Biggest Ris of My Life

Once again, the usual reminder. To fully understand what has been going on, it would be best to read the first 5 chapters. Otherwise you risk misunderstanding the WHY of what is happening.

This is 6 of 8 chapters. They are already complete and will be posted weekly. Happy reading.

LS

*****

New contact by rapist

Steve.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of Christina's car and we were driving back home after she had picked me up from the airport.

The tension all afternoon had been building in me. After leaving the motel and dropping off my rental, I had texted Christina my "arrival" details. She would pick me up at the same spot we always used. This was a regular occurrence: nothing out of the ordinary.

Would she even be there, I wondered? Which Christina would greet me? A flashing eyed, screaming banshee, out for my blood with the cops in tow... or... a distraught, rape victim seeking physical and mental support from her husband to get her over her ordeal... or... would it be my sweet, loving wife? It didn't take long to find out.

We had hugged, as per usual and, it being her car, she took the driver's seat while I added my baggage to the back seat. So... loving wife had won out.

Once seated, I looked closely at her, trying not to be too obvious I was examining her. She looked calm. She even seemed to be slightly more enthusiastic to see me than she normally was. Of course she asked the standard questions, "How did it go? Did you enjoy it? How big was the group?" type of questions. Just mundane stuff. But she was nervous, I could tell.

I tried to answer as normally as I usually did, attempting to act exactly as I remembered I had previously. She would give me quick glances as we spoke, trying to keep the conversation flowing. I think I was shorter in my answers because the glances had a slight element of concern to them as we travelled on. Perhaps I was over-thinking things.

I told Christina that I was quite tired from the presentations and told her I was looking forward to a relaxing evening and sleeping in my own bed. Hotels are still antiseptic places. They are not homely and I always enjoyed getting back. But, she knew that already.

...

Christina

I'm sure he could tell that something was wrong. I could feel his eyes on me: watching me. Was it more closely than normal? I didn't know. He had always told me he enjoyed looking at me. One of the simple pleasures in life, he always said. I had always been embarrassed by it.

I kept asking him questions. While he was talking he wouldn't be thinking too much about me. I made sure I dressed normally: not too revealing, even though the weather had been very hot.

Could he see her? The slut that lay within me? I hoped not. I knew the night had changed me in subtle ways. I could sense it within myself. I just hoped Steve couldn't see it.

Before I left our home I had once again checked the entire apartment for any sign of the intruder. There had been nothing. My final check had been of me. I had stripped naked again and checked myself, thinking I may have missed something. But no. There was nothing that a few days recovery wouldn't fix.

I'll be extra nice to him, I resolved. Cook his favourite meals. Even watch "Game of Thrones" with him, if that's what it took. There was so much sex and violence in it that I always maintained I could never watch it. If my family ever found out I watched it, they'd be... wait. I'm concerned about a television show, after what I've just done?

I suddenly realised I had lost myself in deep thought and the car had gone silent. How long had it been like that, I panicked? A further quick glance at Steve showed he was looking out the windows, all relaxed while he watched the mesmerising traffic.

I gave a sigh of relief. Just a few more miles and we would be home.

...

Steve

The first days back home were quite nerve racking. My lovely Christina continued acting as if nothing had happened. She made no mention of things happening outside her control.

That first night, we went to bed as per usual. She wore her knee length nighty, as per usual. There was no sex, as per usual.

I kept expecting her to ask me to sit down with her one evening while she confessed what had gone on. To talk about the rather obscene things I had made her do. But... nothing. Like I said, she just continued on with her normal, day-to-day actions.

Did she know anything at all? I wondered. Were there any suspicions about my involvement?

I think it was about 5 days after "that night" when I made advances to her sexually and wasn't rebuffed. She reacted exactly as she always had. She "did her wifely duty" with a lights out, nightgown pushed up just enough to accomplish the act, scenario. She may have felt a bit more aroused, I thought... slightly more wet than usual... but that could just have been my imagination.

