Note to the Reader: This story is about a couple who fantasize about exploring sharing sex with other people. It is not about cuckolding, but is a story about a loving couple who wants to add to their relationship through being open sexually, with each other and other people.
Warning: This story deals with a rape that occurred in the main character's past and how it affected her sexuality for many years. It is based on an actual person, who gave me permission to build this story around her experiences. Much of the scene in which she and her husband deal with her fantasy, her behavior, her "speaking" are all directly based on what really happened.
If that topic offends you or upsets you, do not read this story. If the idea of swinging offends you, do not read this story. Negative comments about the TOPIC or judgmental comments about the lifestyle choices of the characters will be deleted.
There is some sex in this story, but the "payoff" isn't until the next chapter. It got too long to keep as one story.
Lastly, thank you to my readers and editors who help me get better.
KB
*****
I nervously awaited my husband Jeff to get home from work. I had something to propose to him, and I wasn't sure how he would react. Jeff and I had a very active and adventurous sex life, but we'd never explored swinging or playing around with other people. I was hoping that was about to change.
My name is Melissa, but everyone calls me Mel. I'm 34, and Jeff is two-years older than me. Jeff was married once before. He got hitched the first time right after graduating high school when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant. It turned out to be a lie. She even went so far as to fake a miscarriage.
Jeff had to work two jobs to support his wife, but while he was doing that, she was screwing men behind his back. He found out when he came home early one day and found her fucking his best friend. Needless to say, he has trust issues.
Jeff is my first and only husband, and I'd like to keep it that way. I plan to stay married to him, as it said in our marriage vows, "until death do us part." He is my hero, and I love him unconditionally. There is nothing he could do that would make me stop loving him.
I was engaged to another man when I was in college. His name was Randy. He and I had dated since the eighth grade. Everyone knew we were perfect for each other and expected us to get married right away. We were in no hurry, so we decided to wait until after college. We both went to Texas Tech.
I studied music; I played the violin. Randy majored in both Geology and Chemical Engineering. He was planning to work in the oil industry with his wealthy father.
After our freshman year of mandatory dorm life, we moved into an off-campus apartment together. We got engaged in the summer after sophomore year. We were on track to graduate, marry and have 2.3 kids by the time we were thirty.
One night, we were supposed to meet some friends at a bar for drinks, but Randy got stuck in a lab and arrived a couple of hours late. When he finally came, he couldn't find me. Randy looked around for me, unsuccessfully. He assumed I had left already and decided to go home but stopped by the restroom on his way out. As he neared the men's room, he heard a commotion out the back door and went to investigate. He found me. I was being fucked roughly, doggy style, by a stranger, while three other men waited for their turns.
I remembered being in the bar and drinking with a couple of my girlfriends when this rough-looking Mexican guy, named Juarez, and a few of his cronies surrounded our table. One of my friends knew him, by reputation, as a local drug dealer and an all-around bad guy. She whispered to me that he got the nickname Juarez because he had spent two years in a prison in Juarez, Mexico.
My friends and I wanted nothing to do with him or his buddies. However, they were assholes and pressured us to have a drink with them. We didn't want to, but they frightened us. So, to get them to leave us alone, we agreed to one drink. That was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in the hospital.
I later learned that after the first round, my girlfriends all left, but I stayed to have "one more." I told my friends I would be safe because Randy was on his way and should arrive any minute. Juarez and his friends got very aggressive with me in the bar, groping me and feeling me up until the bartender told them to "take it outside." He didn't realize the condition I was in or that my behavior was not normal. He just assumed I was a horny coed looking for a wild time.
When Randy found me, Juarez had me bent over the arm of an old sofa, which the bar kept out back for smokers, with my jeans around my ankles, fucking me from behind. Three other guys stood around us, cheering him on with their cocks in their hands, waiting for their turn to fuck me.
Randy was furious and jumped Juarez, who had continued fucking me, ignoring Randy's shouts. Randy grabbed him and threw him to the ground a few feet away. Juarez jumped up, pulled a knife and lunged at Randy, the blade slashing up to his throat. Randy had studied martial arts most of his life and over the past two years had been doing MMA. He dodged the blade and slammed a fist into the side of Juarez's jaw that dropped him instantly.
