Theotherman

For almost a decade Virginia had been begging her husband Mark to let her have sex with another man. It was not that Mark didn’t satisfy her: his cock was the perfect size and he could last almost forever. But she had always entertained fantasies of being taken by a stranger or near-stranger while Mark watched from a secret hiding place. (Actually, the fantasy went back to when she was about ten years old, so the “husband” in the fantasy had not always been Mark!) In the end, Mark or whoever was her ultimate possessor—who, truth be told, had been her own father in the original fantasy—would come storming in, act enraged, humiliate the “unfaithful” couple and then force them to continue having sex in front of him. When the stranger was almost ready to come Mark/Dad would introduce his cock to her mouth and they would all climax together.

When Virginia talked about the fantasy during sex, always concealing its incestuous origins, it seemed to turn Mark on, but when she talked about making it come true he would always deflect her. He had shared lovers before her, and it always ended in heartbreak. Also, what she wanted was extremely dangerous. What if the “stranger” got really freaked out and went for his gun when Mark came in? Virginia insisted that there was some way they could work it out; pay a professional actor, perhaps. She was sure she could modify the fantasy somewhat for practical reasons … But Mark would always change the subject, and she wondered whether the idea bored him or if he was just too lazy or too chicken to make it happen.

Around the time when most married couples lose interest in each other Virginia began to look on the internet for people who shared her fantasy. She had no intention of actually having sex behind Mark’s back. But the desire had grown stronger as sex within her marriage became less frequent, and she was hungry to at least discuss her urges with a more sympathetic party. The world of internet sex was a strange one to this daughter of a Presbyterian minister. At times she thought she was the only actual woman, as opposed to whores and posing pervert males, in the chatrooms she visited. Most of the men were incredibly crude and could not or would not spell.

i wan 2 stick my 8” pecker n ur tite mature asshole

was the typical response to her postings. Almost all of them wanted anal sex, a thought that made her squirm. She didn’t even really like wiping her ass, the sensation was too powerful and strange, and she never wore thongs or g-strings. She even had a bidet installed in her bathroom to stay perfectly clean while minimizing contact. Her anus was a particularly dark, mysterious place in her imagination, a place she avoided as much as possible. Could it be that a majority of men (maybe even Mark) wanted something so dirty, so twisted and unimaginable? Mark had joked about it during their courtship but her reactions were so severe that he had never brought it up again.

Finally, after weeks of being assailed with outrageous propositions and a flood of increasingly graphic spam, Virginia found a correspondent who was erotic without being obscene, who wrote perfect sentences and seemed to know her deepest desires without even asking. After a few emails she was addicted to username:

theotherman

, and even let him know Mark’s work schedule so that they could spend all of her free time messaging each other. She quickly learned one reason for the appalling grammar on the internet: with only one hand free (the other frantically worrying her pussy and clit) it was pretty hard to use the shift key, and typos came often. Fastidious in most respects, she was disgusted by the mess she left on her office chair. The more guilt and shame overwhelmed her between their chat sessions, the more she came, sometimes hundreds of times, while masturbating with her online lover.

Sometimes she wondered who this person was, but it didn’t matter much to her. She thought “he” might be a lesbian, or someone too severely disabled to have actual sex, or a disgustingly fat person; any of these in fact seemed likely, considering the coarse insensitivity of most healthy men. She had no intention of ever meeting him, or her, so it was an academic issue, one that occasionally distracted her from the emotional turmoil of what she had involved herself in.

One Saturday Virginia went out on an errand, and returned to find Mark sitting in a chair opposite the front door, staring, apparently waiting for her. She glanced behind him to the family room and saw that her computer was turned on. All at once she knew she was busted. All her blood seemed to drop from her body, through the soles of her shoes; she could feel it draining down to the center of the earth.

“Some pretty interesting stuff there in your cache,” Mark said. He was a computer professional and was always using words like

cache

.

“Mark, I’m …”

“Don’t be sorry baby,” Mark smiled his evillest smile. Virginia knew at once that this was much, much worse than she’d ever thought it could be; the smile bode far more ill than all the violent rages she’d imagined. “This is your lucky day,” he continued.

“My … lucky day?” she asked. She was confused, and confusion was a big improvement over how she had felt a moment ago.

