Taboo Tales of Wives, Sluts,  & Their Steamy BDSM-Laced Stories - Deborah Cockram - ebook
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They're off-limits, lives taken up by their families, devotion saved for their hubbies, spare time filled with community events, women's club meetings, and PTA activities.Sometimes those dutiful wives find they have a burning desire to experience something new, something wild and sensual and animalistic, an encounter so mind-blowing it keeps them hot and excited on those long boring nights at home.Wives who, at least for one night (or afternoon), become total sluts, giving themselves to a stranger, or multiple strangers – to men, women, and both – in a decadent drive to know true sexual fulfillment in a way their friends and relatives will never know. Wives who let themselves be bound and gagged, ravished and objectified…and worse…Those are the tales you find here, in Taboo Tales of Wives, Sluts, & Their Steamy BDSM-Laced StoriesIn TAKEN HARD AT THE LIBRARY: A FIRST-TIME WIFE SLUT TALE, Lauren is infatuated with two things: Robert, an older man and local writer who is nothing special except for the tantalizing erotic fiction he pens; and the idea of freedom from her daily duties of mom and husband and small-town girl. Resigned to never getting to know Robert, and to never knowing anything but the sedate, small-town life she, Lauren tries to put her wandering fantasies out of mind, until one day when she runs into Robert at the library. Soon, she's alone with him, in the remote back corner of the reference section, engaged in a hot little public tryst, praying they don't get caught. It's only after they are caught that her life really gets scandalous …TAKEN! AT THE FERTILITY CLINIC: A TABOO FOURSOME TALE: Felicity has the perfect husband – loving, attentive, kind, and a man who knows how to drive her to the heights of sexual ecstasy whenever he wants. The one thing he can't seem to do? Make her pregnant. So Felicity turns to a fertility clinic, one that has rather unorthodox methods, in this hot little tale of mystery, sexual passion and wild, rough, multi-entry group sex.IN OFFICE GIRL 1, THE BOSS TAKES AMANDA WHILE HUBBY WATCHES, it's sequel, IN OFFICE GIRL 2, TAKEN HARD BY HUBBY, and the third installment, IN OFFICE GIRL 3, TAKEN IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM, Amanda takes a job at her husband's firm despite his warnings that the big boss man expects more than just accurate filing and professional dealings from his secretaries. She learns that firsthand, and then discovers her hubby isn't willing to let another man be the dominant presence in her life, in this steamy trilogy that takes us from a hot office encounter (which hubby witnesses but can do nothing about), a lusciously kinky and commanding weekend at home with hubby, and then a titillating partners meeting where Amanda learns she is expected to service all the owners – at the same time – while all hubby can do is sit by helplessly.In BLIND LUST: A VERY NAUGHTY, SLUTTY WIFE TALE, as well as BLIND LUST 2: CREAMED BY MY BEST FRIEND: A STEAMY SLUT WIFE LESBIAN STORY along with BLIND LUST 3: SHARED ON MY BIRTHDAY: AN EROTIC, STEAMY FOURSOME We follow 39-year-old Lisa, who has spent the past 20 years playing the role of dutiful wife to the somber, staid Marshal, who she married when she was just 19. Now facing midlife, and spurred by her sexually impulsive best friend, Angie, Lisa decides to use a website that pairs well-off married men with married women, promising anonymity along with the chance for a torrid short-term, bondage and BDSM-related affair.What Lisa comes to understand over the course of these three stories, however, is that Angie has had designs on Lisa from the beginning, and in the end she plans to have more than a simply fling with her friend...And more in this Big Bundle of Sexy Stories...

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Deborah Cockram

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Table of contents

Taboo Tales of Wives, Sluts,

Taken Hard in the Library

Taken! at the Fertility Clinic

Office Girl 1: The Boss Takes Amanda While Hubby Watches

Office Girl 2: Taken Hard By Hubby

Office Girl 3: Taken in the Conference Room

Blind Lust

Blind Lust 2: Creamed By My Best Friend

Shared On My Birthday

Bad Brat Cuffed & Taken by the Cop

Forbidden Fruit: Becky Pays Hubby's Debt

Chapter 2

& Their Steamy BDSM-Laced Stories

By Deborah Cockram

© Copyright 2017 Deborah Cockram & After Midnight Press

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Taken Hard in the Library

A First-Time Slut Wife Public Bondage Tale

By Deborah Cockram

I stood up, just as she commanded me to do. I could feel the heat radiating from my face, and it felt like the bottom had dropped out of my stomach, sort of like that moment at the top of a roller coaster, when you’re not climbing any longer but not yet going down, when the world stops for just a second and you’d do anything to stop what’s coming next – even though what’s coming next is exactly why you paid your money to climb on board.

“ Go on,” she said, impatience in her voice. Guess I had paused long enough.

I reached up, with my right hand, to my left shoulder – god, my hand was shaking – slipped my fingers under the strap of my sleeveless shirt and slowly began slipping it down, over my shoulder, down my arm.

“ Yes,” she whispered, a smile playing across her face.

I don’t know why the hell I got myself into this, or even how. Well, that’s not true. I know exactly how, and standing here, having to do a striptease act for her was certainly something I deserved. What kind of slut does what I did, with a complete stranger? Or at least a guy who might as well have been a stranger, for all I knew about him. And in public?

I turned to Robert – he had his own penalty yet to come, but he didn’t seem all that disturbed. He sat in his chair, watching, his attention as focused on my moves as Mrs. Tuckwillow, the librarian, was.

