She woke with a start.
There was no question where she was; she knew where she was. She just did not know what was happening to her. It was very, very dark, the dark red silk and velvet ceiling-to-floor drapes blocking out all but minimal moonlight. She could feel her nightie pushed up past her pussy, but it was still on. There were lubed fingers working her pussy, and there was pressure on her neck, constricting her breathing and holding her down. She relaxed into it, assuming it was her husband and that he'd woken up in need of her. This was her favorite game.
Someone laughed and began to speak. "I didn't think she'd react like that." Before she could register any more than the fact that she didn't recognize the voice, she ratcheted into panic.
As her alarm built, the familiar voice, her husbands, his voice, came from slightly farther away, "I told you. She wouldn't react badly to the strangling... she'd react to having a stranger here."
And, quite true to form, react she did. She did her best to inhale past the pressing hand that was gripping her throat, not gripping it right (the way her husband usually did). As soon as she had enough air to scream, she opened her mouth to do so, only to have a cock thrust neatly into her mouth, blocking all ability for her to make much noise beyond the muffled, muted scream that she released into her throat. She was wearing high tech retainers, designed to keep her perfectly straight, white, teeth... well, perfectly straight. They were clear, and molded to fit directly over her teeth, rendering all of her sharp, biting edges completely, harmlessly smooth and rounded off. So now, as she tried to bite down on the offending (potentially strange) cock, it had little effect. Other than to elicit a resounding slap and a lazily growled "bitch", it did not affect a change in her condition.
All the while, she was arching her back and trying to twist out from under the stranger, and trying to mentally locate her husband. That way, she could somehow plead with him to please, please, not do this to her. Her mind raced through all the reasons why she could not do this: She was insecure about her body, to such a degree that she even annoyed herself. She had irrational fears about STD's. She didn't WANT to be with anyone but her tall, dark, handsome, frighteningly soft-spoken, yet thoroughly dominant husband.
Who had just given her to ...some stranger! She mentally sputtered with indignation and tried to buck everyone off her, doing her best to scream, and managing only to decrease her own ability to breathe... and, oh, look.... pretty stars. Her vision blurred grey; she went under.
She only knew she'd been under because when she came to, her circumstances had changed. She never really was aware that she ...went away... until he told her about it later. This time, as it seemed to her, she had been screaming indignantly into someone's cock, and bucking wildly. Now, she could feel her wrists restrained somehow above her head, and there was someone thrusting into her pussy quickly. There was also someone using her mouth, and she could taste cum in the back of her throat. The realization made her start gagging. This was problematic on account of the inconvenient cock that was currently using her mouth. Although, to be sure, the gagging did not have any ill effect on the fucker that was using it. In fact, the gagging spurred him on, and she heard the groan of pleasure from her husband. Well, at least she knew who was in her mouth; and that meant the stranger was in her pussy.
Her mind began to race, even as her husband fucked her mouth. Her pristine pussy. Not that she'd ever been a prude; she'd logged more sex partners than any decent human being could claim. Fifty something? Maybe even close to sixty of them. Yet, she'd been scrupulously careful with her health in her sexual career, which was lengthy and illustrious. She'd started at fourteen, and before she was seventeen had logged nearly twenty partners. There was a miserable dry spell, from the horrible first marriage, during which she only had that lazy douche-bag as her one and only sex partner, and she'd gotten by that husband less than a couple dozen times. Then came blissful, blessed single-hood in her late twenties, when she'd slept with exactly whom she'd pleased... but carefully, so that now, twenty three years into her sex life, her clockwork annuals and blood tests still came back clean and pure. It was a point of pride, and now there was some animal inside of her pussy, grunting away, and...
...yeah, she unfortunately started screaming again. She knew better, but she really couldn't help it. A fist bunched up at the back of her head, and she felt a brutally hard slap crack against her cheek. She hadn't quite quit screaming, so it was followed by a second, and then a third. That was going to leave a handprint. She was perfectly still and silent now, afraid to even breathe. The cock left her mouth, and she felt her husband's breath on her ear. A hand surged up to her throat and squeezed until she made an undignified yelping gasp. "You will shut the fuck UP, princess, and you will NOT be rude to your guest. Have you forgotten your manners? You don't want me to get angry. Do you." It wasn't a question.
No. She didn't. There was still that threat of knives that he'd made a while back. She was never sure what he meant to do, and what he meant to just scare her with, but she knew better than to push her luck or his limits. She didn't have a line or a boundary where he was concerned. Her self-preservation took over. She made an effort to calm herself.