Again, there was only one person participating. Me, as usual. She simply lay there while I practically masturbated, using her body. I had always enjoyed looking into the eyes of a woman I was making love with, or even fucking. Gateway to the soul, they say. Christina still denied that to me. She had her eyes clenched tightly closed.

As I lay next to her, seeking sleep after my little bout of sterile sex, my doubts about what I had done were totally extinguished. I felt absolved. The pain of knowing she could the hot blooded woman of my dreams but had continued to choose to act like a mummified corpse, had cleansed me of any guilt.

But how long could we go on like this, I pondered. Perhaps some counselling may help. Because, damn it... I still loved her dearly. We had a mental connection that I'd never had with anyone else. Seeing her sexy, naked body that night had also stoked up my erotic fires so, if I could somehow rescue our marriage, I would be willing to try.

I should have a damn good talk to her fucking perverted parents. Wait, she hadn't actually told ME what they had done to her, I realised. She had told HIM. How could I confront her about it, or even talk to her parents about it, without her wondering how I knew? She wasn't stupid. Eventually her suspicions would be raised. Fuck... I'll have to think of something else. On that conclusive note, I fell asleep.

...

Christina

I think I've done it. I've managed to fool my loving husband that everything was normal. The first couple of days were nerve racking and I felt he was always around me. Watching me even more closely than he normally did. He seemed to be almost... expectant about something. Waiting for something, somehow.

My body was very sore for those first days. After all, I reasoned, it had never experienced anything like it had before. I felt sore and tender in strange places. The soreness from my butt spanking began to fade quickly, just as it always had when daddy spanked it. However, my butt hole was still tender where it had been abused by those things he had put inside me. Whenever I sat down, I was reminded.

Weirdly, my jaw was still sore from the work HE had made it do. Being opened wide and held open while he... fucked... my mouth and throat. Oh, my throat was still sore also... making me rasp a little when I spoke. But Steve never said anything so I supposed others also didn't notice any difference. But I had.

My nipples were another thing that I couldn't explain. They seemed to get erect all the time. Light stimulation from my bra first aroused them, then kept them that way... often for hours. Luckily my billowy blouses hid them from view during the day while I worked. But I could still feel them as I walked about. Constant arousal. It seemed to go in a cycle. Some stimulation... erect and hard... making me think about them... shame and embarrassment... making them harder... which made me think even more about them... keeping them hard.

My... cunt... was sore from the hard fucking it had received. The swelling went down surprisingly quickly but it still remained tender. And wet. It got wet every, single, day!

It almost seemed that it had "body memory" or something. The soreness in various parts of my body acted as a constant reminder of what had happened. My thinking about those sore areas reminded my body. Then flashes of memories... of the pain... the pleasure... oh my gawd... the pleasures! All these things acted to keep my slutty cunt... hot and wet.

Each day I arrived home from work before Steve. I had taken to stripping naked to examine my recovery progress in the mirrors. Or, so I told myself. Never in my life had I stripped naked like that. Now, when naked, I would walk about the apartment, feeling free of all moral constraints. It was liberating.

It would also give me a chance to 'dry' my wet cunt before Steve arrived home.

About four or five days after "that night" I decided it was time to continue my wifely duty. I gave my little indications to Steve that I would be receptive to his advances and so we had sex.

I didn't want Steve to know anything was different. Therefore I resolved to make sure I didn't move or participate in any way. Naturally, it was all done in the dark so Steve couldn't see my body.

I knew I was still slightly aroused from my now normal day of feeling aroused, so I made sure to keep my eyes tightly shut. Steve couldn't see... wouldn't be allowed to see... HER. The slut within me. I knew if he looked into my eyes he would see her... and recognise her for what she is. I couldn't have that.

I'm ashamed to say that... Steve's cock didn't feel as big as my Masters' cock. My Master's was so big and strong... as it had plundered and possessed me. It had fucked me. It had bulldozed its way in to me whereas Steve was gentle and smooth. And loving, I reminded myself; very loving. After all, he is my husband.

...

Christina continues.

It has now been a month since "that night". Life has settled back down into our regular, day-to-day existence.

