He couldn’t remember the ride home, or much of anything after the whiskey. Only that his wife really seemed fond of this woman. They had hit it off at the restaurant bar while waiting for a table, and it was Anne who insisted she accompany them afterward. The excessive conversation didn’t suit her, but she hadn’t made a new friend in a while. Or maybe the alcohol had her, ending in behavior that fringed on being too amiable. If he were to select someone for his wife’s companionship, this one was unexpected—a complete departure into the realms of peculiarity that he accepted as an alleviation either way. The new acquaintance didn’t decline the invitation, instead, she followed them home in a taxi.
At the house, the woman steadily fed them drinks from their own liquor cabinet, and some hardened candies she said would make them feel good. Anne was already swaying after her first glass but he accepted another, knowing it to be an impulsive and terrible idea.
He noticed the second drink the woman poured him tasted bitter. That was his last memory before the lids of his eyes sluggishly opened, and through blurred vision he could gradually make out the ceiling fan in his bedroom turning lazily overhead. The light was nothing but a soft glow from the torchère across the room. His head was swimming, and everything felt disjointed. His condition was as a top, relentlessly spinning, with the weight of something over him pushing down at his waist. When he went to bend his neck it was heavy. He strained to lift it anyway, cutting his line of sight towards his torso which had been stripped bare as his senses.
The woman was upon him. Even during the disorientation he could immediately discern the difference. Anne was fair, yet this form was paler, with an outline as if she had been molded in an hourglass. She was naked, all but for black undergarments that lay stark against her skin, in the darkness like a collection of fragmented ivory. He squeezed his eyes tightly, blinking until his sight further cleared but the inebriation continued to preside over his coherence. Slowly he followed the contours of her body up to her neck where her face was banded in shadows, surrounded by a blonde silhouette that radiated like a halo against the low light behind her, making her appear as some nefarious angel. He tried to say her name and couldn’t remember it, but he was convinced that it began with an E.
Suddenly his mind was on Anne. At the wondered of her his heart began to beat feverishly. The severity of the situation was still unknown and amid his disconnected thinking he thought how he could have let this happen, how this woman could have manipulated them, and why there was no indication of her intentions at the rate at which she served them drinks.
He attempted to shift himself but the woman on him didn’t move, fixed like an exquisite predator restricting her prey. He forced his head to the right where he saw the mass of a person lying on their side. The face was turned away, but the dark strands of hair he could see were evidence enough. For a moment he watched as her body rose and fell in a steady rhythm to ensure her breathing. Her name came out listlessly when he said it, barely above a whisper, “A—nne.” He reached for her but his arm remained inert, it was only his fingers that fidgeted gently in her direction.
Then the woman on top of him spoke.
“She’s fine,” her voice calm and low and sultry as she reassured him, “she just had a little too much.” Grasping for the chin, she repositioned the head towards them. Anne’s face illuminated as it rolled into view, her cheerful hazel eyes had grown dark and glazed as they stared straightforwardly, trying to focus but fighting a severe insobriety.
He slurred his words when he said them, “What—what are you—doing?” unable to recall a time when whiskey had impaired him this badly. He was sure that was the cause.
“Whatever I want.” She smiled in a way that spelled pleasure, laughing as she lay across him with her mouth in close proximity when replying, her breath hot over his lips.
“—She can’t speak, she’s completely debilitated. She can hear you though, I’m fairly sure, and see you more than likely. Well—see us.” She examined the immobile body and called out to her, “Anne! Why don’t you get up, dear, and join us? We were having such a great time downstairs.”
There was no answer, only breathing, that of placid subdual. The woman could do as she pleased had she wanted to, to violate her, there would be no objection. But it was not Anne she sought; it was her husband which she wanted to seduce with coercion and defile, with violence if it came to that necessity. She wasn’t entirely certain what drove the prurient compulsion within herself. Perhaps the atmosphere gave it away, the alcohol consumption lightening his mood, allowing for a glimpse of some underlying dilemma that surged beneath his composure and silently screamed devour me. Whatever the incentive, her malicious act was in motion.
“See, it’s just you and I,” she said while descending his body, moving like a vitiated apparition, until the button and fly of his pants were exposed. She unfastened them eagerly and slid them over his hips and down his legs, leaving them in a crumpled pile around his calves before crawling back onto him.
