Speaker 1: Welcome to sexy stories after dark. Ah, David and Tony
had left early Friday morning for a father and son
fishing weekend, leaving me alone in a house that suddenly
felt far too large and quiet. I had planned to
enjoy it a bottle of wine, something mindless on television,
and two uninterrupted nights without anyone asking where the clean
towels were. Then Marcus knocked. He and four friends had
spent the afternoon repairing the storm damaged fence at the
back of the property. I had watched them through the
kitchen window more often than I wanted to admit, young
strong laughing among themselves as sweat darkened their shirts beneath
the summer sun. Offering them a drink afterward had seemed harmless.
One beer became several, The beer became whiskey. Music replaced
the television, and somewhere between midnight and Marcus standing close
enough for me to smell smoke on his clothes, I
stopped pretending I didn't understand what was happening. He gave
me every opportunity to ask them to leave. Instead, I
locked the front door. By the time we climbed the stairs.
My wedding photograph was still standing beside the bed. It
would not remain upright for long. My eyes opened to
gray morning light bleeding through the curtains, and the weight
of an arm draped across my ribs. For three full
seconds I didn't remember. The ceiling was familiar, the same
mahogany beams David and I had paid too much for
in two thousand and nine, the same hairline crack running
from the fixture to the corner my bedroom, my bed.
But the arm was wrong, too young, too muscled, the
skin taut over forearms that belonged to someone who still
lifted things for the pleasure of it. Then the ache
between my legs flared, and everything flooded back. Marcus his arm,
his breath slow and steady against my shoulder blade. On
my other side, Jake sprawled face down, one hand still
loosely curled around my hip. Ryan and Carlos occupied the
chaise by the window, a tangle of long limbs and
twisted sheets, and the armchair. Yes, the serious one, the
one who'd fucked my throat and come on my face
and looked at me like he was cataloging every molecule
of my surrender. He was there too, already awake watching
I should have felt shame. I waited for it, lying
there in the gray light, my body a canvas of
dried seamen and bruises and memories I couldn't unmake. I
waited for the panic, the regret, the voice that was
supposed to scream, what have you done? You're a married woman,
a mother, forty four years old. It didn't come. What
came instead was a slow spreading warmth in my belly
as Marcus shifted behind me and his morning erection pressed
against the small of my back. Good morning, Natalie. His
voice was gravel and smoke. He didn't move his arm.
I my throat closed around the words raw used. The
panties they'd stuffed in my mouth last night had left
their cotton ghost on my tongue. Don't try to talk yet.
Marcus propped himself up on one elbow, and I felt
his gaze travel down my body. The sheet had slipped
to my waist, leaving my breasts bare. My nipples tightened
under his scrutiny. You were screaming pretty hard around two am.
Throats probably wrecked. I wasn't screaming. The words came out
as a croak. You were the one in the armchair
spoke for the first time. His name surfaced from the murk. Daniel. No, David, Derek.
You were absolutely screaming. Ryan had four fingers in your cunt,
and you were begging for more. My face went hot.
The flush spread down my throat, my chest, the tops
of my breasts. Derek leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
You're blushing after everything we did to you. That's when
it makes you blush. It's morning, I said, as if
that explained anything. Marcus laughed that same throaty sound I'd
heard on the porch last night, back when I was
still pretending I didn't know exactly what was about to happen.
It is morning, which means we have He glanced at
the clock on the nightstand, my wedding portrait still face
down beside it, thirty four hours before Tony and your
husband get home. My husband, David. The name landed in
my chest like a stone dropped into still water. Marcus
must have seen something shift in my expression, because he
cupped my chin and turned my face toward his. Hey,
look at me, I looked. Last night, you told us
you wanted this, all of it. You remember saying that
I remembered. I remembered Jake's cock in my car hunt
and Carlos in my ass, and Derrek's thick heats sliding
down my throat. I remembered the vibrator Jake had found
in my nightstand, the ancient one I'd bought during a brief,
embarrassing attempt to spice up year seventeen of a marriage
that had gone missionary only by year twelve. I remembered
coming until I couldn't distinguish pleasure from pain. Remembered the
camera phone clicking as Marcus documented my ruination. Remembered weeping
through the gag while he stroked my hair and told
me I'd done well. Tell me you still want this,
Marcus said, right now, tell me you want us to stay.
The silence stretched. Jake stirred, but didn't wake. Carlos's foot twitched.
Somewhere in the house, the refrigerator hummed its ordinary morning hum,
oblivious to the ex extraordinary thing that had happened in
the master bedroom. I want you to stay, I whispered, louder,
I want you to stay. Marcus smiled, not the predatory
grin from last night, something softer, almost proud, good girl.
He kissed me, His mouth still tasted faintly of whiskey
and the cigarettes he shouldn't have been smoking. His hand
slid from my chin to my throat, not squeezing, just
resting there, a warm reminder of who was in charge.
When he pulled back, I chased his lips without thinking,
and he chuckled, needy this morning? Are we? I'm not
you are? His thumb traced my collar bone. You're absolutely
aching for it. I can tell your thighs have been
rubbing together since you woke up. He wasn't wrong. The
dull throb between my legs had sharpened into something more urgent,
and I was clenching around nothing, my body already preparing
itself for what it had learned to crave. Please. I
heard myself say, please, what? Please? Fuck me? From the chaise.
Ryan stirred, His eyes opened, bleary, then sharpened as they
found me. She's already begging. It's not even eight am.
She's an early riser, Derek said dryly. That's not what
I started. But Marcus cut me off with two fingers
pressed to my lips. We're going to fuck you, he said,
But first you're going to do something for us. I waited,
my tongue still against his fingers. You're going to wake
up Jake and Carlos, and you're going to do it
with your mouth. If you want to hear the rest
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