But things are NOT the same. What is happening to me? All soreness healed up weeks ago but I haven't been able to stop thinking about sex. About fucking, not making love.

Now, as each day ends, I rush home so I can take all my clothes off and walk naked about the apartment. It makes me feel so... free. I feel HIM everywhere. My mind remembers and my body craves for... his strong, controlling touch. My slut has taken over my body and I don't know what to do.

I put my hands on to my naked breasts... my tits, he called them. I feel and twist and pull my own nipples, craving for the feelings HE created in me.

They get hard, oh so hard... but it just isn't the same.

The pleasures my Master gave me... I just cannot replicate.

The freedom of the air around my naked body is soooo nice.

I know that I have drifted into a dark place. Yesterday, Steve informed me that he had to attend some business function where he would have to work late. He wouldn't be back until midnight.

All alone in our apartment, I had taken the balaclava and sleeping mask my Master had left for me... and had placed them back on my head and lay naked on the bed... thinking about what had happened.

Only then could I reach down and put my hands on my slutty cunt. Wet... so wet.

I had used my fingers to pull back my hood over my sensitive clit... and commence rubbing while saying all the words that my Master had called me. Slut... whore... dirty... disgusting... greedy little slut. That was me.

Then I had orgasmed. Wonderful. I waited until I had recovered... then I did it again. It took longer this time but just as enjoyable. I lay back, enjoying the aftermath. I still felt aroused... horny... so I started again. It felt like the journey would take much longer this time... until I grasped one nipple and pulled and twisted it savagely. Another orgasm left me exhausted and finally sated.

This was not me. I had not masturbated since my parents had caught me all those years ago as a teenager. The spanking that had followed, then having to wear gloves to bed every night for 3 years... the bulk of my teenage life... had cured me of any secret, intimate touching. After that I knew never to allow myself to even think about anything erotic, for fear of uncontrolled arousal.

Now, my slut had taken over and it was all I lived for, these stolen moments.

This time, as I lay recovering, I wondered why I hadn't begun taking small steps to introduce some of the things my Master had recommended I do with Steve. More nudity; letting Steve see me... and touch me. To introduce massages by getting him to massage me.

Sucking his cock was, perhaps, a bridge too far... but I hadn't done anything he suggested. Why not? I didn't know, I decided. Things had obviously changed in me but... for some reason... I wanted to protect the image I was sure Steve had: that of a pure, innocent wife who loved him unreservedly. To Steve I was a saint, not a slut.

All I knew was that these urges I was experiencing were getting stronger and stronger. I wondered if I could pluck up the nerve to go into one of those sex shops... to buy some of those vibrating toys my Master had used on me.

I had done some research on our home computer, about sex toys. I could hardly believe my eyes, seeing the range of things available. I didn't know what most of them were used for. All things a slut would use, I thought. Perhaps it would be easier to order some things on line. Then I wouldn't be seen going in to those dens of iniquity.

Shivers of... what? Anticipation... fear... desire... arousal... flooded through my nervous system. What a slut I am, I thought.

...

Steve

Time passed. I was particularly busy at work: I had to take it while it was available. Some day in the future things could just "dry up" so I wanted to build a financial buffer to ride through whatever happened.

Because I was so busy, I hadn't been able to concentrate on my physical relationship with my lovely wife. However, I did get a few spare moments where I contemplated what was happening. Christina was still the perfect "Stepford" wife: meals prepared, the apartment was always spotless. She even had a constant vibrant, "rosy" bloom about her that just made her more attractive.

But the intimate side of our relationship had not changed at all. Still the same frequency per week. Same old, same old. She didn't need to use the KY lube as often as she previously did... but that was probably simply because her body had adjusted to my "demand" of regular sex. I was beginning to feel the levels of frustration I had reached that had driven me to that wild night in the first place.

However, about a month after that night, I came home after having to work late. I knew Christina would be in bed, asleep already. As soon as I opened the bedroom door and walked in, it hit me. The smell of sex still lingered, teasing my life long memories. A man never forgets that smell: the smell that a hot, wet, pussy leaves after it has been aroused. I think we are hot-wired, like Pavlov's dogs, to react to it. I certainly did.