“Yeah. I invited your friend over.”

“You did WHAT? Who?”

“You know who.

theotherman

. Nice handle, BTW.” Even though it takes longer to say than “by the way,” Mark used the abbreviation in speech, along with LOL, WYSIWYG, and ROTFLMAO, which he actually had a weird way of pronouncing as a word.

“Mark, I—I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me. We’re going to do this thing just like you’ve always wanted. There’s just one condition.”

“Mark, today? I’m not ready, I don’t know, it’s just so sudden. No, no, I can’t.”

“Gin baby, it’s happening whether you are ready or not.”

“Then how can there be a condition?” As she asked this Virginia’s tone sharpened from its earlier, contrite near-sob; and Mark’s face correspondingly darkened.

“The condition,

Gin baby

,” she winced as sarcasm cut through his pet name for her, “is that if you want to stay married to me, and my nice cock, and my house and my car that I let you drive and the vacations that I take you on, you will do everything that

theotherman

tells you to do.”

Virginia gasped. “But you don’t even know him! What if he tries to kill me?”

“I’ll be there, just like in the fantasy, in the bedroom closet. I won’t let him hurt you too much.”

The last two words reverberated loudly enough in Virginia’s mind to silence her.

“You’d better get ready. He’ll be here in an hour.” He looked her up and down coldly. “He didn’t specify costume, so … I’d just go with black thigh highs. No bra or panties. The dress doesn’t matter, it probably won’t last long.” He chuckled at his last remark and sent her upstairs with a slight motion of his head.

Naked at her vanity Virginia took stock of herself and her situation. She had never worked or earned money in her life; it was too easy to live off men. But at thirty-eight, she was no longer anyone’s idea of a trophy wife. Mark had scoffed at her when she asked for a boob job, said he would buy one of those stress-relieving sand-filled balloons instead if that’s what he wanted to squeeze. She’d actually noticed that, ass man though he was, he paid her breasts more attention now that they were starting to sag. When he mounted her from behind he would take them in his fists and painfully twist them, something he’d never done back when her nipples pointed heavenward instead of straight ahead.

Mark was against any kind of plastic surgery. She thought her butt needed liposuction: though it still had an exciting shape, and no amount of surgery could make it small, she was dismayed by some little bumps of cellulite that had recently appeared in the southern hemisphere of each cheek. Mark said he loved her golf ball butt. She knew a little work with the laser or the needle would take care of the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, but Mark would not hear of it. Virginia honestly didn’t think he cared that much for a “natural” look. It was just against his principles to invest money in her looks. It was an investment he couldn’t reclaim if he ever lost her; indeed, it made losing her more likely, and the benefits of his investment would fall directly into the hands of another with no legal obligation to repay him. Mark was such a businessman in every way, but he was particularly businesslike about love and sex.

In fact this is what made him so attractive to Virginia; she couldn’t stand the cooing, baby-talking, phony-seeming affection that other couples had. She wanted to be more like him, to be able to look at her naked assets and decide whether or not what she was going into was worth it. After all, he might be bluffing about divorce. Cellulite, sag, and all she was still a pretty woman, but her age alone made replacing Mark unlikely. If Mark were single tomorrow morning, he would have an eighteen-year-old by tomorrow night, she thought. Any attractive, well-off man who becomes single at his age is the same way. She thought about the sorts of middle-aged men one sees out on dates in restaurants, schoolteachers, bearded beret-wearers, and she steadied her hand to apply a dark red lipstick.

One funny thing about Mark was that he never let her shave her pussy. For bikini season she was permitted to shave her armpits, at least, but that day she had a thick bush of dark hair in each. Her legs were waxed, never shaved; Mark said all this was because he couldn’t stand stubble, but she suspected it was a fetish or the beginnings of one. Today, her pussy would be making its first “public appearance,” so to speak, and she really wished she could at least trim it. But she knew how angry Mark would be so she attempted to tame it somewhat with a hairbrush. The tugging of the hairs thrilled her pussy and reminded her momentarily that this had been her fantasy, after all.

There was no more getting-ready to be done, so she rolled on her stockings, picked out a simple green dress and went to sit in the bedroom. Mark was nowhere to be found. Was he in the closet already? She would have looked, but she thought if she opened the door and did find him there she might have a heart attack. Instead she just sat there, almost ready to vomit from nervousness and anticipation.

