Plan C Phase 07

(c) 2012 Padma Bear

No part of this story may be reproduced in any form, including electronic media, without the written permission of the author.

Here it is, the moment readers of this series have been waiting for. We hope you get a kick out of it.

If you're new to the series, you owe it to yourself to at least skim the previous stories, starting with "Plan C, Inception". Otherwise, it will be like turning to the last chapter of a mystery and reading it first -- you might enjoy it, but you'll wish you'd waited.

This story could just as easily have been filed under Loving Wives, Erotic Couplings, Exhibitionist and Voyeur and at least one other category, but that would be giving away the ending...

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Sarah swiped the hotel room door key, pushed down on the handle, opened the door, and entered the hotel suite, with Cedric and Mr. X following on her heels.

This was it. In some inexplicable way, her experiences over the last two days had caused her to reexamine the way she looked at the world. It was hard to believe that the very detailed images and scenarios she'd been playing with in her head -- in some cases for years -- were becoming real. It made her head spin to contemplate how quickly her idle fantasies had played themselves out once she set things in motion. Everything was happening just as she'd imagined it would in her day-dreams and private masturbation sessions; just as she'd described it when she shared her fantasies with her husband late at night while stroking his cock; just as she'd planned it out simply as a way of entertaining herself while sitting at the bar alone the previous evening.

She walked over to the sitting area next to the bed and kicked off her shoes.

"We don't have to play any more games with my skirt, do we?", she said, as with careless grace she undid the catch and slid down the zipper on its side, shimmied it down her hips a bit, and let it fall to the floor.

She could see herself in the dressing mirror, and noticed that even though she was standing demurely, legs together, she had been wet enough long enough that she could make out a dark patch extending across the underside of her panties.

"It occurs to me that our guest hasn't seen my breasts yet. Though as much as I've enjoyed entertaining -- and frustrating -- you both, the fact is that I'm way past the point of messing around. And I don't think you need more titillating glimpses of my body parts. I'm not really such a tease. My brief career in exposure had served it's purpose, and it's been very exciting for me -- that should be obvious -- but now I need something real, and I need it soon. My guess is that you both feel the same way." She smiled.

"So I'll just undress for you now, just as I do every night in the privacy of the bedroom. You can pretend that you're peeping in at me through the hotel window, if that's the kind of thing that turns you on", she added, with a wink at Mr. X. "But really, you're not peeping, are you? I know that I'm being watched, and yet I'm still going to take my clothes off in front of a stranger. Aren't I shameless? Shouldn't I be embarrassed casually stripping in front of you?"

She made a show of regarding herself ostentatiously in the mirror.

"I don't know," replied Mr. X with a hint of ironic dismissal -- getting into it, playing his assigned role -- "you've already shown me your pussy. In fact, you've spread it wide open for me. Why pretend that you have anything left really worth hiding?"

She rewarded him with a slight, almost shy, smile. She found that she liked the mildly disparaging tone that he was assuming. It made her feel especially naughty; like she wasn't pretending anymore; like all of her many other assets didn't hold any value in this context; like she was just another available pussy; a promiscuous, bored, horny, slightly kinky, secretly submissive, middle-aged, sex-starved barfly. Maybe he really did think she was a slut, but the important thing was that he was ready to act as though she was.

"That's a good little slut. Show me what you wear under your fancy clothes."

She unbuttoned her satin top efficiently.

"You like me watching you undress. You couldn't wait for me to look at your body, could you?"

She got an uncanny, mesmerizing, weightless feeling in her stomach every time his gaze or words reinforced her self-constructed image as the mis-behaving wife. A wife who was now standing mostly nude, wearing nothing but her inexpensive everyday underwear in front of a well-dressed handsome older stranger that she had found in a bar. A wife who was obviously offering herself for casual sex without even a pretence of wanting anything else but that. How slutty was that, really? She shivered inside with appreciation for what she was doing, and in anticipation of the next simple step.