Memories of countless sexual episodes with my party girls taunted me immediately. Then memories of one particular session assailed me: that of my hot wife during her forced night of lust. Yes, the smell was hers all right; I was certain of it.

I looked at Christina, still asleep, laying innocently on her side of the bed, my presence unnoticed.

It was so strange. I was immediately aroused, responding like a dog to a bitch or a stallion to a mare in heat. Yeah, don't laugh. Size means nothing to the actual primeval desire of wanting to mate. We are, after all, only one tick away from being apes in our genetic makeup.

That was also when a strange twist occurred. I was standing just inside my bedroom, not having moved since the smells had hit me. My erection was almost painful as it tried to expand, confined as it was in my boxers.

That's when the feelings of jealousy and suspicion reared their ugly heads. Had my wife just been unfaithful to me? Had she fucked someone else in our bed? Even... had another intruder had his wicked way with her? Weird, I know. But what would you think?

I backed quietly out of the room and went downstairs to the kitchen. I made a hot drink and sat there and tried to logically work out what had gone on. Do I wake her up and make accusations? What "facts" did I have? Nothing, except my sense of smell, I realised.

What was going on? Was she having an affair? I didn't really think so... but as they say, the husband is often the last to know.

The smell had been heavy, lingering. I recognised that it was not merely the smell of a sexually aroused woman. You know, that level of smell that a woman gets after an evening of teasing at a bar or restaurant... and she gets in your car. As you travel home to your place or hers... you can often smell the arousal of the woman in the enclosed, confined space of the vehicle. You get the smell of her perfume, the smell of a little sweat if you've been dancing... then the whiff of her aroused cunt. Wonderful. They would be so embarrassed if they knew. Naturally, a gentleman would never tell her... and just enjoyed the experience.

Dogs smell it all the time. Ever seen a dog that goes for the crotch of a woman at a party? Pushing its wet nose into her private parts? The woman politely trying to push the animal away, trying to avoid embarrassment. Oh, she knew what it could smell alright.

No, in my bedroom it was the smell that occurs after a full, extended session of sex... with either many orgasms occurring or an extremely high level of arousal having been reached, resulting in copious amounts of female love juice being released. Either would have the same result.

So, which one was it? An affair... or self-lust on an extended scale. I had no clues. But I thought it was time I pushed the envelope a lot further. I needed to talk directly to the Christina who had experienced that lust filled night. Not the Christina of now.

I would need to make contact again. Or... I should say, HE would need to make contact again. Yes, I decided. That would force the issues. What would she do... if HE were to begin communicating with her? Would she finally 'fess up to me... or what?

Satisfied with my decision, I finished my drink. Now a lot calmer, I headed upstairs, eventually slipping into bed without awakening Christina. I slept well that night.

...

Steve continues

Over the next few days I refined a plan, kicking it around in my head and examining it from different angles. Well, it would certainly cause something to happen, I decided. Just what exactly, I wasn't sure.

I opened a new email account, plus a new skype account, using the public computers at the local library. Christina was ok with computers: she used them at work. But she wasn't a computer nerd and had not launched herself into the whole social media thing like most of our generation. Meaning, she wouldn't be able to trace the source of my emails back to me. However, someone else might be able to do it. So, no emails were sent from my personal computer nor from any based in the companies I worked. Just the public computers at the library.

I knew she had a private email account but didn't know how often she checked it. We had used it extensively when we first met, along with skype for when I was out of town. Now though we either texted or actually phoned each other and the skype use had seemed to dwindle away over time.

One week after my discovery, I sent the first, tentative email. I had to open the lines of communication first, so I sent Christina a text message from a burner phone I purchased.

Quite straightforward, I thought. It instructed, "Slut. Check your email. Master."

...

Christina

Oh my gawd! They had arrived. I had given in to my mounting desires and had finally plucked up the courage to order a few things on line. Now a shoe box sized parcel had been delivered and I excitedly opened it.