Services Rendered

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.

Taking hold of his cock with both hands this time, I carefully position the head outside the entrance to my wife's cunt, once my sanctum sanctorum, now his to use however long he wants. This time he quickly crams his cock inside her, drawing an indrawn breath that speaks volumes. I'm sure now. His cock is longer, larger and thicker than mine. Another point in their favor, though I don't have reason to complain. She's never complained.

From cunt to ass, from ass to cunt, he switches holes at will, always guided in place by me, her husband. He only pauses in his incessant fucking to lean over and play with her dangling breasts, pinching the nipples and milking the flesh.

The scent of her sex permeates the room. Each time her anus widens too far for proper friction, he switches to her pussy, letting her anus contract even as he drills into her cunt. Her asshole squeegees off the oil with every withdrawal; I reapply it often, arming the stranger with the lubrication he needs to sodomize my wife again and again.

"Cunt. Ass. Cunt. Ass," the commands become a litany of perversity. I still have no idea who he is, but I know that my wife would be thrilled to have her womb pumped full of his superior spunk. She has yet to see him, but she knows he's one of the beautiful people. A child by his balls would have a step up in the world, literally.

The bedroom door crashes open. A woman's figure rushes in, coat flapping and hair askew.

"There you are!" she half shouts, breaking the mood of desperate sex. "I've been in and out of a bunch of these shacks looking for you. How can these people live like this?" she asks, her mouth in a disdainful moue. I see my wife tremble for a moment, until the cock in her ass slams back in with unusual ferocity.

Shacks? We've worked our whole lives to get this two-bedroom bungalow, saddled with debt that threatens to overwhelm us at any time. We've carefully saved, scrimped and spent, acquiring appliances that we can barely afford to run. Of course, to them, our house might appear to be a shack. It's barely as large as one of their attached garages. We live our life the best we can. Not that they would notice.

"Oil!" the man flatly commands, as if sensing my rising outrage and quelling it with a reminder of my place. This time I first clean off his cock with a sheet, removing the smegma that built up during his hard fucking of my wife's ass and pussy. Only then do I apply more oil, working it into the shaft and head with expertise born of many rounds of personal masturbation.

While I work, the woman sheds her coat and her panties, leaving her bottomless in a frilly, unbound nightgown. She clambers up on the bed, laying on her back with her legs spread and facing my wife. Wordlessly, she forcefully grabs my wife's head and pulls her mouth down onto her exposed pussy. Within seconds, the succulent sound of a tongue rasping over pussy lips fills the room. After a contented sigh from the woman, the stranger commands me to position him outside my wife's gaping anus and he begins his fucking crusade again.

He fucks methodically, with even purposeful strokes no matter which of my wife's holes he's in. I suspect that he's counting the strokes and switching from vaginal to anal on a certain number. But I refrain from counting; that would be too belittling to bear on a night in which we've been forced to bear so much.

"Video, darling?" the woman asks over my wife's bobbing head, just loud enough to be heard over the slurping.

"Siri, lights!" the man commands the ceiling. As if our home central would work when we've used our electricity ration. But of course, for them, an electricity ration is a thing of science fiction. I explain that to him, apologetically, hiding my true feelings as we all must, every day. In response he whispers to his watch, "Turn the electricity on at..." pausing until I give him the address. He doesn't know where he is! That thought is followed by the depressing thought that he must've selected this house at random. Followed by the somewhat uplifting thought that there is supposed to be a quid pro quo about these things. And we must put our faith, what is left of it, in that.

"Siri, lights!" he commands again, and the lights blaze on in the room, as we use them to tell us when the new electricity ration begins in the morning. When the lights go on is when our day begins.

Getting my first good look at them, they are almost exactly as I'd imagined, perfectly sculpted as if they have come directly out of a Hollywood vid. He is smooth skinned, hard muscled, but very plain in the face, despite his square jaw. From the neck up, seeing him on the subway you would never take him for one of them. But his presence, the way he holds his limbs, the purpose with which he fucks my wife, reveals his true inner self: a Master of the universe.