Fortunately for Randy, the other guys ran off as soon as he decked their leader. Unfortunately for me, Randy assumed I was there voluntarily, being a slut behind his back, and he turned on me. Instead of being a willing participant, he found me incoherent and barely conscious. He pulled my pants up and called 911. While he was busy caring for me, Juarez disappeared.
Eventually, the police arrested Juarez. Since he had wielded a knife and drugged me, he was charged with aggravated sexual assault, for raping me, as well as aggravated assault, for attacking Randy. A jury convicted him on both charges. Due to his long criminal history, the judge threw the book at him. He was sentenced to life without the opportunity for parole plus ninety-nine years.
After the attack, Randy stuck with me, but our relationship had lost its spark. I could see it in his eyes and feel it in the way he touched me. Part of him blamed me for being raped. One of my "friends" had told him that I was flirting with Juarez and encouraged their behavior. She had always wanted Randy and was jealous of our relationship. She told him that she didn't think it was actually rape. He said he didn't believe her, but we stopped being intimate. After a while, we didn't kiss or even hold hands. Every day, I could tell Randy loved me less and less. Eventually, I ended it. I gave him back his ring and let him off the hook. I was damaged goods in his eyes, and I knew he would never get over it.
I went to therapy for a while to deal with the aftermath of the rape and of my breakup with Randy. The sad thing was, I didn't feel very much about the sexual assault itself, because I didn't remember it. I had no memory of being raped. Physically, I felt no different than I did after fucking Randy. Emotionally, I was angry about what had happened, but I was more upset over losing Randy than the rape itself.
After a while, I came to terms with the rape, even though I still struggled with my feelings for Randy. We had been together every day for so long, that not having him around was almost too hard to bear. I considered dropping my therapy sessions, as I felt they were no longer doing much for me. However, something strange had been happening lately, and I wanted to talk to her about it.
Lately, I had been having dreams. They were always similar, though not exactly the same. I was alone, in the bar, surrounded by laughing, faceless men in black robes. The only feature that was exposed was their large, erect cocks which they stroked around me as they jeered.
The room darkened, and a spotlight shone down on our little circle. I was in the center, naked. The dirty, ratty sofa was there next to me. A bald, muscular Mexican man with tattoos all over his body, even up his neck and partially on his face, stood naked in front of me. His cock was long, thick and hard. He smirked at me and pushed me over the arm of the sofa and forced his cock into me violently.
I didn't try to struggle. I welcomed his cock inside me. I pushed back and begged for more. He pounded me roughly, aggressively, like a wild animal fucking me. I screamed out, but it was a scream of intense pleasure. I woke as I came, my juices squirting into my panties and soaking the bed sheets.
The first time it happened, I cried in shame. I felt so dirty, so sick. How could I have had an orgasm dreaming of that animal Juarez fucking me? The dream came back a few nights later, and again and again. It was to the point that I was dreaming about it almost every night.
Then one day, I found myself masturbating and nearing orgasm. With a shock, I realized I imagined Juarez's cock inside me. I stopped masturbating and ran to the bathroom to throw up. That afternoon I scheduled an emergency session with my therapist. I told her all about the dreams, the orgasms, the masturbation. I expected her to have me committed to a hospital, put me on drugs or suggest a lobotomy.
Instead, she shocked me completely by telling me that my reaction was perfectly normal and rather common among rape victims. She said that it really depended on the woman, the nature of the rape, and many other factors. She told me that I was not sick. It was just something that happened in many cases. Her recommendation for what to do shocked me even more.
"Instead of fighting against it," she said, "give into it. Many women find that doing so releases the energy that is tied up in your subconscious mind about it. It's like a release valve. Many find that the recurring fantasies go away or at least cut way down. But he may appear from time to time in your fantasies. It's best to just roll with it, rather than trying to fight it."
"But, he's the last person on Earth I would ever want to have sex with," I said, fighting back tears. "How could I possibly get turned on by the thought of screwing him?"
"We're not exactly sure why, Mel," she explained. "It's really a combination of things. It's partially the Stockholm syndrome, partially a latent submissive nature in you, partially that Juarez represents the ultimate "bad boy" to your subconscious. It may be worse in your case since you were drugged."
