Home Invasion 39

I've sat on this one for quite some time. I've tweaked it over a dozen times and decided it was either time to publish or can. It's a little over the top, and my female protagonist is... well... not cool.

Initially, when I started HOME INVASION, I began with the full intention of writing about a heartless bitch, but as I wrote, it seemed my consciousness wouldn't let me go full bitch mode. Instead, they come across as a woman who made a series of bad decisions. I also struggle with the full wrath of a proper burn the bitch. I've honestly tried, but my head won't let me go there (not yet, anyway). As I've stated in my profile and numerous story intros, I try to find the humanity in people... even those who perhaps don't deserve it.

So... if you're looking for the revenge factor, I may not be an author you will enjoy. That's not to say that consequences are absent, just not the over-the-top kind. So many great authors do that genre well, and I respect and enjoy their abilities.

It seems that writing has been very good for me and my therapy. I don't think I'm as error-riddled as I was in the beginning, but you can always expect a spelling mistake or 12. Along with grammatical inaccuracies... hell, even the odd name changes mid-story. I honestly hate it when I do that!

I hope you enjoy my twist on some old tropes. Sick of big dicks? You may want to skip this one. It's not a major part of the plot, but it has its small place. (see what I did there?)

It's not real. Just a fictional story of fallible people. I'm sure I've said enough to already make this predictable... my bad.

Yeah... it's far-fetched.

Cheers,

C_T

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"Oh, my God! Doug. You... you had no idea, did you?" My therapist could barely keep her voice straight. "Of course, you wouldn't. This... this changes so much." She came from behind me and reached for the phone on her desk. "I must make a call, Doug. Just give me a minute."

I could vaguely hear her conversation, as I sat staring at the now paused video in front of me. Despite the painful outcomes of reliving that evening, my therapist was hoping it would be a step forward in dealing with my anxiety and depression. I hated the man I had become, and it was ultimately destroying my marriage. My poor wife was hanging on dearly, hoping I could break through the walls of insecurity, fear, and hopelessness.

It was a last resort, and I only agreed to it because I wanted to be the man my wife needed me to be. The confident, loving man I was just six months ago. As much as I could remember from that night, it all played back in real-time, on the recording. The helplessness weighed heavily on me like it had that night. The night that changed our lives.

However, the one thing I had hoped would move me forward turned out to be the final blow to my marriage. The part I never even knew about...

A look back

I took a fair amount of grief when I married Jazz. There was the age gap, of course. I was 43 and she was 27. People looked at me as a cradle robber, and she was the rumored gold digger. In fairness, I had accumulated considerable wealth. It wasn't all my money; some was from my first wife.

Patricia and I got married right out of med school. I discovered my love for hospital administration and quickly moved through the ranks. I was currently the Deputy CEO, overseeing all hospital budgets within our state. Patricia was an up-and-coming cosmetic surgeon who had partnered with two highly renowned surgeons in their field. We were rolling in money and did very little to spend it, as we were saving for our future family.

After 8 months of no success in the family department, we made ourselves available for testing to make sure there was no underlying cause, like low sperm count or ovulation anomalies. It turned out that neither of those was the issue. It was the massive cancerous tumors throughout her reproductive organs.

Like the fighter she was, we did everything we could to beat this. Children were no longer our concern, we just wanted to live our lives together as long as we could. But cancer is a bitch, and she took my Patricia 9 months later. Yes, I found the timeline ironic too. Devastation wouldn't hold a candle to what I felt. It took many years for me to come to terms with the loss of Patricia. I figured I was one and done. Patricia was my one.

I met Jazz at the gym I go to regularly. I promised myself I would live my life as Patricia wanted. Instead of turning to booze or drugs to deal with my loneliness, I went the other way and became the classic health nut. I was a healthy 6ft man with a low body fat percentage. My build was lean but strong, and I could run and box with the best of them. I used the gym to work away my anxieties, anger, and depression. Going as often as I did, I began to make acquaintances from the routines of seeing each other. Jazz was one of them, and what started as polite hellos turned a little more invested the day I helped spot for her on the bench press. She knew several guys there, but that day it seemed that none of them were around, so she asked me.