I looked at him as I let the strap fall along my arm, reached with my left hand to the right shoulder and did the same, and I knew, standing there, my shirt about to fall down from my shoulders, that despite my humiliation, despite the fact that Mrs. Tuckwillow might as well own me with the blackmail material she has now, I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

It had all started not that long ago, though at the moment it seemed like so very much time had passed. I was watching Aiden, my five-year-old, flip through the children’s books when I glanced around the library and saw him – Robert.

A sudden, dark longing flashed through me, just as it had the day I met Robert. That was three months ago, when the last throes of winter was still hovering over our little community, cold and windy with a frigid rain falling that day. It was here, at the library, where I gathered with a dozen other writer wanna-bes to hear Robert give a presentation on becoming a fulltime writer.

I was enthralled with him, for some reason. He’s not particularly good looking – Robert’s probably 45, a good 20 years older than me (old enough to be my dad), with really thin hair combed over his head in a silly looking attempt to hid his creeping baldness. He’s got a small pot belly, and a thick, graying mustache that’s a little unkempt. He does look strong – his shoulders are wide, his arms are thick, and it’s clear he does regularly visit the weight room, even if he never does cardio and makes no attempt at healthy eating.

And it's not money that attracted me to him, either. He does okay, he told us during the talk, but writers aren’t millionaires like the movies try to make us all believe. Writing, he told us, is about being rejected over and over and over, with a few little acceptances here and there – maybe some decent paying magazines, if we’re lucky a small book contract that pays enough to meet your utility bills for a year.

He told us how self-publishing ebooks can keep a writer fed, but isn’t going to make anyone rich or pay for jaunts to the Bahamas.

But none of that is what makes me think of him, remember his talk, even – dare I admit it – fantasize about him.

The thing that I remembered from his talk, the thing that caught my eye this morning, when I saw him perusing a few of the book aisles, was freedom. He was free from an alarm clock, from a regular job, from answering to anyone but his own drive to write and publish.

Well, that and the fact that writes the most awesome erotica I've ever read. I mean, the kind that'll have you breathing heavy, one hand on the Kindle and the other hand inside your panties, dreaming you’re inside that Kindle with his characters.

I glanced down at Aiden – he was flipping through a pop-up book – and the rest of my life played out in front of me: dutiful wife, loving mom, member of the local women’s club, maybe volunteering at his school when he starts in the fall, PTA meetings, little league games…the things I saw my mom do, the things I dreamed of doing when my husband, Josh, and I were married six years ago.

I was just 19 at the time, and he was 20, and it all looked great to a girl who had never lived anywhere but my small little town in the mountains.

And it still looked good – except the part about being tied down to what everyone else thought was right for the next forty years, without ever knowing, even for a day, even for an hour, what it would be like to simply be free.

Robert represented something else – freedom to live however one wanted, freedom to do what one wanted, freedom to fuck whoever one wanted.

I know that sounds odd. But I’d only been with two other guys by the time Josh and I started dating, and I’ve been faithful to him ever since, but we’ve never had that kind of mind-blowing, naughty, can’t-get-enough sex you see in movies, you read about in those little erotica ebooks we all download and read then delete from our Kindles. The kind of mind-blowing sex Robert writes.

Maybe that doesn’t really exist, but for some reason Robert represents that to me – and it doesn't hurt that he knows, at least he can write knowledgeably, about exactly how to touch and kiss and caress a woman in ways that can drive her out of her head with orgasm.

Standing there, with Aiden still playing with the pop-up book, and Robert leafing through a book he pulled from the shelf on the other side of the library, I couldn’t help myself. I stepped back, into the shadows of the aisle, and ran my hands down my body, along the swell of my breasts, down my sides, to my hips.

A heavy, breathy sigh escaped my lips. I closed my eyes, running one hand back up my body, pressing against my right breast, while my other hand moved down, between my legs, pressing my jeans against my pussy. A shudder rolled through me. I gasped, and then remembered where I was. I opened my eyes and found Robert, from the other side of the library, staring at me, a small, barely perceptible smile playing along his face.

Quickly I turned, lifting my hands to the shelf, fingers playing along the spin of the books, trying for all I was worth to act as if nothing had happened, that Robert hadn’t been watching me touching myself in the middle of the library.

I glanced back his direction – he was leaning against the shelf now, arms crossed over his chest. He nodded at me, and I felt my face grow hot.

“ Ms. Lauren!”

I turned to see Chase and Aubrey running toward me, their arms outstretched. Chase and Aubrey are twins, and Aiden’s best friends. I squatted down and took them both in my arms, giving them a big hug. Their mom, Martina, stepped up behind him. I glanced up, she was smiling – just like she always does. Martina is my best friend, at least she has been these past few years.

She and her husband moved here about the time I learned I was pregnant with Aiden – and she was only two months further along than I was. We met at the doctor's office, and became fast friends. She was really the first good friend I had that I didn’t grow up. We live in a small community and other than the Internet and satellite television, not a hell of a lot has changed since my parents were kids.

She and I talked for a while, while the kids played and looked through books. I noticed Robert had pulled a book from the shelves and was sitting in one of the large arm chairs in the corner, reading. I couldn't help myself – several times while Martina and I talked, I glanced his way. Each time I found him staring at me, though as soon as I looked his way he'd turn his attention back to the open book in his lap.

Finally, Martina glanced at her watch. "I have to run," she said.

"Can Aiden come over?" Chase and Aubrey said in unison.

