The Squad - Sex Stories

The Squad

... beautiful boots.

Then I wrapped the remnants of my blouse around my upper body, pulled my skirt down to its normal position, walked unsteadily out of the room, and went downstairs to reception.

I saw Stefan there, and I looked down at him, staring up at me. He seemed to be in shock, his mouth moving, but no words came out.

I had had an experience beyond the ken of most women. For once in my life, I felt no need to explain myself to him, to chatter, or to communicate. So I said nothing—not there, not in the car, not in the shower, not in bed. Tomorrow will come, and then we will talk.

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6: Aftermath: Stefan

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I gradually came back to reality and staggered up on my feet. The screen was blank, I felt we were done, and I pulled my pants and trousers back to my waist. Kirsten was sitting in her chair, watching my progress.

“It’s time to meet yer wifie again."

She led me back to the reception area. My mind was in a whirl. I had just watched my wife assaulted in a gang bang; every one of her holes penetrated, and spunk sprayed over her tits, her face, and her hair. But she said she wanted it; she had told me it was her secret fantasy.

“Adieu, auld yin. She will be here shortly.”

Kirsten walked back through the door we had used to enter. Adieu? That sounded so final; why did she say that?

I heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see Angelica staggering down the steps. She looked like a mess, quite different from the mess one gets into ...

... when gardening or cleaning the house. Her clothes were askew and ripped, her makeup was smudged, her mascara ran down her cheeks, and her body stocking was torn to shreds.

I looked into her eyes; they seemed vacant as if she were in a different place.

“Let’s go, love.”

We walked out to our car. I blipped the key, and she got into the passenger seat. Not a word passed between us. Inside, I closed my door and was assailed by a combined stench of sweat, bile, and semen.

At home, we went straight to the shower together. I soaped her down and cleansed her whole body of the stink and mess. Afterwards, we lay on our bed, and then she snuggled up to me, and we fell into a deep sleep. Still, she said nothing—nothing at all.

The next morning, I woke up early, disentangled myself from Angelica, and went downstairs to make two cups of tea. On my way back, I saw a small object on the doormat, and I bent down to pick it up. I examined the plastic case, understanding both what it was and the probable consequences for us.

I returned to the lounge, picked up my laptop, and then sat in an armchair before booting the device and inserting the memory stick I had found.

On it was the whole session; the video feed I had been watching on that monitor cuffed to the pole in that room. Everything she had experienced—sounds and sights—in glorious technicolour. There was no sexual reaction from my body; my only arousal was fear and anxiety.

I sat there, skipping through most of the ...