She wondered him a provocative specimen, his physique inviting, and no ounce of reverence was wasted for the capacity of what was bulging beneath the fabric her underside lingered above. A considerable enthusiast for the matters of men in the regions below their waist, it was no great surprise that what she found there was beyond the bounds of adequacy. She allowed her tongue to drag over its outline through the cloth like sandpaper, up the center of his stomach until it circled his navel. She dipped into it and her lips closed around it, her saliva like molten liquid on his skin.
Though incapable of movement, every part of him was stimulated. Her wet tongue bathing him felt both incredible and obscene as his brain struggled to decipher the two sensations. A vehement hardship he had never experienced. And when the softened silk of her panties was grazing against his sex over the thin layer of his underwear, he found himself throbbing uncontrollably.
Logic fought arousal as he idly became aware of what was happening. Fear dumped adrenaline into his stomach and made him ill but it didn’t overpower his erection. He continued to pulse and twitch beneath her like a rabid creature.
She spoke to Anne another time, her demeanor condescending, “Anne, you wouldn’t mind, would you? If I—borrowed your husband for a while.” There was a pause but Anne didn’t reply. Cognizant of the acts occurring in her bedroom yet unable to prevent them, her gaze was solemn, perforating the dark in silent recognition. Her mouth was slack like that of a drooling dunce, her body paralyzed as she watched the woman verbally tormenting her while straddling her husband. “I thought not,” the woman added, pinching her bottom lip with her teeth, “Actually—“
She leaned sideways towards the motionless figure and placed her palm flat on Anne’s upper arm, resting it there. He wanted to speak but the effects of the drug swelled again, causing his eyes to roll behind the lids, and all he could manage was a groan. She ran her fingers over Anne’s skin, softly across her forearm until it resembled gooseflesh; an unassailable tell that her sensitivity hadn’t dulled as her motor functions had. When she reached her hand she found the ring there, on the fourth finger, and slid it off, letting Anne’s arm fall back at her side where it smacked lifelessly across her stomach and folded onto the coverlet.
She righted herself with the ring in hand. Every minute displacement of her weight against him was a burden on his conscience as he observed, the intoxication rendering him useless while she commented, “I think I should play wife,” and pushed the band down onto the finger of her left hand. She splayed it to admire the ring like an affluent bride while addressing her, “There, now isn’t that lovely? It does look much better on me, don’t you think so, Anne?” She moved her hand to Anne’s face, holding it there then repeating the action in front of his half-lidded eyes for inspection.
“Let’s see—” she began again, a woman deranged with a voracious appetite evident in the tone of her voice. She initiated a rotation of measured circles over him with her hips, feeling his hardness pressing upon her swelling center as she did so, “—is this how a wife is supposed to act?” Her pubic area drove against his lower abdomen in short jerking movements, creating immense friction that made her whine and shake tremulously as she proclaimed, “I’m your wife now.”
The insolent style in which she declared such a parody bit at him, inflamed him, exacerbated him into a frenzy, though one of alarm or passion in his unbalanced state he was unsure. He heard the words but didn’t entirely process them as the aching in his groin increased, along with his ability to feel anything except an extreme pressure advancing within, a stupendous river of pruriency building, approaching, ready to overflow and drown them both. Lines formed in thin ripples across his forehead and at the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightened, the softness of his face giving way to an acute contortion that relayed the displeasure he felt.
She admired the helpless nature of him in the present, somehow ineffectual and compelling. At first sight of him in the restaurant, the overwhelming impulse to claim him arose, knowing what a most delicate endeavor it would be with his wife present, but she seemed naive enough, the woman reasoned. A few cocktails to loosen barred temperaments, and to stave off the jealousy so easily fashioned during the mingling of mixed sexes. How lucky she wondered Anne to be. Even without knowing this man she knew how sublime it must be to fuck him and be fucked by him.
It was useless to struggle, he knew, the sensible action being to submit, which he had already. This woman over him like a roaring tempest, suppressing and sapping his strength until she engulfed him. Reasonably, a greater threat was Anne’s presence. The idea of her witnessing these actions sent him into such turmoil, that it eclipsed the pleasant effects of the substance enabling him and he felt that he could cry from remorse if she didn’t stop.
With sudden urgency, the woman began to remove her underclothing as if the other would come alive at any moment to drag her from the carnal reward she was on the verge of surmounting. He truly despised her then, for her betrayal, for her impertinence, her heedlessness, like a parasite adhered to his skin, feeding as she pleased. Between his anger he envied her genitive enjoyment, wishing the warmth in the center of his legs came from consensual circumstance rather than force, yet he allowed himself to savor it all the same.