"Can I Mom, please?"

That's one of the things kids do – put you on the spot. If I said yes, and Martina had plans, then I'd be imposing on her, making her the bad person having to say no. If Martina really didn't mind but I said no, then I'm the bad guy.

Almost as if reading my mind, she smiled and said that would be great, if it was okay with me.

I glanced Robert's way – he looked down at his book again – then I said it was okay.

After we checked out the kids' books, I went outside, moved Aiden's car seat to Martina's minivan, then stood and waved as they drove away, my insides fluttering at the thought forming in my head.

They finally slipped from view, and with my stomach doing little flips, I went back inside. Walking through the front hallway I caught a glimpse of myself in a body-length mirror hanging there. I stopped and looked – I was dressed in black jeans, with a black tank-top that hugged my body tight. I looked pretty good, actually – I'd worked hard after Aiden was born, and while my breasts remained larger long after his birth, I'd got my flat abs and tight ass back. My hair, though, was a mess. I reached up and tried smoothing it down – it was short, which meant it was more likely to stick out than if it was long enough for the weight of the hair to hold it down.

I did what I could, and still not fully believing I was going to try what was forming inside my head, I stepped through the interior doors, into the library.

And he was gone.

I walked back to the children's section – that was in the front corner of the library, and gave a good view of most of the rest of the building. I turned and looked, leaning to the left to look down some aisle, to the right to see down others.

I'm not sure why I was looking around, feeling so desperate. I mean, let's get real – I'm married, for Christ's sake. I have a child. And Robert is just a middle-aged, pot-bellied guy who’s managing to eke out a living writing smut.

I sigh, ready to leave, when I see him. He's in the far back of the library, down a long, narrow wing of the building that goes into the reference section. He gives me a little wave, then disappears behind a couple of shelves at the far end of the library.

I feel like a thousand butterflies are flitting around in my stomach. I breathe in deeply, exhale, then march across the library. I have to walk across a large, open area among some tables, right by the front counter. I glance at the ladies behind the counter, sure every one of them is watching me, knowing exactly what I'm thinking, where I'm going.

None of them even acknowledge me, instead wrapped up in whatever tasks they have at the moment.

Next I have to walk by the circle of computer stations, where all the people in the county without Internet come to play online. It's funny, but almost every computer is either taken by a middle-aged guy who's here in the middle of the day instead of working, or by old people who are probably retired. Again, I glance at them, certain they're all watching me, leering. Not a single one even glances my direction.

I move into the reference section. It's darker back here, and cooler. I look down one aisle as I pass, then a second, then a third. I keep walking, finally reaching the last aisle.

He's there, leaning against the shelves, arms crossed over his large, barrel-shaped chest, smiling.

"Didn't know if you'd ever make it," he whispers.

I look around, afraid someone will hear us, will look.

"Don't worry, no one ever comes back here, he whispers."Everyone thinks Google is all the research they ever need."

I smile, not sure what to say.

He pushes off from the shelf, reaches out, takes my hand.

I shudder, think about pulling back, running away.

"You know you aren't leaving," he says, as if reading my thoughts.

"I…" I didn't know what to say.

He grabs my other hand and yanks me forward. I crash against him – but he is solid, hard despite his belly. He presses his lips to mine, and I know I should fight, I know I should push away, tell him no, that's not what I'm here for.

But I feel a sudden, molten heat rushing through my body, as if someone spilled hot oil over me and it's seeping through the pores of my skin, infiltrating my blood vessels, flowing through my whole body.

A hard, almost painful shiver rushes through my body. I wrap my arms around him – I can barely get my arms all the way around him – and return his kiss, pressing hard, my tongue inside his mouth, his tongue playing across mine.

Robert picks me up like I was a kid. When he does I wrap my legs around him, and he carries me to the back corner of the aisle. This one ends against the wall. The walls are wood paneled from the floor up to about my waist, with a small wooden trim along the top of the panels, almost like a ledge.

He presses me back against the wall, in the corner, my butt on the tiny ledge, and without breaking the kiss he reaches down, hands under my shirt, reaching up, cupping my breasts, squeezing, pinching my nipples through the bra.

I gasp and squeeze my legs around him harder.

Damn, I'm ready to cum now, not even sure I'm going to be able to wait until he…hell, is he going to take off my jeans? The thought suddenly strikes me – we're in the library, for Christ's sake. Someone might walk by, see us, and that realization sends an ice-cold apprehension and a red-hot thrill through me at the same time.

Robert pulls back, his hands slip down my stomach, to my jeans. I reach back, my arms against the two walls, bracing myself as he works my belt loose, slips my jeans – and my panties – down my legs.

Oh my god! I'm naked from the waist down, with a man I barely know, in the fucking public library. My body shakes uncontrollably now, with excitement, with the most intense, fiercest sense of arousal I've ever experienced.

And there's something more – a feeling of naughtiness, of wickedness, the sense that I'm a good small-town girl turned slut, having sex with a stranger in a public place.

I moan, forgetting others might be within earshot.

He kisses the inside of my left thigh, and I thought I was going to lose it right there. I press myself hard against the wall, and then he mashes his face against my pussy, ripples of sensual ecstasy crawling along every inch of my body.

I cry out, orgasm building, rising, like a massive wave on the ocean. Just like that wave breaking over the shoreline, my own climax crashes over me, harder than any orgasm I can ever remember. I groan, squeal, struggle to catch my breath as his tongue laps at me, going deep inside, tasting, touching.

