I woke to find a stranger climbing into bed with us. In the gloom of the night, he knelt on the bed, straddling my wife's legs as she lay face down, her head pressed into the pillow. Groggy with sleep, I watched as he shed his coat, dropping it on the floor. Next came his shirt, which joined the coat in a messy heap.
Without a word, he reached down and dragged the panties off my wife, dropping them to the floor and exposing her ass to the night air. After all his machinations, this finally shook her awake. Scooping his hands under her bare hips, the stranger pulled her upwards until she was up on her knees. Drowsily, she got up on her elbows, instinctively getting into the doggy position. She may have already known what was to come. But not who was going to give it to her.
As my eyes adjusted to the meager amount of light leaking through the curtains, I could see the man meticulously caressing my wife's bare butt. His fingers recognized no limits and he boldly explored her ass crack, reached underneath to finger her slit, and even ran his hands under her torso upward until he was cupping her full breasts, eliciting soft moans and gasps from her.
His actions were as confident as mine would've been, but in the darkness I could detect no details and his identity remained hidden from me. Even so, I knew the kind of man he was. And I knew the penalty for interfering. So I watched, keeping my anger from kindling. A violent reaction would be very much not good.
With her in position, her bottom bare and her night shirt billowing loosely below her, I heard rather than saw him unbutton his pants and unzip his zipper. I imagined my wife would be shivering now, knowing that the man behind her wasn't me. For I sleep in nothing but my shorts. But she's a practical one. She knows how it is. And knows that what's to come is about as inevitable as a sunrise or sunset.
He swings himself off the bed for a moment and lets his pants fall to the floor. I can see his erection silhouetted against the darkened window, enormous and potent. And then he's back on the bed, kneeling between my wife's legs.
His first word is unexpected. "Oil."
That's my cue. I find the massage oil by touch on the nightstand and bring it over to him. It's so dark I can't see any details but I can see his hands gesturing to his erection. Taking control and dominating others is natural to his kind. I know my role. Pouring some oil into my palm, I wash my hands with it, then grasp his outthrust cock and swab the shaft with oil from my hands. He's two handspans long, about eight inches. I cover it from the root to the tip, squeezing it hard because that's what I would want someone to do to me. It all needs to be covered, because I know where it's going next.
"Light," he demands next.
Our electricity ration is used up for the day, so I pull the drapes open partially. In the street I see the latest model Tesla, an all-electric behemoth, worth more than everything I own all together. That explains why I didn't hear him arrive. If he notices that the electric lights still aren't on, he doesn't mention it. I can see him staring at my wife's bubble butt and the full pussy lips peeking out between her legs. That's enough to mesmerize any man. I fully well know.
"Ass," his voices rasps out, firm and unrelenting. His kind is most comfortable giving orders to our kind. They expect them to be carried out, no matter what.
I scramble back to his side of the bed and find his erection in the darkness. Willing my hand not to tremble, I guide the tip of his cock to the tiny pucker of my wife's anus. She shivers at the touch but doesn't protest. Good girl. With a slight tug, I place the velvety, oiled tip of his cock at the entrance to my wife's tight asshole.
Pre-positioned, he begins to lean into her as I pull my hand away. The stronger light from the window illuminates enough that I can watch his cock disappear into her hole, stretching the ring as it enters. She holds her breath until all eight inches have driven inside, his ball sac firm against her ass cheeks. He pulls her ass cheeks apart and wiggles himself inside a half inch farther. He's buried in her ass now and she finally exhales, her loud breath the only sound or movement in the room.
He slowly pulls out until only the helmet is still inside, then begins pistoning in and out of her, a smooth machine of anatomical precision. When I can tear myself from watching his cock ravage her asshole, I can see very few details. Short cropped hair. A sleek thin butt. His form in the dark is all of angles and even his jaw has a squareness to it. I imagine him piloting a yacht in the warm waters, his buxom, beautiful blond wife beside him, clad only in a skimpy bikini. I only know their kind from what I see in the vids.
Yet instead of his glamorous life on the seas, he's here in the dark, in my bed, hammering his cock into my wife's ass. The universe is a strange place.
The slap, slap, slap of his anal adventures fill the room, accompanied only by the intermittent gasps of my wife and the grunts of her assailant. I can see enough to see her anal ring stretching slightly with every stroke, adapting itself to his girth and accommodating his shaft in her most intimate of voids.
"Pussy," he orders, waiting impatiently with his cock outside her hole while I scramble to place it in the ordered position.
"Yes, Master," the honorific slips out habitually, with the same ease as if he had just told me to leave the sidewalk that his family was walking down. Our submission to them is deeply ingrained.