A few millennia later, it seemed to Virginia, the doorknob turned and a man entered the bedroom. He was short, stocky, and Hispanic-looking. The only thing about him that wasn’t nondescript was the enormous bulge in the front of his jeans. It wasn’t a hard-on, Virginia could tell; it was either padding or a whole lot of dick and balls.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” he said flatly, not making eye contact except with the nipples that poked firmly through her dress. Virginia did not consider herself racist but she had never had sex with anyone who wasn’t white. She believed he would smell different, feel different, make different sounds, and not in a good way.

“So you’re

theotherman

?” she asked, fearing too late that asking questions might not be such a great idea.

“My real name’s Ramon,” he said. “That’s one question. You have two more before we get started.”

“I didn’t know…”

“No complaining, Virginia. That’s one of the rules.”

“Could you at least just tell me what the rules are?”

“You’ll learn as we go. That’s two questions.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, a tear coming from her eye instead of words. It rolled slowly down her cheek. Ramon watched it drop from her chin to the front of her dress.

“Your dress is all dirty now. You’d better take it off.”

“What?”

“Take off your dress. That’s three questions.”

The tears came in earnest now as Virginia stood and pulled her skirt above her waist, revealing her pantyless dark bush to this total stranger. He stared at it, smiling slightly and nodding, and his gaze followed the line of exposure as the hem of the dress traveled over her breasts and neck and finally her head.

Once she was naked, the fear and embarrassment that had provoked Virginia’s tears gave way to a terrible feeling of insecurity. She remembered all her self-criticisms in front of the mirror, and now she imagined that this Ramon was judging her even more harshly as his eyes roved up and down her body.

“Turn around.” Sniffling, she turned and presented her ass for inspection. Probably her worst “problem area” was the back of her thighs, which had both a little bit of cellulite and a few dark blue veins. That area, and the crumpled part of her ass could feel Ramon’s eyes like searing laser beams of disdain.

“Nice ass. Anyone ever fucked it? Mark told me he never did.”

Virginia blushed a deep crimson; she was pretty sure her ass was blushing too.

“Answer me, Virginia, or things will start to go badly for you.”

“N-No,” she managed, praying with all her being that Ramon was just trying to scare her and had no real intention of changing that answer.

“Damn. You’ve been having sex for what, twenty-five years? And no one ever got up in that ass. You’re a real princess, Virginia, you know that?” He put his hands on her shoulders. They felt rough, workman’s hands. The shock of being naked and being touched by such hands filled her body with an indescribable sensation, not pleasant at all, as if all of her organs were transplants, all being rejected at once. She had had to shake working-class hands a few times, but now she was in them. No man who did manual labor had ever seen her naked before.

Though she was utterly rigid, he managed easily to turn her back around to face him. The tears had left mascara-dark rivulets in her foundation makeup. “I asked you a question,” he said, squeezing her shoulders almost to the point of pain. “I asked if you knew that you’re a real princess.”

“No,” she said, certain that any answer she gave would be wrong.

“I’m going to show you what real women go through, and maybe by the end you will stop being a princess and start being a real woman. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she said.

“The skin around your nipples gets real crinkly when they’re hard. But it ain’t that cold in here. Are you turned on, Virginia?” Without waiting for an answer he dropped his hand from his arm and plunged two sandpapery fingers into her pussy. Virginia groaned. She realized she was sopping wet, and as Ramon spread his fingers and opened her the juice dribbled down her leg. His other hand went first to one nipple, then the other, tugging and pinching them rudely. “I asked you, are you turned on, Virginia?”

“I’m—scared,” she stuttered between the small gasps that were now emitting from her mouth at short intervals.

“I asked you,” he said, suddenly introducing two more fingers and painfully thrusting them up against her cervix, “a YES or NO question. Are you turned on?”

Not wanting to experience the punishment for lying, Virginia sobbed, “Yes.”

“That’ll make this a lot easier for you,” he said nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “Now sit down on the bed.” She sat, and almost involuntarily crossed her legs. “Keep ‘em open.” With her eyes cast down, Virginia obeyed, feeling the usual thrill of nylon against nylon before an exaggerated shame at the hairiness of her pussy. As if reading her mind, Ramon commented, “That’s a bulging bush you got there. I’m glad Mark’s a hair-pie man.”