"Jesus," I cry, my hands now on his head, fingers in his thin hair, pulling him forward.

He plunges his tongue deeper, exploring, driving me insane. I cum hard, harder than I've ever known, so hard it almost hurts, all the while Robert keeps licking, face pressing hard against me.

Finally I go over that cliff, climax reaching its peak, and then my body slows, relief washing over me. I hold my breath for a few seconds, then sigh long and deep, relaxing my body. I'd been pressing against the walls harder than I realize, and now my arms ache.

Robert pulls away and stands, his arms around me, holding me until I get me feet on the ground.

That's when I open my eyes and see her – Mrs. Tuckwillow, the head librarian. She was a tiny woman, probably in her early 50s, with short brown hair I suspected was dyed, and piercing eyes that always made me feel like I did in first grade and my teacher, Mrs. Powell, knew I was guilty of doing something and was just waiting for me to break down and confess.

My breath caught in my throat. If I didn't know better I'd swear my heart stopped. Robert turned, and I felt his body tense when he saw her. Robert stepped in front of me, shielding me from Mrs. Tuckwillow. Quickly I reached down, pulled my panties and jeans back up and buckled them.

"Let's retire to my office," she said, her voice hard and cold.

Inside she laid it out for us – she could call the police, have us charged with public nudity, lewdness, and a half-dozen other charges. Worst of all, that would mean my husband, hell, the whole town, would know what just happened.

"Please," I said, my voice cracking. "Don't. I…I don't know what came over me." Tears spilled from my eyes. I begged for her not to tell anyone, promised I'd do anything she wanted.

And that's what brought us to this, me standing here, slipping my shirt off, slowly, making a show of it. The shirt was down to my waist now.

"Now you, Robert, sit behind her, unbuckled her pants."

Robert slipped over to my chair, reached around from behind, his hands on my hips, now on my belt, unbuckling, then unsnapping my jeans.

I closed my eyes, held my breath, and God help me, tried to keep from shivering, showing that even now, in front of Mrs. Tuckwillow, his touch was intoxicating.

He pushed my jeans down, his hands moving slowly, seductively along my thighs. tiny little bolts of excitement racing from his fingers. He moved the jeans down to my ankles – I slipped off my shoes, and he helped move the jeans over my feet, so that they lay in a heap on the floor.

I stood now, dressed only in my panties and bra.

Mrs. Tuckwillow stood, stepped over to me, her hands playing along the top edge of my bra. I shivered, and she smiled.

I felt like…like such an object, a plaything, like she owned me right now and I had no choice but to stand there as her toy. Truth was, that was pretty much the situation, and the realization sent another guilty little shudder through me. So help me, as humiliating and debasing as this was, my body responded. I was growing more aroused, the anticipation of what she might do next building anticipation, desire within me.

She leaned over and kissed me, her lips pressed against mine, gently, as if she were afraid to hurt me. I felt her tongue against my lips, tasting, though she made no attempt to force it between my lips.

Then her arms were around me, hands unsnapping my bra, letting it drop to the floor. Next she cupped my breasts in her hands, kissing first my right nipple, then my left.

"Oh god," I whispered.

She looked up at me and smiled, reaching down, ripping my panties off, then she returned to her seat.

"Down on all fours," she said.

I hesitated, then went down to my knees, and then over on my hands, my breasts hanging down from my body.

"Have you ever experienced anal intercourse?" she asked.

Even now, she spoke formally, fully enunciating each word.

The term sent a tremor of uncertainty through me.

"N…no," I said, my voice cracking.

I glanced up, feeling like I was some sort of animal, down on all fours, having to look up to see her. She nodded toward Robert. I looked back to see him unbuckling his pants, letting them drop to the floor. Then Mrs. Tuckwillow reached into her desk, withdrew something from the drawer – a tube of some sort of cream. She motioned, and Robert stepped to her, his cock hard and stiff and enormous. Mrs. Tuckwillow held the end of the tube against his cock and pressed, a clear gelatinous substance squirting over his dick. She wrapped her hand around his cock and rubbed, stroking his cock. He moaned, thrusting his hips forward as she did, then Mrs. Tuckwillow let him go, motioned for him to proceed.

Lube? Mrs. Tuckwillow, our town’s head librarian, has lube in her desk? That thought suddenly took center stage in mind, though only for a moment. Before I could fully explore the idea, before I could prepare myself Robert was back behind me, his cock against my ass, the tip slipping just inside my tiniest hole.

I held my breath. He reached across me, grabbed my hair and pulled me back as he pushed his cock in me.

Oh dear god in heaven! He slipped in, deep, and I felt myself stretching in ways I'd never imagined, fresh, raw agony erupting from inside me.

And somewhere, somehow, a tiny little whisper of new, sensual delight seemed to bloom.

Robert pulled back, not completely withdrawing, but enough that I felt my ass suddenly empty, then he rammed forward, hard this time, deep, far deeper than the first time, and a new wave of pain filled me, pain and a new, intense, weird sense of pleasure mixed with the pain, sending confusing shudders of both dancing through my body.

"Jesus Christ!" I screamed.

Before I could say anything else, Mrs. Tuckerwillow rose and moved across the room in a flash, pulling something from her desk as she did. It was a piece of cloth, a scarf I think, and she balled it up and rammed it inside my mouth, as far back as she could, almost until it touched the back of my throat. It filled my mouth, stretching it wide.

"We can't have any noise," she said, returning to her seat and then nodding to Robert.

