May 30, late night into early morning
I drove slowly home watching out for sobriety checkpoints. By the time I got there, a gold-trimmed black Escalade was in our drive. I could see shadows in our bedroom upstairs. I sat out front and across the street from the house for the next hour, just watching shadows play out in the candle light in our bedroom.
I opened the driver side window and sat there in the sultry air, listening in vain for any sound, but heard nothing. Around 2 AM, I saw the bathroom lights come on, and they stayed on for a good half hour; I thought could see some more activity in the bedroom, but it may have been my imagination. In truth, my imagination was running on overdrive.
In my mind's eye, I could see her spreading her legs for him. I could see him ramming his purple-black cock into my wife's engorged pussy, his lips sucking the nipples that only a year before had felt only my mouth on them. His hands running all over my wife's white skin; her hands caressing his ass, holding him tightly, maintaining the contact so that his cock could continue pumping over and over into her cunt all the way to his balls.
The details of what they did would be denied me though, and I would have to learn the story second hand from the few little bits that Maggie would share with me the next day.
Now many months later, I begin to understand Sean's purpose from the beginning. Not only did he train Maggie in unquestioning obedience, by playing to her lust but he also had worked to control -- to train -- me, to become accustomed to seeing Maggie being used as personal possession for black men, to watch a Dom/Sub bond forming that would be difficult, perhaps impossible for me to break as time went by. In the moment though, even knowing this, I was so erotically charged that I masturbated into a tee shirt in the car and gritted my teeth as my balls emptied themselves. I wanted my wife more than anything, and tonight she was the one thing I could never have. I thought to my self that tonight she was again a strange black man's woman, his private whore, fucked repeatedly him, only yards away from where I sat, powerless to do anything
I started the engine, shook my head and said, "Oh Maggie, Maggie, what he fuck is going on!"
I parked the car down the street and just sat there until I fell to sleep around 3 AM. The next morning around 7 AM I watched him pull out of our driveway.
Around 8 AM I was calm enough to drive into my driveway and I unlocked the front door and went inside. Maggie's shoes and her dress were in the foyer, fallen in a heap. It was pretty clear that he hadn't wasted any time pulling her dress down. I could also see, or at least imagine that I saw impressions from her knees on the dress. "Yes," I told myself, "this is where she dropped to her knees to blow him."
I looked for telltale spots of cum on the floor, but there were none. I glanced into the kitchen and saw her bra on the floor, and an open bottle of Jack and glasses with watery light brown liquid and thought: Here's where they had a couple drinks here and then he stripped her bra off. Did he grow harder seeing her freckled white skin and her nipples, raised in expectation for him? Did he spend time sucking her breasts? Did she hold his large head close, and caress his face while he sucked hard on her nipples? Did she beg him to suck harder? Was this where he slipped his hand under her dress, and began to finger her cunt? Maybe, maybe not. The French cut panties she loves to wear (and which she had decided to wear after all) were not in sight. Maybe he waited until they went to our bedroom to lay claim to the place between her legs.
I am sure you think I am totally obsessing over writing about the details as I uncovered them, but consider that Maggie and I always had agreed to play together; thus, it was painful for me to see her going solo like this. I shook my head to clear it and to reign in my wild imagination. I was following the forensic evidence and rebuilding a story of how he took her and how she likely responded, but I was far from detached. My cock sprung into a stiff pole as I went up the staircase. Ah, there they were, the white silk panties, 6 steps up, now caked with her dried juices. He probably grabbed her and stripped them off as they were going up... or did she strip off, unable to contain her excitement? Either way, I knew she had to have been naked except for those snow-white stockings and garters I had bought to enhance our sex play. What was his reaction to her nakedness, I wondered?
I wondered whether he fondled her on the stairs or waited until they got into the bedroom. As I saw him in my mind's eye touching my wife, perhaps squeezing her ass or cupping her breasts, my stomach churned with angst. But there was that "other" feeling too, one that I don't still fully understand. My cock was hard as a rock, fully up and banging against my own belly. I was really turned on by all of this and I had never wanted Maggie more than at this moment.
I reached the top of the stairs and walked down the short hallway to our bedroom. I noticed the scent even before I noticed her. I smelled sex, to be sure, but that was mixed with a tremendous scent of stale sweat, both Maggie's and another one; one that was completely foreign but strong and pervasive. Well, obviously they had been physically active and certainly not for just a few minutes.
Maggie looked up at me as I entered the bedroom, yawned lazily, smiled with her eyes showing big smile lines. "Good morning, my sweet understanding husband," she said with genuine warmth and beckoned me forward for a big hug.
I hugged her tightly, thinking that I was lucky to have this adventurous wonderful woman. All thought that maybe I had lost her to this strange new lover seemed to disappear, at least for a moment or two.
Then, I broke the embrace and sat on the bed beside her. She turned over on her tummy and I appraised her body. She still had her stockings and garters on but was otherwise naked. Then I noticed the marks on her ass. Maggie has milky white skin with a sprinkling of freckles, as I think I have mentioned before, but she bruises easily. I didn't need to be much of a detective to see the palm prints that were everywhere, especially on her ass and back. This guy had not been gentle with her, that much was clear.
I cringed a little for her as I saw the bruises and the hickeys on her neck, the love bites on both her inner thighs, and then asked simply, "Did he hurt you honey?"
Her reply was surprising, "Oh God yes... yes... Mmmm... YES..." And she laughed a wicked little laugh.
It shocked me totally when she pulled a pair of men's jockey shorts from under a pillow, held it up to her face and breathed deeply.
I'm not a science type, but I do vaguely recall the concept of male pheromones from male sweat and the supposed effect they have on women. The bottom line as a watched her breathe in, was that millions of microscopic pheromone particles entered her body and began to do their work. She turned over on her back, spreading the boxers over her face. Clearly, she was smelling his cock and enjoying the memory of it.
"Maggie, what the fuck? Get rid of that for shit sake," I growled.
She just smiled and breathed in again. "Mmmmmm....," she breathed deeply again, "It's ok Jack, just reliving last night."
I took the opening and tried to probe for a little information, and asked, "Want to tell me about it." But she didn't take the bait. I kept pulling on the thread. How many times did they fuck? "Too many times to count," she said, laughing.
"I hope you used a condom, babe," I ventured. She said, "I brought it up, Jack, I really did. He was definitely not a condom kind of guy, believe me. Besides, he would have used up a LOT of condoms."