Disclaimer: all characters in this story are at least 18 years old.
My name is Adam and this is my story of how I met a woman I loved like no other. Throughout college, I developed a fetish for married or otherwise unavailable women. Maybe it's better to call it an obsession: I was not attracted to women unless they were in a committed relationship. Problem is, I'm not naturally charming or funny. I took some sleazy pickup artist classes but whenever I flirted, I came off as a combination of sad/creepy/horny. One time, I tried flirting with a gorgeous Eastern European woman named Maddie at the country club. She shrugged off my flirting but instead of dismissing me, she spent some time teaching me how women think and feel once they're in a relationship. Her most enduring lessons: 1) I don't have a chance with most committed women- they have too much to lose and nothing to gain. 2) Relationships are never what they seem. People are weird, and the more you know them, the weirder it gets. Turns out, she was right on both counts.
During the summer of 2013, I was working at Optimal Heating and Cooling, a local company that specializes in installing and maintaining HVAC systems. Pretty boring work, but it was the best-paying job I could find after graduating from college during a shitty economy. One afternoon, I was answering a service call from a sleepy suburb about forty minutes away from the city. I took a few jobs in this area before; it was one of those neighborhoods where the same three designs alternated, creating endless blocks of uniformity. It was depressing and I wanted to finish the job as quickly as possible. I found the address, parked the van along the street, and knocked on the door.
"Hello! Right on time, please come in." A man named Greg amicably answered the door. He was about five-foot-eight, muscular, dark-blonde hair with a sturdy frame and hairy arms. Probably in his forties and clearly worked out. He wore an old "Arizona State" t-shirt with a pair of faded jeans.
"We've been having trouble with this thermostat for a few days now and we're expecting some guests tonight." He was right, the home was too hot by almost ten degrees. I stepped inside and noticed a stack of overdue bills on the counter as I donned a pair of shoe covers. Greg led me to the thermostat at the end of the hallway between the kitchen and the stairwell. The device appeared to be unpowered.
"Looks like an older model. Do you have the manual?" I asked after pulling back the cover. Greg left, dug around in another room, and returned empty-handed.
"Honey? Do you know if we still have the thermostat manual?" Greg yelled. The sound of pattering feet approached us and a stunning asian woman appeared around the corner holding a black-and-white instruction manual. Her dark-brown hair tumbled down to her shoulders in waves. She had a set of big brown eyes, slightly crooked bottom teeth, and stood at five-foot-three. Her body was shapely and petite: small, perky breasts, narrow waist, leading to wide hips and thick thighs. Her nipples announced themselves clearly through her fitted t-shirt. Her thin arms led to a pair of small, smooth hands, with a silver wedding ring on her left ring finger. Her face was at once cute and elegant, framed by neatly trimmed bangs and topped with a small, prominent nose. Around the back: a plump, firm ass. She looked like the headmistress of some elite school (without the glasses). It's hard to tell how old asians are; I would have guessed thirties though she could easily pass for a college student. The couple noticed me staring and sent back a pair of amused expressions. I managed to close my mouth before drooling when Greg broke the awkward silence.
"This is my wife, Hana," he introduced proudly.
"Hi!" She greeted me with a dazzling smile. I shook her hand: her skin was warm and soft. Her happy eyes held my gaze for just a moment as she handed me the owners' manual. Then she directed her gaze toward the floor, bowing her head ever so slightly, turned, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a faint whiff of vanilla perfume in her wake. Greg flashed a boastful smile at me before I returned to work. I'm glad I checked the manual: one of the wire pairings was tricky. Otherwise, I was able to treat it like a similar unit I was very familiar with. After checking all the connections, I asked Greg to take me to the furnace, located in the basement. The basement was much larger than I expected. Though not finished, it was set up for entertainment: a card table with chairs, a sectional sofa, a larger folding table, a workout bench stacked on a row of cinder blocks with a tarp underneath, an old refrigerator, and stacked boxes covered with blankets under the unfinished wooden stairs. The smell of pine-scented bleach solution clung to the air. I found the problem in minutes: a shorted fuse inside the furnace. I replaced it with a spare from my utility belt and went back upstairs. After I checked to make sure everything worked, I pulled out my remote credit card terminal. Since this was an emergency job, the bill was quite hefty: $329. Greg tried two credit cards, both declined. I had no patience for this shit. Our company's accounting system was from the stone age and entering a payment plan, late payment, or uncollectible account was worse than getting a root canal.
"Do you have cash?" I asked. Greg was visibly frustrated. He glanced toward the kitchen, where Hana was on the tip of her toes trying to reach a stack of dishes on a high shelf, her firm ass in clear view.
"Listen, we're a little tight on cash right now, but we host some wild swinger parties," he winked. "You can come watch if you can make this bill disappear. Eight PM tonight." It sounded too good to be true. There was no denying that his wife was hot. I had a slight fetish for asians, but I'd never attended anything like a swinger party before. How much money had I wasted on bullshit pickup artist classes, online dating, and hookup sites to find a "horny local MILF ready to fuck right now!"? It was easily in the thousands of dollars, yet here was an opportunity that fell into my lap. I wasn't sure what to expect. Was his wife just going to put on a shitty strip show for a bunch of losers? Was it going to be weird with a bunch of other dudes I'd never met? Then again, was it better to attend a swinger party with people you know or total strangers? I decided, worst case: I have to wrestle with the accounting system software.
"Ok, fine." I feigned annoyance.