He pulled back and thrust forward again, hard. This time the pain wasn't quite so intense, the sense of arousal growing.

He continued, moving back and thrusting forward, his hands still in my hair, holding my head back so that I could barely move. He was moving faster now, moaning as he did.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a small mirror on Mrs. Tuckwillow's desk. My face looked distorted, with my hair pulled back so severely, my mouth stuffed with the scarf. My breasts dangling, swinging freely with each thrust Robert made, and I could see sweat breaking out over my body.

The sight sent fresh arousal through me, and now I tried arching my back, pushing my hips up and backward to meet Robert's thrusts. He was moving fast now, his cock filling my ass, the pain receded to tiny hints of ache, overwhelmed by a growing, almost overwhelming orgasm rising in me.

Robert moved even faster, he called out, quietly, and I felt him cum, semen shooting inside me. That was it. I lost it. I pounded on the floor with one hand, screaming into the gag – I was glad my mouth was filled, keeping the sound quiet – violent shudders running up and down my body.

I'd never felt anything like this, hell, I'd never even dreamed of anything like this. I came hard, so hard if felt like I might pass out. I squeezed my ass as tight as I could around his dick, wanting to hold him, keep him from stopping, the most powerful, savage orgasm I'd ever known gripping me now.

Finally. Robert thrust one long, hard time, and then his movements slowed. My own body began to slow as well, to my great disappointment. I cried out – though it was just a muffled, unintelligible sound – distraught that this would end.

But end it did. My body went over that little cliff that signaled all was done, and then I let loose with a long, hard cry.

Robert continued moving, slowly, and then he released my hair and pulled out. I collapsed to the floor, whispers of the orgasm still echoing through my body. I lay there, gasping, trying to catch my breath – Mrs. Tuckwillow reach down and pulled the scarf from my mouth, a long string of drool trailing behind it.

I lay on the floor, afraid to move, embarrassed to say or do anything.

"Robert, you may leave," Mrs. Tuckwillow said. I heard him pulling on his pants, buckling his belt, then he was gone.

Mrs. Tuckwillow was kneeling next to me, her hands on my shoulder.

"As for you, my pretty, you're safe for now. No police, your husband will never know. But I may have use for you again, understand?"

I nodded, and then she told me to get dressed after she left. With that, she stood and walked out of her office.

Slowly I climbed from the floor and pulled on my clothes – semen was leaking from my sore ass, but I didn't care. I'd get home, shower, throw the clothes in the laundry before my husband got home.

And I'd finally learned, sex like that does exist. If I was lucky, Mrs. Tuckwillow might ensure I experience it again.

Taken! at the Fertility Clinic

A Taboo Foursome Tale

By Deborah Cockram

Felicity shivered at his touch.

She'd just stepped out of the shower, staring into the fog-shrouded mirror when the ghostly figure of her lover appeared in the mirror. He was standing behind her, and in the condensation-covered mirror she could barely make out his image.

There was no mistaking his touch, though. Since the first time they'd made love, more than four years ago, there was no mistaking Brandon's caress. Now, after three years of marriage – and two years of trying to get pregnant – she still trembled when his fingers played along her skin.

Brandon stepped against her, from behind, his nude, tight body fitting perfectly against hers. She moaned when he reached around from behind, arms encircling her, hands cupping her breasts. Another shiver ran through her as he kissed along the back of her shoulder.

Felicity melted back into him, felt his hard, large cock against her ass. A thrill ran up and down her body when he pinched her nipples.

She turned to him – at five-foot-eight, Felicity was nearly the same height as her husband. She pressed her lips against his, kissing, as his cock pressed against her pussy. Brandon's tongue slipped between her lips, exploring inside her mouth. Felicity ran her hands down along the side of his muscular body.

Before she knew what Brandon was doing, he had pulled back, bent down and scooped her up. Felicity sighed, closing her eyes, enjoying the moment. She loved it when Brandon picked her up, his biceps bulging against her body as he supported her weight. Several quick steps and they were in the bedroom, he laying her on the bed.

Brandon climbed over her, straddling her now, stretching her arms above her head, hands clasped around her wrists. She felt another shiver racing up and down her body as he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers for a moment, then kissing down over her chin, chest, licking her breasts, taking her left nipple in his mouth.

He suckled hard, pulling as he did, a mixture of sharp pain and pleasure running along her nerves. She arched her back, moaning, trying to lift her hands – she loved it when Brandon held her down, refused to let her go.

Brandon pulled harder, deeper pain coming from her nipple, then he let go, quickly taking her right nipple into his mouth, sucking, pulling just as he had done with the left.

"Oh Jesus," she whispered, knowing orgasm was coming soon.

"Not yet," he whispered, crossing her wrists above her head, pinning them against the mattress with one of his powerful hands while he reached down with his other hand and slapped her on the side of the hip.

Felicity gasped.

"You wait," he said.

Striking her like that, commanding her to wait stirred even deeper wanting.

He let go of her wrists as he slipped down along her body, kissing her stomach, now her hips, hands caressing her breasts as he did. Felicity felt every muscle in her body tighten when he slipped his head between her legs, hot breath tickling her pussy.

"Please," she whispered, arching her back more, lifting her hips toward him.

With a sudden, savage thrust he mashed his face against her pussy, tongue plunging deep, violent shudders rocking her body.

"Oh fuck!" she screamed, hands now on the back of his head, pressing him forward.