She slid her bra off without ceremony. Her breasts were nice and firm and round -- modest, but lovely. Her nipples were large and fully engorged, looking like very over-sized pencil erasers.

The air felt cool on her skin as she remained standing there in her panties. What next? She needed to get Mr. X ready for the following step, without panicking Cedric. As usual, she had thought this through ahead of time, and already had a tactic in mind.

She walked toward Mr. X, then slowly got down on her knees; in self-conscious imitation of what she had done with her husband the night before. She undid his belt-buckle, then his trouser button; and then unzipped his fly, easing his trousers down to his thighs. She pulled his briefs down and for the first time got a look at his penis. Like her husband's, it was uncut; unlike her husbands, it was of moderate length and not very wide. But it was also very hard.

"That'll do nicely", she thought to herself as she gazed at it.

She moved her face toward Mr. X's crotch. She paused, opened her mouth wide, and moved forward further until her mouth was just surrounding the head of the cock. She watched her husband's face out of the corner of her eye as she did this. As she had anticipated, he seemed comfortable with her actions so far -- any worry he may have felt eased by his memory of what had happened the previous night, when she had left him hanging after exactly the same maneuver. He gave her a knowing smile, as if to say "Now, let's see how this guy likes your cock-teasing!"

She held her mouth in that position for five or ten seconds. And then... she slowly closed it, pressing her lips around the head of Mr. X's cock, watching Cedric's face registering shock; giving her a sharp what-the-fuck look. But it was too late for him to object now!

She congratulated herself on her little ploy as she swirled her tongue around the head of this brand new (to her) penis. She carried on like that for a minute or so, giving Mr. X's cock head a nice warm, wet tongue bath, but never taking him further into her mouth. Then she relaxed her lips and moved her head back away from him. She kneeled there for another half a minute or so, then pulled his pants off all of the way, helped him step out of them, and gestured him to one of the comfortable side chairs across from the bed.

As Cedric had been threatening to voice an objection, she held her hand out, palm raised, bidding him to be quiet.

"Don't worry, darling. Remember, I told you that my pussy was for your cock only, and I think you'll enjoy this next part. Mr. X will just have to sit there and watch."

While she mused to herself about the relative ethics of lies of omission, and the fine line between a bit of creative social engineering and outright manipulation, she climbed up on to the bed and got on to all fours. This too, was a replay of last night. She pulled her panties down to where her knees bent to meet the bed and forced her knees apart to spread her cunt for easier access, incidentally making her panties stretch out between her knees, forming a little inside-out hammock. She knew that Cedric would find the view of her pussy exposed, her lips hanging down between her inviting ass cheeks, and even the tell-tale wet interior crotch panel suspended above the bed between her knees -- these little details materred! -- completely irresistible.

"Take me, Cedric. Fuck me in front of this guy. Show him how you bred me. Show him how a slut like me should be fucked."

He pulled his cloths off as quickly as he could, all the time staring at her upturned slightly wiggling behind. Then he moved quickly toward her, clasped her cheeks with his strong hands, and pushed straight in to her in a single animal lunge.

"Urghh! Ngghh. Fuck yes. Fuck yes. Push it into me. Push your long hard cock in to me."

He grasped her cheeks harder, his finger digging in to their soft flesh. He ground into her backside, forcing her ever further down into the mattress as she pushed back against him. Sometimes, when he was very hard, she did feel that she might not be able to take him all in, and she had never felt more like that then she did now. She felt his hard cock seem to hit the end of her, to the point were it was actually almost painful. Sharp. Intense. But she didn't want him to stop, not by any means. The harder he could shove into her, the deeper he could push, the happier she was.

"Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Show him what you can do to me. Fuck me."

"Yes, I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. Just like a slut like you deserves."

He began to thrust in and out of her, plowing into her with deep, hard, almost ruthless strokes.

How he avoided cumming, she didn't know. He was usually very much in control, but fucking her from behind always pushed him over the top. Perhaps it was the potential of another partner willing and eager to take his place that kept him from loosing everything he had into her. It probably helped that her pussy was so click and slippery and open.