"Great, see you at eight." Greg grinned and shook my hand firmly and I left without giving him a bill. I finished my remaining appointments without incident, headed back to the office to return the van, and zeroed out the balance on Greg's work order with an old promotional code. My boss was probably going to give me shit about it, but I didn't care, I was already daydreaming about seeing Hana that night.
I went home, showered, changed, and drove back to Greg and Hana's. I parked three blocks away and walked the rest of the way, arriving a few minutes past eight PM. Several cars and trucks filled the driveway and spilled into the street. Greg welcomed me in and handed me a cheap white theater mask and collected my cell phone in a basket with a pile of other cell phones. I donned the mask and followed Greg down into the basement where there were seven other men: three of Greg's close friends and three others wearing masks like me. The three other unmasked men chatted quietly as the mask-wearers stood together in a clump in awkward silence.
"Our last guest has arrived. Let us begin," Greg said, walking to the center of the room, beaming as he clasped his hands with mischief twinkling in his eye. "Hana!" he shouted. I heard the sound of heeled footsteps accompanied by a scraping sound. The sounds grew louder until Hana descended the unfinished wooden stairs down into the basement on three-inch heels. She took the steps slowly, one at a time, because her ankles were bound by a short length of steel chain connecting two thick ankle-cuffs. The chain dragged and clanged against each step. As she walked into full view, I gawked behind my mask.
Hana was wearing a maid outfit with a frilled, low-cut top that was almost too loose for her small breasts. Her short skirt stuck out, giving us glimpses of her white panties as she descended the stairs. A thin, pink wire snaked out from the back of her panties and connected to a battery pack strapped to her left thigh. A pair of white leggings squeezed her thighs where they cinched, producing a tantalizing bulge. Around her neck: a tight choker with a studded gem. Her hair was worn in two layers: one formed a bow, and the other fell down the back of her neck in shimmering waves. Her bangs were carefully curled, falling evenly on each side of her face. Despite wearing heavy amounts of eye-shadow and lipstick, her natural beauty and features shone through. All eyes were upon her. Hana smiled at the men, her cute, cooked teeth showing. She was blushing visibly as she walked up to Greg, heels tapping and chain dragging.
"Listen up, we're going to have a good time tonight but there are some rules," Greg said. "If you're wearing a mask, you are only watching. Do not touch, speak, or get in the way. One violation and you're out."
"Alex." Greg turned to the six-foot-tall redhead in khakis and a polo shirt. "Since this is your first time here, pay close attention. You, Pete, and Bill can fuck her any way you want, as hard as you want, but only I get to come inside her pussy. Plenty of her to go around, and she likes it rough. When I'm about to cum, I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it. Got it?" Pete, Alex, and Bill all nodded.
Bill was the fattest, with a bulging belly, a field of stubble on his face and salt-and-pepper streaks of medium length hair slicked back with too much hair gel. He wore a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, surf shorts, and a pair of flip-flops. I thought flip-flops were a bad idea at orgies but this didn't look like Bill's first rodeo. Still, he was a stark contrast to the petite asian goddess standing before us.
"First, I need to teach Bill a lesson in Texas hold'em." Greg motioned to the poker table where cards, snacks, and beer were laid out along with four seats, one for each unmasked man. With a pat on the butt, Greg sent Hana to stand in the corner where she waited, staring at the floor and shifting her hips every once in a while, probably due to whatever devious stimulation that battery pack was giving her.
The men laughed and played, recounting old stories and talking about sports, work, and movies. Pete, Bill, and Greg seemed to have quite a bit of history, while Alex was a newcomer and stayed quiet most of the time. The other masked men and I shifted around, mostly staring at Hana. Throughout the card game, Hana bussed the table, replacing empty beer bottles with new ones from the fridge. On most beer-fetching trips, she was summoned with names like "babe" and "girl", and rewarded with a slap on her ass or a squeeze of her tits. She submissively addressed all the men as "sir", except Greg, whom she addressed as "master". As the men became more drunk, they treated Hana rougher, and their language evolved to include "slut" and "whore". Verbal abuse, Greg explained, was one of Hana's kinks. Bill, visibly drunk, made Hana bend over and display her ass to the observers standing off along the wall. Hana complied with cheerful giggling, cooing, and glowing smiles as her heels clicked and her chain dragged. There I stood with a massive erection, watching the mistreatment of this lovely woman.
"Slut," Bill said as he picked up a freshly dealt hand. "Get me another IPA."
"Yes sir," Hana answered prettily and hobbled to the fridge and bent over, giving everyone a full view of her ass and panties.
"Sir, I'm sorry but that was the last IPA, may I get you a cider?" Hana gave a cute pout as she apologized. Before Bill could answer, Greg spoke.
"Then go get more," Greg commanded impatiently. He flipped open his phone and started the stopwatch app. "You have exactly sixty seconds." Panic briefly flickered across Hana's face. She hobbled as quickly as she could up the stairs, the chain jingled and clanged against each stair as she tried not to trip on her heels.
"You're into some sick shit Greg," said Alex. The other men looked at each other and laughed.
"Oh she loves this," Greg explained to Alex. "When we first met in Japan, the only English words she knew were 'cock' and 'yes'. Only difference is that now she gets to do it with a real man." Greg bragged. A moment later, the sounds of heels announced Hana's arrival and she gingerly descended the unfinished wooden stairs down into the basement, one step at a time. She carried two cases of beer: a delicate balancing act in heels and chains. She stowed them in the fridge, retrieved a bottle of IPA, popped the cap, and brought it over to Bill.
"Thank you, dear," Bill said as he took a swig of the cold ale. Hana flashed him a grateful smile.