With one powerful move, Brandon pulled his head away, lifted his body up over her, then rammed his cock deep and hard inside her, almost as if he were trying to impale her. Hard, savage convulsions wracked her body. Felicity had always marveled at Brandon's ability to bring her to climax so fast – he seemed to know everything about her body, her mind, able to tease and play and hold her right on the edge of orgasm for long periods, then at other times simply taking her to climax almost immediately.

Today was one of the latter.

He pulled back and rammed forward again, his hard cock going deep, stretching her, sending rivulets of scorching pleasure shooting through her pussy, along every muscle in her body. Felicity screamed, wrapping her legs around him as tightly as she could hold Brandon, hands gripping the bed sheets, pulling so hard sheet slipped from its hold on the bed corners.

Brandon continued pounding, in and out, as orgasm continued shaking her body. She heard a loud, long grunt escape Brandon's mouth just as she felt semen shooting into her, filling her, as her own climax ran through her body.

They continued just like that, thrusting against one another, for several seconds, until Brandon stabbed down hard and deep one final time, calling her name, before his movements slowed. Felicity's breath caught in her throat – she loved it when he called her name, and a new mini-orgasm filled her, a pleasant echo of the intense sensations she had felt just seconds earlier.

And then it was over. He let his weight fall onto her, both of them gasping for breath, bodies covered in sweat. After a couple of minutes their breathing returned to normal and he rolled off.

"Love you," he said.

She smiled, reached over and ran her fingers through his short hair. Then she rolled from the bed, slipped to the bathroom to clean up, then came back – he was still lying on the bed, his lean, tight nude body on full display. His cock was still partially engorged, and she knew he would take her again if she allowed.

Instead she stepped to her drawer, pulled out a bra and panties.

"No," he said, rolling across the bed, patting her ass. "You look so much better without any clothes."

Felicity reached down, gave a fake slap to his hand. "So you say, but I fear this little thing called an indecent exposure law if I don't put something on before going to work."

He chuckled, then climbed from bed and went to shower. By the time he was done she was dressed. Felicity gave him a quick kiss, then slipped out the door, a sudden wave of guilt filling her as she did.

Brandon really was the perfect husband. Attentive, kind, affectionate, and a mind-blowing lover.

He was also incapable of giving her what she most wanted at this point in her life – a baby.

No, she hadn't had that fully confirmed, but they had been trying for a year, and Felicity had twice gone to the doctor to be examined, probed, tested. Both times the docs told her there was nothing wrong with her – she was a fertile as a bunny rabbit in heat.

That meant just one thing – her hubby was shooting blanks.

Rather than have him submit to those embarrassing tests, and the humiliation of finding maybe he was sterile, Felicity had taken matters into her own hands. Today she was going to visit a clinic that promised fast, confidential service – without expensive or time-consuming treatments.

She had already visited several times, meeting with the doctor on staff there. During her most recent visit, they had finalized the type of men whose sperm she wanted donated for her child – the clinic, it seemed, allowed you to choose three different men, and in the end you wouldn't be sure exactly which one had been the semen used for your insemination.

Of course she had gone for the best she could find – a physician, a lawyer, and a CEO whose hobby was competing in triathlons. Surely, if genes were the critical factor, whatever child came from such a union would be destined for greatness.

She pulled into the parking lot, walked to the small, non-descript building, then stepped to the desk. There was no one there, as the specialist had explained. In order to ensure confidentiality for all involved, she had been given a keycard. She slipped it into a slot at the front desk, which brought up her name and photo on a computer screen in the wall there. She punched in an ID code the clinic had given her, and a door off to the side slid open.

Felicity stepped over, pausing for a few seconds. Last chance to back out, she thought, wondering what this would be like.

She already knew, at least on an intellectual level. The clinic's specialist had been very thorough in his explanation, but on a more visceral level, Felicity couldn't help but wonder what this would feel like, what it would feel like.

Only one way to find out, she thought before stepping through the doorway. The door swooshed shut behind her. She was alone now, in a dimly lit hallway, lined with plain white doors. A red light flashed over one of them.

Felicity made her way down the hall, opened the door under the flashing red light and stepped in. There, she was to disrobe, which she did carefully, slowly, sure to hang up her clothes so nothing wrinkled. Then she slipped into the outfit the clinic left for her to wear during the procedure – it was black. A simple lacy black see-through bra and a matching set of almost non-existent panties, along with a soft black cloth she knew to be a blindfold. The blindfold, the clinic specialist had explained, was as much for her as for the donors – sometimes women felt more at ease if they didn't see the donors, and some donors were understandable shy about letting the client see them.

Once done dressing she stepped back into the darkened hallway, and another red light flashed over a second door. Felicity stepped to it, paused while she held her breath, slipped the blindfold over her eyes, tied it off tightly behind her head, then she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air was cold in here. She shivered, then jumped when the door clicked shut behind her. Felicity stood, waiting, not certain what would happen next. Well, that's not true. She knew what was supposed to happen next, but she was still unsure of herself, of her decision, of what she was doing.

Then she felt hands on her shoulders, touching lightly, gently, the whisper of a caress. A small gasp escaped her lips, followed by a louder one when a second pair of hands began tracing the curve of her breasts, at first underneath, where the cups of the bra held her breasts, then along the top, fingers against skin.

Suddenly all three men were on her, hands massaging her shoulders, fondling her breasts, touching her thighs, fingers playing along her skin, and the kisses – the one behind her kissed along the back of her neck, another man kissed across her chest, along the exposed top of her breasts, while the third man pressed his lips against her left thigh, then her right.