When she looked up she saw that he had unzipped his fly to produce an enormous, semi-erect, uncircumcised brown cock. It flopped in the air as he moved toward her. “I think you know what’s next.”

Her breathing shortened. She loved to suck cock, but only from directly above—there was no way she would allow herself to get face-fucked—and only right after Mark had taken a shower. She had smelled his dick funk once, and sent him to wash immediately.

“Open wide, Virginia,” he said, waving it under her nose. “You don’t have to do a goddamn thing but open up wide. I’ll do all the work.” True to her fears, the smell of Ramon’s dick was almost unbearable. It smelled like feet and skunk with the faint undertone of a rotting dumpster. She would have believed it right then if he told her he had just fucked a corpse. She was certain she would vomit as soon as he put it in her mouth. “Come on, open up, Virginia. It’s going to last longer the more you make me wait. Tick, tick, tick …”

With every cell in her body screaming in revulsion, Virginia did as she was told. It was not as bad as she thought. Once he was engulfed, she could only smell his balls, which just smelled like ball sweat. The taste of the cock was bitter but not as hideous as the smell foretold. She swallowed some of her saliva, let as much as she could run down her chin, and soon there was no taste or smell to the cock at all. The only thing she could smell now was the balls, and in a moment of inspiration she pulled back and down and began to lick them vigorously. Ramon had enormous balls; his scrotum was like a hairy, deflated football.

“Whoa, baby, that taste good?” Ramon pulled away and slapped her firmly on the cheek. It was not a sadistic or heated act; he did it because he had to, obviously, according to the rules of his game. Still it reddened her cheek and made a further mess of the melange of tears and spittle and makeup on her face. “I told you I was going to do all the work, didn’t I?”

Remembering that she had to, Virginia croaked out a feeble “yes”.

“So why the fuck did you start licking on my balls when I didn’t tell you too?”

“Because.” Even in her sorrow, she could quickly concoct a lie. “Because I thought you would like it, and your balls are so nice and big and brown.”

“Well don’t do so much thinking, or you’ll get worse’n a slap on the face. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“So open up.” She opened her mouth again, and this time sucking him was not unpleasant. Ramon had begun again with gentler, shallower strokes, forceful and dominant but not enough to suffocate Virginia or make her gag. His prick was like rebar at the center, but the foreskin floated around it soft as silk. He started oozing precum the way lesser men come, and though she liked the taste she thought it humiliating to swallow anything that came out of a penis. So she again dribbled as much down her chin as possible. The greyish bubbly result formed little pools on her nylons, near the lacy tops on both thighs. She began to worry about where he would come. She hated it when come landed on her body, a thing that had only happened by accident in her sex life to date, and she dreaded the thought of it striking her face or hair. She would not swallow, and she generally allowed Mark to come in her mouth but then spat up the spittle-expanded “snowball” on his belly. She knew that bothered him a little bit, and assumed that this

otherman

would not stand for such a treatment. Her best hope, since she had a Norplant in her arm, was that he would transfer to her pussy before ejaculating.

After a while, though, she would have been happy for him to come anywhere: her mouth was obscenely distended, her cheek muscles numb, her jaw in pain; she had never sucked a cock for so long. In her experience it had been either a prelude to sex or a service quickly rendered to her man. The sole purpose of Ramon’s face-fucking seemed to be her discomfort and humiliation. He made no sounds of enjoyment and seemed perfectly in control, as if he could go on for hours if he decided to. She tried acrobatics with her tongue, hard suction, and even looked up into his eyes, but nothing she could do was going to hasten his climax.

Suddenly, when he was at the back of her throat, he began to instruct her. “Now I’m going to pull it almost all the way out. Once you have just my head in your mouth, suck as hard as you can. Understand?” She mumbled her assent through the mouthful of cock-flesh. He withdrew until the rim of his helmet was up against her teeth, and she sucked so hard that his head must have doubled in length. At once a urethra-full of spermy muck was ejected into her mouth. Virginia grimaced; there was clearly a high piss content in this batch of precum.