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