She moaned – Felicity had expected to be put off by being handled by three men, by three strangers, certainly at first. She was surprised at how fast her body responded to them, even more shocked at how fast her mind was accepting of what was going on.

Before she knew it, they scooped her off her feet, carrying her. The temptation was great to reach up ad yank the blindfold from her face – not being able to see, to know what they were doing, was nerve-wracking for Felicity. Yet she left it in place, because it was equally exhilarating.

Now she was on what felt like an examining table, the men pawing her, touching and kissing and moaning. Without warning hands grabbed the bra, another hand grabbed her panties, and all yanked. She heard the seams give way, the stitching tear, and then the cloth was pulled from her body, leaving her nude and exposed.

Felicity gasped again, her heart beating fast now, and, incredibly, she felt heat rising to her skin, radiating from her body, arousal growing inside her as the men had their way with her body. Hands squeezed her breasts, so hard it was painful, yet the very sensation of hurt made her even more aroused.

Fingers pinched, squeezing her nipples, hands played up and down her legs, teasing, tickling, caressing.

Felicity groaned. She felt arousal heightening – suddenly she was afraid she might climax early, and the clinic's doctor had instructed her it was vital she hold off, not cum until the very end, as her donors were likewise cumming. Otherwise, the likelihood of success was greatly reduced.

Then she felt it – hot, heavy breath on her pussy. She quivered, knowing someone had his head between her legs, hovering over her. A hard, deliciously painful convulsion gripped her body when she felt a tongue lap against her pussy, quickly, just once, like a dog lapping his tongue across the surface of the water bowl.

"Jesus," she whispered.

With a violent pull the hands on her breasts yanked, pulling her nipples hard before releasing them. Then her right nipple was covered with a mouth – the man was kissing her, licking, sucking, tasting, teeth grazing her breast.

A second man began doing the same to her left nipple, and hard, uncontrollable trembles now ran through every muscle in her body.

"Oh my god," she called out. "Please, please…fuck me!" She was screaming now, knowing she couldn't hold off long. "Fuck me no—"

Before she could finish, a hard, engorged cock filled her mouth, going deep, stretching her wide. She gagged at first as he rammed hard, cutting off her air momentarily before pulling back just a bit – barely enough for her to catch her breath before he rammed down again, his pubic hair tickling her face, his balls bouncing on her chin.

Felicity tried calling out – though she wasn't sure what she'd say, other than calling for someone to fuck her hard – but his cock was so large, going so deep with each downward motion, that all she heard was the gurgled, wet sound of her saliva bubbling around his cock.

The man kissing her pussy moved away, and now she wanted to scream, to beg for him to return. Her body was racing, orgasm growing, hard, stronger, more intense than anything she had ever experienced.

And then it happened – one of the man rammed his large, hard cock into her pussy. Nothing slow and gentle, nothing gradual. One second she was empty, her pussy throbbing, aching for a touch, a kiss, for anything, and the next second he was in, all the way, filling her, stretching her, so deep she thought she might cum on that first thrust.

She didn't though, and the man pulled back and thrust harder, even deeper if that was possible, at the same time the other man rammed deep into her mouth, touching ever so briefly the back of her throat. Felicity pounded her hands on the table, then as the man in her mouth pulled back she sucked, hard, trying to bring him to climax soon. She liked calling out, talking, yelling even during sex, none of which was possible with a mouth full of dick.

He thrust down hard again, and when he did she pressed her tongue up, as firmly as she could, against the bottom of his tongue, guiding it, partially pinning it to the roof of her mouth. This kept it from going quite so deep, and she could tell it excited the man. He shuddered and groaned.

Then the man between her legs pulled back and thrust forward again. The two men had a rhythm now, the man in her mouth thrusting down as the man between her legs pulled back, then the man there pounding her pussy as the one hovering over her face pulled back.

Over and over they continued, in and out, in and out. Vaguely, she was aware the third man was simply touching her, hands on her breasts, then her hips, then her thighs, and the other two continued pounding her body, her mouth.

The sensations – the touches, the kisses from the third man, the cocks plunging deep over and over, the hair against her face, the balls bouncing on her chin – it all mixed together in a single, overwhelming, fierce level of intensity she'd never known.

Felicity arched her back, thrusting her hips upward to meet the man between her legs, while she bit down as much as she could, sucking on the man whose cock filled her mouth. Sweat coated her body now, breathing was fast and shallow, heart pounding.

Jesus Christ! she screamed in her head as every nerve in her body seemed to fire at once, the most overwhelming, all-powerful orgasm she'd ever felt crashed through her body.

Just then she felt the man between her legs cum, semen filling her, coating his dick, spilling onto her body as he moved back and thrust in deep. Without warning her mouth and throat were suddenly full, semen shooting down her throat, filling her. She choked at first, then swallowed, hard and fast, over and over as the man continued thrusting, pumping her full, grunting as he did.

The man between her legs rammed down one forceful, last time, then withdrew. The man in her mouth continued – how long can a man cum? – and without warning she felt another cock, the one from the third man, slamming inside her pussy, even harder and deeper than the first man, if that were possible. He was fast, almost like a piston in a car engine, stabbing in and out, over and over, fast and hard, a slapping sound echoing through the room with each thrust as his body crashed against hers.

Finally the man hovering over her head pulled out, semen spurting and spilling over her face, across her neck and chest, matting her hair. Felicity didn't care. She cried out, gasping, screaming.