She freed herself from the confinements of her upper garment in seconds, undressing with such heated precision that it made him wonder how often she partook in such activities, acting as a seasoned madame—swift and graceful and lewd in her process, in a manner that, despite his perplexed predicament, he found surpassingly exotic. The tender tissue of her nipples tautened in the exposed air, the rush of blood flushing the light pink a shade darker, and his focus settled there. Bright blue eyes greedy with a kind of hunger only men had candid liberty to possess, but scarcely conceal, and even more seldom deny.
She extended herself until the petite whole of her chest hovered only inches from his lips. Thirst overcame him, but in his determination, he did not open his mouth to welcome such perversion. She angled her hips to remove her panties, lifting her buttocks from his thighs which propelled her breasts forward. They touched his face, the tips danced over his cheeks and grazed his lips, rousing such a desire that he wondered if he could only sample them, they would nurture him indefinitely. However, he refrained from the tasting. He kept his head perfectly still where his focus would be more readily assembled, considering his intoxicated shape. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his lips around her pubescent mounds. To suck them and bite them, to regain some sense of control over her where he retained none. But he abstained, knowing it to be intrinsically wrong, regardless of sexual avidity.
Her fingers hooked the edges of her underwear and they were rapidly abandoned, her breasts such a distraction that he took no notice when she discarded the last remaining clothing into darkness. It was only when she pulled her body upright, those ample protrusions moving away from him, that he was able to see the full expanse of her nudity. Once surveyed it hardened him further. Only now could he acknowledge her entirely, with her hot underside pressing onto him. He opened his mouth to speak again but she covered it with her hand. The pressure of her palm mashed his skin into his teeth uncomfortably and he tried to move his head, but when he did she crushed her hand down harder until he was still.
“Don’t speak, just feel,” she instructed while dragging her index finger along his lips. She divided them with the tip, feeling the smoothness of his teeth below, and, pushing against them, pried them open to reveal the red muscle they obscured. With a strong urge to catch it in her fingers, she pressed down onto it, her first two fingers advancing more until he couldn’t help but gag, making her smile.
Some sound came from her then, some delirious murmur of excitement and pleasure at his discomfort. His words turned to nonsensical noise within the control of her fingers before they even formed. He wondered of biting them as they invaded, yet he resisted with better judgment, afraid of the consequences while he remained immobile.
All at once he felt the sharp curvature of her pelvic bone digging into one side of his hip as her weight was displaced. She bent toward the right, reaching for something unknown on the nightstand prior to righting herself onto him once more when she had obtained it. She placed the item between her lips. Her face was abruptly lit up with the spark of a lighter, and he watched the end of the rolled paper smolder with the initial drag she took from it.
The aromatic scent of earth and citrus filled the surrounding air, and through the rising vapors he noticed her eyes, dark and blue and wanting, the lids heavy over them as they drank him in with each inhalation. The corner of her mouth lifted, and the cannabis cigarette clung between, burning slowly as it hung there along with an ominous simper.
His arousal swelled beneath the soft folds of her underside that lay bare against him; anxiety and appetence flourished to their peak, and his temperature rose. He thought if he would lose consciousness from the exhilaration as her own desires flared. Uncertain of what stimulated her more, the high or his unease, perhaps a combination of both, she was ready for her hard-earned compensation.
With her palms placed flat onto his torso, she pressed down and lifted her body with her knees until he felt the skin of their lower organs separating. The mouth of her arousal drifted hungrily above his cock that now stood upright, pulsing and dripping against his wishes. Every nerve inside of him knotted, his stomach clenched. For a time she remained that way, suspended above him for what felt like an eternity.
After a long silence, she spoke, “Now I’m gonna give you what I know you want,” and, finally, with a long draw of smoke that was exhaled casually into his face, she sank down onto him. His sex parted her, her velvet lining enveloping and tightening around him like a ribbon as it did. Their most private of parts mingled, exchanging their moistures as her hips slowly undulated off of his, creating the temporal, viscous sounds that only intimacy can generate.
Just as the pressure inside of his groin elevated, and he knew he could no longer hold back his orgasm, all sense of indiscretion melting away at that moment while he dissolved into her, her entire body tensed in convulsive succession around him as she spilled her fluid.
He could hear the chaotic blending of laughter and satisfaction resonating out of her, like a wild sinister harmony.