Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth - Sex Stories

Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth

... course, Sarah.' And I, wondering where he'd learnt her name and when he'd first thought fit to use it.

We'd parked out back, the carpark was away from the road, ill lit and empty. Out beyond the restaurant, out to the road, traffic rumbled across the asphalt and off onto the ringway.

Out by the car, my wife to me,

'You fucked your slut nearly 400 times.'

'I didn't actually fuck her that...'

'Let's not quibble, Tom. You stuffed your tiny dicklet into one of her dirty fuck holes on nearly 400 occasions.'

I nodded just the once, not daring words. Jordan stood to her side, his face part-shadowed in the street light, but his teeth glistened like a shark.

'So then, you owe me.'

'Owe you what,' I said, stupid, blind, deaf, and dumb.

'You owe me 400 fucks. And I owe you.'

'What?' I asked, the world once again threatening to tip, slow, and then topple.

'I owe you,' she said. 'I owe you sloppy seconds.'

'Sarah, wait,' I said, 'Let's talk... just the two of us.' I said it with something like panic. I said it with something like desperation. I said it with something like exhilaration. And my dicklet began to chub and swell.

'Jordan,' she said, 'Do you think me pretty?'

'Sarah,' I said.

'Shut the fuck up, Tom.' Her voice was hard, her voice was brittle, but her smile was soft. Her smile was for Jordan, not for me.

'You're so fucking hot,' Tom said, his left hand against her cheek and she leaning into it. His right hand pressed against her ...

... thigh, his fingers teasing the hem of her dress.

She met him with an open mouth, the wet turn of her tongue against his, and Jordan biting at her lip, distending then releasing. She broke away, sucked at the fat of her lips as if wanted to taste more of him.

'Fuck,' she said, 'I've so missed this.'

Jordan lifted her onto the hood of the car. Out at a distance an engine spluttered, spat, and then roared. Sarah clutched at him from around the neck. She pulled him into her, his neck, his ear, his mouth, the slop of saliva and breathy sighs.

His hands into her dress now, tugging at her knickers, the silk catching at her thighs.

'Fuck it,' Jordan said, and with a single tug ripped them loose.

Sarah shuddered and I stood, silent and stupid, the cage pressing and tugging and forcing my throbbing flesh to conform to the shape and dimensions of confined steel. She shuddered again, the softest of whimpers, and I wondered if, from these preliminary moments, from this alone, whether maybe she had cum.

'Fuck,' said Jordan, not to Sarah, but to me, 'You're wife is so fucking wet. Taste,' he held his fingers out, slicked with her juice, and I took him into my mouth without considering otherwise. And he was right. She was sopping. I pulled at my balls trying to relieve the pressure, trying to find the edge, desperation and need driving all of this to this very moment and no other.

'Oh fuck,' Sarah said, Jordan's hand gathering pace, slapping against her thighs, slapping ...