But her husband had been able to hold out, and now it was time for her to get what she really wanted, what she had been fantasizing for for so long now, but which she would never have even considered in the realm of reality until the combined elements of: a) her annoyance with her husband, b) the peak of her monthly cycle, c) her inadvertent exposure, d) her insatiable cunt, e) her inventive imagination, and f) her excellent planning skills had all conspired together last night to come up with:

A Cunning Plan.

Her plan, for all of its complexities and side-benefits, was entirely in the service of one over-arching, simple goal: To get herself completely, utterly, totally fucked.

She loved getting fucked more than almost anything else. She had never really talked about this with other women -- it was certainly not the kind of topic that came up in conversation with her liberated professional friends! But she was sure that she wasn't the only woman to feel this way. In fact, she felt it was a very natural thing to want, but one that had been papered over in contemporary society -- and for very good reason too. There were still plenty of men around who worked in every way they could to take the natural (but not singular) instinct of many women to be loved and bred and fucked, and pervert that into a society that forced women into the role of barefoot and pregnant mothers who had simply been fucked over. In any case, regardless of the sexual politics involved, she loved to feel used, to feel -- if only temporaily -- that the primary purpose of her body was to pleasure a cock and to be a container for cum.

So, the more truly fucked she could feel, the better she liked it. It was almost like an addiction, but not an insatiable one. She knew that if she could get to the place just once where she had been as fucked as she could possibly be, that would be enough for her. But how to get there? How to achieve the peak of pure fucked-edness she aspired to?

For many years, she had pondered that question during her not infrequent sexual day-dreams. One way to get that feeling of being completely fucked was to be fucked by a very large cock. But she already had that, and she had found that that wasn't quite enough. Perhaps being observed while being fucked would help, but she was pretty sure that it wouldn't be enough to take her over the "well and truly fucked" threshold. Finally, after long and careful consideration, she had determined that there was one and only one way to get there. And ever since she realized that that was what she needed, she hadn't been able to let it go.

What she really needed was to get fucked by more than one cock.

Yes, getting fucked by one cock was wonderful, but she needed to know what it was like to take more than one. Whenever she masturbated on her own, she fantasized about it. Images of multiple cocks dominated her raunchiest dreams. Sometimes she found herself in the middle of the day pondering what it would be like, and then spent the rest of the day craving it.

Of course, she had shared her fantasies with her husband, but had never really articulated how strong a grip the fantasy held over her, how much more visceral it felt to her, how she sometimes felt that she just needed to have it actually happen. When making love, she'd sometimes think about how it would feel, and she'd imagine the positions of other lovers while her husband was fucking her. Once in a while, in the throughs of passion, during intense mutual fantasies, she'd even vocalized this. "One is not enough, I need more cock."

But whenever their fantasies had become especially heated, she'd always ended by reassuring her husband. When she said that 'my pussy is only for your cock', she meant it. She could never forgive herself if her needs drove her to deceive him. But last night, as she was thinking through various scenarios, she had worked out a way to get what she needed while preserving the bounds of marriage; without violating the most basic of fidelities. She could finally satisfy her cravings, and do so without deceit.

But there was a subtle, previously unconscious, assumption hidden amongst the words she said to her husband -- what mattered was not what she'd included in her promise, but what she'd left out. She hadn't, for example, included her mouth. Or for that matter, she hadn't exclude body-parts-other-than-cocks. Sure, her solution might seem a little lawyerly -- ok, straight from the Bill Clinton school of sexual ethics -- but it also wasn't simply a cheap cover to give her freedom to do whatever she wanted. She looked at it now as a simple carve out of additional rights and responsibilities, rather than a wholesale abandonment of core principles. And her looser interpretation was governed by a strict set of additional self-imposed rules. In any case, he'd have to go agree to everything. Still, while she would stick to her basic principles, she wasn't above a bit of leading-by-the-cock to get where she wanted to go. In any case, now was the time where all of her careful analysis would be tested.