I admit that I watch people at the gym all the time, more out of curiosity than anything else. I watch people's forms and execution, especially women. I know what you're thinking, but if you want to know how a certain machine works or what proper form is... watch a woman. They don't lift for vanity or bragging rights. They research how to do things right. More than a few times, I've altered my use of a machine based on my observations.

Obviously, I'd seen Jazz around and was impressed with her routines. She never did the same circuit, but each one had a purpose. Today she did a combination of back and chest stuff, hence the ask for a spot. Jazz wasn't tall by any means, but she was athletically proportional, and her gym gear was always very complimentary. She settled on the bench and looked up at me as she prepared herself.

"I'm Jazz, by the way." She said in a cute voice.

"Doug." I smiled in return.

"Thanks, Doug. I'm shooting for 12 reps. I suspect the last 3 will be my toughest. I nodded and prepared to assist if she needed it.

Turns out, she was correct in her assumption. Her tenth rep stalled before she could complete her full extension. As she came back down, I put my hands under the bar and followed her ascent. When she stalled again, I lightly contacted the bar, just in case. Her breath was still coming out, and the determination was clear.

"All you," I encouraged her, "All you." She finally got the full extension and came down for her last rep.

She wasn't far off her chest when her progression faltered. I carefully applied as little pressure as possible to encourage her progression. Inch by inch, she made the full range, and I helped her place the bar back on the holders.

"Nice job, Jazz. Impressive." No, I wasn't flirting. I was impressed.

She popped up from her back and spun her butt, so she was sitting sideways on the bench. "Thanks for the assist." She smiled.

"Honestly, I didn't do much more than support the bar. That was 97% you at the end." She smiled.

"Most guys just lift it the rest of the way for me. I think they think they're being my hero." She gave me a sweet giggle. "Thank you for making me push myself."

That was the beginning of a gym friendship. When we were there at the same time, we often took our breaks to share some pleasantries. As the months went on, the pleasantries became more personal, as we talked about work and families. When she wasn't at the gym or hanging out with her friends, Jazz worked as an advertising consultant for a national firm. Most of her work involved sitting at a computer, and that was when she decided she needed to date the gym (as she put it).

I told her about my job, and she seemed thoroughly impressed. She also noticed I spoke very little about my private life. One day, she decided to be blunt about my evasiveness.

"So, what's your story, Doug? I feel you know almost everything about me, but you, sir, are like a locked-up filing cabinet."

I laughed. "Well, technically, I never asked you anything. You were happy to share, and I was interested in listening."

She put her hand on her hip and gave me a mock glare. "C'mon! You gotta give me something. Is there a Mrs.?" I guess my mood change was obvious. "Oh shit! I'm sorry, Doug. I didn't mean to bring up bad feelings." She touched my arm, and I realized how nice it felt.

I pondered my thoughts for a second. "Ther... there was a Mrs.," I started, "I lost Patricia a few years back to cancer." I looked at her face and thought I saw a tear in the corner of her eye.

"I'm so sorry, Doug. I didn't mean to be so insensitive." She pulled me in for a hug and apologized a few more times. She released me and stepped back. "Maybe we could grab a coffee one day. I'd love to hear everything about her."

That was the beginning of our relationship. It started as two friends and eventually blossomed through mutual attraction and interests. Despite our age difference, we had many things in common and never ran out of things to experience or share. The physical part came much later, mostly due to my reluctance to pursue another relationship, but Jazz was patient, yet persistent. It turned out that her persistence was a blessing. Sex with her was so different than with Patricia. Not better, just different. Maybe it was her age or enthusiasm, but it made me feel 20 years younger when we had sex. Jazz was the recipient of the oral skills Patricia had coached me to perfection, and I loved making her squirm with pleasure. I don't think she ever experienced a man who thoroughly enjoyed eating pussy. One time, she actually passed out.

The longer we dated, the less concerned we were with looks or comments, feeling comfortable and confident in what we were developing. I had legitimate conversations with friends and coworkers, but most were happy if I was happy... and by gosh, I was happy again.

A year later, we were engaged, and 7 months following that, we got married in a small church outside of the city. Just close friends and family came to celebrate our big day. We spent plenty of time preparing for our life together. We talked about kids and our future. I agreed that we could try for a child if that's what she wanted. She knew my window wasn't as large as hers, so she promised to decide within a year. She also insisted on a prenup. She wanted to put the gold-digger rumors to rest once and for all.