"Yes, Yes, YES FUCK ME!" she screamed. While Felicity was often vocal during sex, even this surprised her, the ferocity with which she screamed.

Then she felt a new wave of orgasm rising in her, so hard and intense it was almost painful. Her stomach muscles cramped, her breath caught in her throat. Even with her eyes blindfolded, she could see gray filling her vision, like it does when one is about to pass out.

The man between her legs let loose with a deep, loud call, and as he did he slammed down against her hard, stretching her legs wide – he clearly was a big man – filling her like she had never been filled. Then the sensation of hot, gooey semen shooting inside her, almost like a small pressure hose, filler her, dancing along every nerve inside her.

She arched her back even more, crying now, her mind not able to fully process the electricity shooting through her body, the heightened sense of a climax that seemed to go on and on, no end in sight.

Finally, mercifully, the man gave one last, long, hard thrust, then he pulled out. Felicity's body didn't stop at first, her hips continuing to thrust, orgasm dancing along her nerves, but eventually she began to slow her movements, going over that edge that defines the moment before final climax, and then she gasped, trying desperately to catch her breath, bring her heart and body under control.

After several minutes she was able to slow herself, felt like she was no longer going to pass out. She lay on the padded table for a while – how long she wasn't sure – until a mechanical voice came over what she was certain was a loud speaker, telling her it was safe to remove her blindfold.

Felicity lay a few seconds longer, then uncovered her eyes. She was naked, on a padded examining table, drying semen on her face, chest, in her hair, dripping onto her ass and legs. She sat and remember the instructions she had been given earlier. On a table along the wall was a pad – she was to wear that through the day, to keep the semen from leaking from her pussy. She stepped over, pressed it in place between her legs, then stepped into the shower in the corner of the room.

Afterward she dried off, wore a robe to the room where her clothes still hung, she dressed and then left the building. Felicity was sore, and she couldn't help but wonder if she might cross paths with the men she had been with without ever knowing it.

Of course, they would know her, would remember her, and she found that arousing. Most of all, she felt a warm, deep satisfaction – surely, now, she would conceive, and bring a child into her world.

And if not? Well, the clinic offered free follow-up visits to ensure success.

Office Girl 1: The Boss Takes Amanda While Hubby Watches

A Hot Office Cuckold Sex Tale

By Deborah Cockram

Amanda froze in her tracks when the door to Mr. Carlson’s office opened. Standing there with Mr. Carlson was her husband, Matthew, dressed in his light-gray suit, gray-and-pink-striped tie and white shirt. Her husband looked at her, and Amanda couldn’t help herself – she looked down, avoiding his gaze. They had been together for fifteen years – he was nineteen, she was twenty when they married – and she had come to be able to read his emotions with a simple glance.

Written across his face, when he saw her standing there, was shock. And anger. But mostly, shame.

“ Yo…you wanted to see me Mr. Carlson?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. It was Friday, nearly time to clock out at the conclusion of her first week on the job – a position her husband had begged her not to take.

The pay was too good – who can turn down forty grand for a secretarial job? Especially out here in the middle of nowhere, North Carolina, where most jobs paid ten bucks an hour, or less. Even more importantly, this was a chance for Matthew to advance. The price would be steep, she knew, but it was only temporary. If she performed well for Mr. Carlson, did what he wanted when he wanted, it could earn Matthew a promotion, a transfer, and a chance for both of them to get out from under Mr. Carlson.

She had made it through the first week without being called to his office, at least until the final few minutes of the workweek. And the worst part was standing here, facing her husband, as she was about to slip inside. She couldn't get over the feeling Mr. Carlson had planned it like this, wanted to see Matthew have to stand there and let her pass into his office, powerless to do anything.

“ Mr. Carlson, how long will you be?” Matthew asked, looking at his watch. Amanda knew it would show him the same thing the wall clocks said – ten minutes until five.

Mr. Carlson slapped Matthew on the shoulder, gave a little chuckle, then said “Oh, not long, Matty. I’m sure your pretty little wife will be calling you very soon.”

Amanda cringed. Matthew hates the name Matty.

Mr. Carlson kept his hand on Matthew’s shoulder, leading him from the office, then stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. Amanda did, then a little shiver rolled up her spine when he shut the door. He ran his hand down her back, stopped just at the top curve of her ass, letting his hand rest there for a few moments. Amanda held her breath – anticipation, even a strange, naughty little seed of desire taking root down deep inside her. She felt an unexpected dampness between her legs.

“ Have a seat, please,” he finally said.

Amanda sat in one of the plain, cloth-covered visitor chairs in front of Mr. Carlson’s large, oak desk. He stepped to the edge of the desk, ran his fingers along the edge, then sat on the corner, one leg draped over the corner. He fingered the hard, smooth top.

“ Know what kind of wood this is?” he asked, his voice soft.

Amanda looked at him. Mr. Carlson was an average-looking man, bald on the top of his head, his face round and a little fleshy, the way men get when they age. She guessed him to be in his early fifties, about five-foot-ten, thick in the shoulders and arms – he clearly worked out – but also a little thick in the stomach.

“ I…I think it’s oak,” she said, not sure if she was supposed to give the correct answer or pretend to be dumb, so he could show off.

He smiled and nodded.

“ That’s right. That’s right.” He stopped fingering the desk, leaned over with his forearm resting on the leg draped over his desk. “Antique oak. Many executives like to use showy wood – teak, maybe a walnut or some sort of rare African wood, but not me.”