As her husband continued to slowly and skillfully fuck her, she looked around behind her to where Mr. X was sitting and gave him her best come-hither naughty school girl look. He got the idea immediately, stood up, and walked to the side of the bed. Cedric continued to fuck her, slowing a bit, that what-the-fuck expression returning to his face.

Better move this along quickly, she thought to herself, indicating with her eyes where she wanted Mr. X to situate himself. He climbed up on to the bed and kneeled beside her, manoeuvring a bit awkwardly to get his hips near her head. She looked back at her husband, who was still hard, still fucking her, but waning somewhat.

"Darling, I don't know how I can even dare to ask this of you. We've done some crazy stuff today, and I've done stuff I know you've loved to see me do, but my real fantasy hasn't happened yet. There is something I really want... Something I've wanted for a long time."

He'd slowed almost to a stop now -- giving her a really-I-mean-it-what-the-fuck-is-going-on face now.

With her husband's cock inside of her, and Mr. X kneeling next to her, his cock pointing directly at her face, this wasn't really the time for speeches. But she felt that she had to be sure that this would be ok; had to give Cedric a real choice.

"I know I already put my mouth on his cock, but honestly, I didn't really do it for my own benefit. What I really want is..."

"I... I want to suck a cock while you fuck me. This is something I desperately want to do. But it isn't something that I have to do. We can stop this right now if you want. I mean it. Your happiness means more to me than anything else, and..."

As she said this, she noticed something interesting about her words. She hadn't said "his cock", she'd said "a cock". Her motivation was pure. She didn't care a thing for Mr. X. All that was relevant about him was the one key piece of equipment he'd brought to the room with him. Perhaps her husband had noticed the same subtle turn of phrase. In any case, his reply came as an enormous relief.

"No, I'm not going to stop you. I want you to do this. I want to watch you do it. I want it most of all because you want it -- I can see how badly you want it, and that turns me on more than you can know. But," he said with a grin, "I also want it because from now on when I call you my slut, we'll both have this perfect image in our minds. You can't be more of a slut than you're about to be now."

As he said this, his cock got fully hard again, and the the pace of his pumping and grinding grew.

She turned then to face Mr. X's cock, opened her mouth, and took his cock in to it. She pressed her tongue around that cock, took it further into her mouth, began to move her head back and forth along it. Closing her eyes for a few moments, she felt Mr. X put his hands on her head and gently encourage her movements.

The realization of what was happening to her exploded in her mind. She felt like she'd been dropped out of an airplane. "Oh God. Oh God. This is it. This is it. Oh God." Wave after wave of churning recognition washed over her. For the first time in her life, she had a penis in her vagina and in her mouth at the same time; she was getting fucked by two cocks, she was being taken in the front and in behind.

She knew the picture she was presenting -- in fact, she could see herself vaguely reflected in the glass of a picture on the wall. Her posture was that of the ultimate whore. Except, as her husband had playfully reminded her when all of this was just a fantasy, a whore got paid, and she was assuming this position for free. On all fours, sucking cock, getting fucked, breasts hanging down from her body. The image did actually have a bit of the barnyard to it, and also brought to mind those most bawdy 16th century stories involving lonely highway inns and drunken brigands having their way with the bar wenches. It was the kind of thing that only porn stars did. And while she was completely turned off by porn videos, and she didn't feel at all porn star fake and cheesy, she did feel cheap and easy and used. And she loved it.

And then there were the sounds. She was of course moaning and groaning, but the sound was muffled because her mouth was filled with someone's cock. She was repeating mantras in her mind which found there way to her throat whenever she came up for air. "Oh God. Oh God." "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Adding to that, her body itself was making noise. Slobbery sucking noises from her mouth, and sloppy squelching noises from her cunt.

And the smells. She could smell the excitement, the pheromone rich, musky odor coming from her body, the sweaty manly smell coming from Mr. X's cock so close to her nose. And also, the taste of his cock, slightly tangy, and the silkiness of the pre-cum leaking out of it.