Life was good again. I was able to reflect on my life with Patricia fondly and felt like she would have liked Jazz. She injected me with youth, and I was living to my fullest potential, once again.

It was the week before our second anniversary. We had gone to a hospital fundraiser, where we were the talk of the night. Most people were happy to see us carry on, so much in love. You could never avoid those who still saw our relationship as phony, but I stopped giving a shit long ago. We were driving back to my house... sorry. OUR HOUSE. I offered to sell it when we talked about getting married, but Jazz had fallen in love with the large open-concept design, and after we married, she moved in (officially).

She was a little tipsy and, as a result, a little handsy on the ride home. She was doing a full-court press on my erection, making the ride home both erotic and uncomfortable.

"When we get home, I need this bad boy in my cunt!" She never had much of a filter when she was drinking. "You going to give your wife that big dick, baby?"

I was struggling to keep my car on the road, so the closest I got to an answer was the gulping sound of the air I swallowed. That only encouraged her. She went on and on about my big cock destroying her little pussy, all while she masterfully manipulated my cock through my suit pants.

Patricia never talked dirty, and this took some getting used to. Not that Patricia and I didn't explore and try new things. We had a vibrant sex life. However, Jazz would go on and on about my big cock, and it embarrassed me. I was a little larger than average for sure, but I wasn't porn big. She shot me down whenever I brought it up, declaring it was big to her and that was all that mattered... so I learned to live with it. Sue me.

Within minutes of entering our house, Jazz was out of her dress and spread-eagled on the bed. I made quick work of my suit, wearing nothing but my boxers and socks, and soon found myself face deep into her sweet pussy. She was always so wet for me, and tonight was no different. She was squealing in orgasm in no time. That was the last thing I heard... then stars... then black.

When I tried to open my eyes, my eyelids hurt. The pain in my head was constant and throbbing. I moaned, only to realize that there was a gag in my mouth. I panicked and went to pull it off, but was quickly aware that my hands were tied straight down my side to the chair. My feet were also secured, realizing I was naked and bound. What the hell happened? Then I could hear a voice of distress behind me. It was Jazz, and she was whimpering! I started to grunt and shake in my chair, desperate to see what was going on behind me.

"Well, well, well. Look who's finally going to join us." The male voice was deep and taunting. "Looks like hubby will be awake for this after all."

"PLEASE, don't do this! Take whatever you want!" I could hear the fear in Jazz's voice. I struggled against my restraints but couldn't move an inch, no matter how hard I twisted and pulled.

"Oh, trust me, I am! Now open those legs and show me your pretty little kitty." The stranger ordered.

I was in full rage now. Yelling and screaming around my gag. They say people can find superhuman strength in situations of high stress, but sadly, I was no stronger than my normal me.

"Please don't! Oh, GOD. You're too big! You'll kill me!"

The man chuckled. "Maybe... but what a way to go, huh?

I could hear the distinctive sounds of a struggle, mixed with screams of protest from my wife. I could tell she wasn't being successful in deflecting her attacker. I screamed 'NO' through my gag, but it had no impact on the scenario playing out behind me. Her begging him to stop was falling on deaf ears. Then I heard it. The god-awful sound your woman makes when she's in pain.

"Noooooooooooooooo! It hurts! Stop! Please!"

My body vibrated and struggled against my restraints. I was vaguely aware of the wetness I felt along my palms; later, I would find out it was blood from the cuts I was causing to myself.

*Slap!* *Slap!* Slap!* I could hear the intruder's pelvis slapping into my wife as he defiled her on my bed, with me only 10 feet away... useless and unable to do anything.

The man's grunts got louder, as did the slapping sounds. "Oh, fuck ya! Take my big dick, bitch! Tell me you love it!" More body slapping and heavy breathing. I have no idea how long it carried on, but it felt like forever.

I could no longer hear Jazz's screaming. Did he gag her too, because all I could hear was panting and the odd squeak? With one last tug, I pulled the tie wraps deep into my flesh... until I heard what was said next.