She is much more typical of them. A true hourglass figure. Taut, smooth tanned skin, her V shaved smooth save for a tiny tuft of pubic hair, which she absently tugs on as my wife licks her tanned pussy. Legs splayed out without an ounce of fat, her butt must be as yummy as a teenager's. Firm breasts with just enough flesh for a tit fuck, if you push them together hard, are tipped with tiny nugget nipples, the kind most men drool over. Her face is perfectly made up, a model of vacant sophistication. Not quite hidden in her eyes is a vague disgust at her surroundings. They speak "how can they live like this," never having experienced any introspection into how this came to be. Blond, the way California blond used to be, with the air headedness that believes she's overcome great disadvantages because her Daddy's yacht was shorter than their neighbors'.

"Siri, video!" he commands the ceiling, and the pinprick camera activation lights alight momentarily, then fade off. Every room in every home has them, installed with your internet package. They're not supposed to be recording except by command. Nobody believes that. But without the fiction, the world would be an even bleaker place.

"You can vid," he says to me, a statement not a question. I wipe my oil covered hands on my shorts and grab our vid camera from the nightstand. We're not above making a quick vid on the spur of the moment to earn a few extra credits. Just a niche vid for one of them who wants to see a cock or a cunt doing something dirty or perverse 'right now!' and puts his request online for all to see, inviting couples to submit their entries where the prize for the fastest and best vid might be pocket change to him, but a game-changer for them. My wife's take: If someone is always watching, why not make some credits off it?

I don't know where they'll be watching this, but stories abound of their well-attended orgies where similar videos play on all the walls, debauchery wrapped in perversion wrapped in domination. That doesn't matter, except that I edit on the fly. If they're going to ogle and masturbate and fuck to my wife's body, there shouldn't be any awkward moments where the camera is recording the ceiling or the floor or an out-of-focus foot. One must have standards, even in this.

I start at her rear, where his cock is once again switching from her cunt to her anus. Lingering on the cock head approaching its target. The contrast between the angrily purple smooth cock head and the fibrous anal ring, opening to a featureless void inside her bowels. Entry as his cock forcefully stretches her open; there's no point in resisting though her muscles still do. And then the seemingly endless duration of his cock entering her, eight inches of hardened marble-like shaft, marked only by rope-like veins that wrap the circumference like vines on a column.

After a minute of his determined pumping, I switch to the front, where the woman has pried open her pussy lips, giving my wife's tongue free reign in her wet, pulsing pussy. They're past the point of teasing and my wife's tongue is deeply embedded in the woman's fuck hole, thrusting in and out in a wet simulation of a cock fucking her cunt. Then, her tongue seeks out the woman's hooded clit, now red and angry-looking, its touch causing her hips to buck against my wife's face. With the vid stick I'm able to get in close and intimate, all the pink and wetness in the viewfinder making my cock hard. I'm not sure how the Master would feel about that, so I try to hide my boner from his sight. But my discretion is wasted. All he does is stare down at his prick sliding in and out of my wife's ass. The video will be hot. I wish I could think of a way to keep it for ourselves.

The woman is bucking hard against my wife's face now, her orgasm nearing its peak. She holds my wife's head down against her groin, fingers in her hair, mouth mashed against the open pussy. The odor of wet cunt has filled the room; my nose twitches at its acrid taste. You can't see the quivering clit beneath my wife's mouth, so I keep the camera on the woman's quaking breasts and joyful face. The moment she comes her mouth opens in a perfect circle and her eyes open in apparent amazement, as if she can't believe someone as common as my wife could bring her off so completely. With the tip of her hard nipple in the foreground and her ecstatic face in the background, I know I've captured a shot that they will remember for a while.

"Clean it," the woman instructs, holding my wife's head against her bubbling cunt. I can see my wife's throat swallowing as she sucks up the excess pussy juices. After suctioning out the interior, she licks the exterior of the woman's pussy lips, attending to every inch, her pink tongue rasping against the woman's tanned skin. "Good bitch," the woman says at the end, purposefully cheapening the attention she's received. I capture it all on film wondering what the orgy participants will think of that exchange.

