knew Ellen, though fairy inexperienced when it came to sex, had been with a few boyfriends before me, that this was that same kind of thing. It had nothing to do with the core of our lives, of the love we felt for each other. I just knew I wanted it to happen, I was reaching for justifications, making it right and safe when it wasn't either.

And so here we were today, our two beautiful girls at my Mom's for the night.

I looked over at my lovely wife again and saw her drain her glass completely.

"Want another?" Art asked, staring at her with frank appraisal.

She shook her head.

"So, I think we got a transaction to conclude," Tony spoke up, smirking as he pulled two tickets from his shirt pocket and laid them out atop the coffee table. " ... Second row back, right up by the fifty."

"And you have something to trade for 'em," Art said, still focusing entirely on Ellen.

I took out the two vouchers Ellen had given me, but hesitated. "You're okay?" I said, looking sidelong at my wife who was staring back at Art, her lower lip trembling. She didn't answer, just kept watching him with that blank, fearful gaze.

I laid the two vouchers right atop the Steelers tickets—Tony plucked them up, chuckling darkly as he studied the paper, Ellen's self-styled photographs and her playful words. He handed one to Art who didn't even bother to look at it.

"Ellen, how tall are you?" he asked.


"Five-two, five-three?"


"How old?"


Art nodded and finally looked down at the paper in his hand; a black chortle, amused, leering.

"Tony says you got a kid."

"I have two ... Two girls."

He rose up abruptly, towering over us as he crumbled the voucher into a spitball and let it drop to the floor.

"You ever fuck anybody as big as me before?"

My wife didn't answer, or better said, couldn't seem to utter a sound. She visibly cringed as she looked up at him, his arms thick as fence posts, massive neck bulging and corded. He had what could be called traditionally handsome features, chiseled seemingly from stone. His blackish beard was trimmed tight, stubbly with a few flecks of gray.

"Should be an easy question, baby," he went on sarcastically.

Ellen shook her head, averted her eyes finally.

"Good, because that won't be the same answer you'll be giving tomorrow," he went on, glancing at me, smirking for my benefit as he continued. "Stand up. Stand up and get the fuck over here!"

Art stepped out towards the open space near his billiard table, pointing to a spot like he was summoning a dog, Tony getting up and following him.

"Come on!" he ordered.

My wife started to get up, faltering as if her legs betrayed her. I reached over and took her hand, knowing I could end this still if I wanted to, knowing that I should. She pulled away from my touch and stood up, wobbly as she edged out to where they waited. She froze there, each of these men at least a foot and a half taller than her, each a good hundred pounds heavier than her—a flinch as Art stroked her hair.

"Take your shoes off."

Ellen had worn plain black heels, not too high, but when she haltingly stepped out of them, the effect was to make the men dwarf her all the more.

"Now your clothes. All of them!"

Ellen hesitated, her tiny hand brushing a button at her neckline. She'd worn a high-collared white blouse today, a skirt that was much longer than her usual tastes. It was a fine black print, the pleats sharply ironed, shrouding right down to her ankles.

"Come on, baby," he said, edging even closer now. "Strip or I'll fucking do it for you."

"I think that's what she fucking wants," Tony said, reaching out and lifting the back of her skirt.

"Stop," Ellen blurted, twisting away from his grasp.

"How 'bout starting things up with a little kiss, bitch," Art laughed, the two of these men corralling her now, circling, edging her back towards the pool table. I still could have stopped it then, but I didn't want to. I have to confess it now; I simply didn't want to.

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