"Holy shit! You're gonna cum! Aren't you, you crazy little slut? Daddy can't give you what you need, huh?" The slapping intensified.

"Go on slut! Cum on my big cock! Show Daddy who the real man is here!" My body froze when I heard the unmistakable sound of my wife having an orgasm... a very big orgasm.

Tears fell from my eyes and rolled down my flushed cheeks, landing on my bare thighs.

"Holy fuck! Yeah! Cum on my dick, you slut! See what a real man can do for you!" I could tell Jazz was trying to stay quiet, but that only exacerbated the intensity of her orgasm. Yeah! Fuck ya, bitch! Cum on my dick!" He pounded harder and faster; I knew what was coming next. "Take my load bitch! Arrrrggghh!"

The guttural moans and noises coming from behind me made me nauseous. I tried not to puke, worried I could choke on my vomit because of the stupid gag. My tears flowed heavily as all my fight had left my body. I failed. I failed to protect my wife and my house. The despair and grief hit me hard. So hard, I didn't even notice the man had left the bed and walked in front of me. My head was facing down; all I could see were his black socks.

"I got to hand it to you, old man, your wife is one awesome fuck! I think she truly enjoyed getting fucked by a real cock... did you hear her? I bet if I did her again, she'd beg to cum. Wanna find out?"

His taunting stirred my anger once again, and I lifted my head to look the perpetrator in the eyes, but only up to his midriff was exposed. He still had on a black top and a black balaclava. The only thing I could see was his white dick. His big white dick. Despite his recent orgasm, he was still ridiculously huge.

"I usually get the man to suck me hard again. What do you say, Daddy?" He chuckled at his own joke. "Think you can do your wife a favor and suck me hard again?"

"NO! NO! NO!" Jazz jumped from the bed. "Please don't! I beg you. If it must be done, I'll do it. Please leave my husband out of it."

How is a man supposed to react to a statement like that? Happy that his wife would undertake such a thing to protect your manhood? Or... concerned that your wife so quickly volunteered to suck the cock of a stranger... a huge one at that. I couldn't see his actual smile, but I could tell he was grinning like a hungry predator under his mask. It was like he could read the thoughts battling in my head.

"What a brave wife, buddy boy. But I wonder... is she being brave or does she just crave my big cock in her slutty mouth? Hmmmm?"

"Please... please don't hurt my husband."

He towered over Jazz by at least a foot and a half. "Tell you what, sweet cheeks. I'll let you suck my dick, if...." Suddenly, he pulled my chair back, so my head was going backwards. He slowed it just enough so that I could lift my head to prevent it from hitting the floor. "If you sit on your hubby's face and get him to clean you out while you work your magic on getting another load."

I could see Jazz stare at the man, then look down at me with pity. Why didn't she try to run? I suppose the odds of her being captured were almost guaranteed and who knows what the asshole would do to her. If I could only create some kind of distraction for her, I thought.

I watched the intruder man handle my wife until she was standing above my head. "Go on, sweet thing. Have a seat."

Jazz looked down on me. I'm sure the look of fear and embarrassment was well represented. "He... he'll suffocate." She weakly offered in my defense.

"I'm not a monster, sweet cheeks. You can remove his gag; how else will he be able to clean out all my cum?" He laughed as he pushed hard on her shoulders until she was kneeling right over my head. "Go ahead, slut. Take off his gag." He chuckled with amusement.

Jazz looked at me. Her eyes were trying to say something, but I was still too stunned to catch it. "What if I say no?" She looked up at the masked stranger.

"Ooh, defiance?" He grabbed Jazz by her hair and bent down to speak directly in her face. "I'll simply beat your daddy unconscious and strap you to the chair in his stead. Then you can watch me bugger his asshole like a prison bitch!" He released her hair, and she looked at me with terror on her face. "Then I'll spend the rest of tonight and tomorrow, fucking you in every hole until they stay wide open! Although... you'd love that part, I'm sure."

I could see tears in her eyes. I instantly went on autopilot. I nodded my head to let her know it was okay. Her hand was shaking as she slowly pulled the gag from my mouth.

"It's okay," I whispered to her. "Do what you have to, to get through this." She looked relieved that I didn't expect her to resist any more than she had.