We all feel the sudden chill in the room as my wife stiffens at the unnecessary insult. It's not as if she has been anything less than accommodating, as well as completely obedient. It's the kind of behavior we expect from them, despite their unending claims of superiority.

"Oil!" the man demands, as if he didn't notice anything. Of course. Our feelings would be beneath him, in the same category as the woman who is beneath him. Cattle to be used and discarded.

I palm more oil onto his hard, hot shaft, marveling at his stamina. Was that another thing they could buy that we couldn't, the ability to stay hard for hours? Once he loosed his load, would he stay hard after? It wouldn't surprise me if there was something to that. They save all the best for themselves.

He's spending more time in my wife's cunt now, pushing her into different positions to get a tighter fit. Her pussy lips are rapidly reddening as even the oil isn't providing enough lubrication. He could rub her skin raw if he's not careful. But would it even occur to him to be careful?

"What's taking so long?" the woman asks languidly, as if her orgasm has temporarily drained the venom from her voice. "Let me see."

My wife swivels around so the woman can inspect her rear.

"Oh. That's the problem." I lean to see and understand immediately. The constant use has left my wife's anus gaping open in an almost perfect circle, which oddly reminds me of the woman's mouth just moments ago when she had that body-quaking orgasm. Probably best not to mention that. "You may want to give her ass a rest for a bit, darling," she breathes at her lover/husband/whatever. "It may take a while for this one to tighten down a bit."

They speak of my wife like they're talking about fixing a car. Dispassionate. Uncaring. Utilitarian.

In the bright light and under the gaze of the room's video cameras, the man swivels my wife back around and presses his cock into her mouth. Unlike her pussy and ass, this is one hole that will not stretch, so she can only take the first few inches of his head and shaft. She flicks her tongue across the sensitive head and traces the edge of the helmet round and round again. Sensing his impatience, she switches to licking and worshipping his cock, kissing the head, tonguing the shaft and sucking his balls. She spends an inordinate time on his testicles, taking every inch of his sac into her mouth, sucking on each ball, ensuring that no bit of his manhood is left dry or untouched.

After several minutes of complete and abject submission to his immaculate manhood, he spins her about, gets oiled up, and shoves his cock back into her newly collapsed anus. She gasps as he enters her, wiggling her ass to help move his cock deeper into her heated canal. I can tell from the way he grasps her ass cheeks and moves his groin, he's not far from cumming. And she won't get her cunt-full of special semen. He plans to shoot his sperm inside her ass, never to see the light of day until her next bowel movement.

Even as I think this he's taut and groaning, his cock spewing a torrent of spunk inside my wife's butt tunnel. His female companion reaches out and yanks on my wife's breasts, adding a painful aspect to the sensation of being filled up with slick, hot juices.

As he pulls himself loose, his dick is still spasming, leaving a thin trail of jelly-like cum across the exit to her ass. You'd think their jizz would somehow be different. But it's just like everyone else's. Urgent until spent.

My wife has already twisted around before the order to clean it can be uttered. She licks the remainder from his still shuddering shaft, lavishing attention on his sensitive tip, making him jump and groan with every perfectly placed touch. As his balls settle back down, she carefully licks his shaft from top to bottom, sucking up and swallowing the tiny trails of semen that cling to it, cleaning him as thoroughly as a mother sheep cleans her new lamb.

I film it all, as close as the camera will focus, imagining the Masters and Mistresses in their orgy palace watching it on screens the size of stadium roofs, his cock as big as an ocean liner and her mouth so lovingly swallowing it.

With a nod he finally releases her from her servitude. The woman leaves the bed and grabs at her panties but gets my wife's instead. Annoyed, she takes them both and crams them in the pocket of the coat, putting it on but leaving it unbuttoned. What does she care if a bunch of the proletariat see her nudity, or even her tanned fuck slit? What they think doesn't matter.