She Likes it Rough

My wife Stacy had been best friends with Carrie from the time they were teenagers until their early 30s. It was around then, with young kids and careers and distance all factoring in, that their friendship started to sour. By the time they reached 40 they were essentially strangers.

I had always found Carrie attractive, even though she really looked nothing like my wife. She was short, chubby-cheeked, and with prematurely gray hair that she colored brown, but honestly I liked the gray better. When we hung out in a group we usually found ourselves casually flirting, something which I wondered if it may have had a negative impact on their friendship.

I also really enjoyed Stacy’s insistence of always sharing with me juicy gossip about Carrie, letting me know how much of a slut she was in high school, how she had turned her life around and settled with a nice guy, but how she still craved the rough sex that her husband didn’t provide her. My wife let me know over the years, in a disapproving tone, about Carrie’s past proclivities for being choked, slapped, spanked, and spit on. That she was a masochist who loved pain and being used. She told me that she had actually read Carrie’s diary once when they lived together (which should have been a red flag in hindsight) and that Carrie wrote about wanting to be forced by multiple men.

I didn’t let my wife know, but honestly I always took the approach of what adults do in their bedroom shouldn’t be judged. Even more honestly, I was kind of turned on by a lot of it. When I would see Carrie, I would let my mind wander and imagine her tied spread eagle on a bed in a cheap hotel, having my way with her and doing things that my wife would never approve of.

Like I said, over the years Stacy and Carrie’s friendship waned, so I saw Carrie less and less. The last time I saw her, we were with our kids. I was joking with Carrie’s young daughter about taking a snack away from me, and Carrie remarked that she should be careful because “he likes to bite.” We exchanged a knowing look. On the way home my wife would specifically remark on that comment with her disapproving tone.

I would still see Facebook updates, so knew generally what her and her family was up to, and she saw the updates from me and my family. Which was how she knew about that week last fall when my wife and daughter’s went on a vacation and left me home alone.

Don’t get me wrong, my kids are great, but given the choice of a week in Florida with them or a week home alone, it’s no contest. I even took a few of the days off work so that I could get the full effect of a week home alone.

The first day was just cleaning the house, grocery shopping, and doing whatever needed to be done so that I could relax and do nothing the rest of the week. It was that first night, when I was exhausted and a little tipsy that the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there was Carrie.

“Hi, I was nearby and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”

“It’s great to see you, but you picked a bad time. Stacy and the girls are in Florida.”

She smirked. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I stopped by.” With that she surprised me and leaned in for a kiss. It was just a friendly peck, the kind that some adults always greet each other with. But I suspected that it was just a trial. She walked past me into the house, stepped out of her shoes and hung her jacket on a hook.

I followed her and remarked “I don’t think I’ve seen you in a few years. You look great. How are you?”

She ignored my question and asked me to make her a drink, whatever I was having. I poured her a vodka sour to match my own and we clinked glasses. I finished mine and she took down half of hers in one gulp.

“So why are you here.”

“You know why.”

“I have some idea, but want to hear it from you.” I moved closer to her, our bodies nearly touching.

“It’s been too long. And I always valued your ability to keep secrets. You are good at keeping secrets, right?”

“Very good.”

“Unlike your wife, who I’m sure has told you every secret I’ve ever asked her to keep.”

I thought back to those things Stacy used to tell me about Carrie’s habits. “Well, let’s just say that I do know some things about how you used to be. Things you used to enjoy doing.”

“Not used to… just things I did when I had partners who liked doing them too.”

“I suspect that maybe my wife’s ability to keep a secret works both ways, and maybe you know some things about me too.”

“I also have some ideas.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

She took another gulp from her drink, then set the glass down on the kitchen counter. She just looked at me. In my brain I could hear a voice screaming “no more talking…”

I leaned in and gave her a kiss similar to the one she’d given me. Then I raised my hand and put it on her neck, squeezing gently but firmly as I kissed her again, deeper and more passionately. She gasped and returned the kiss, her tongue darting into my mouth. When we broke the kiss long lines of saliva connected us. She swiped it up with her hand and then wiped it on her lips and chin. I squeezed harder and kissed her again.

After breaking the next kiss she whispered “Let’s be bad. I wanna be bad… so bad. Please, please… let’s be really bad…”

I reached behind me and turned off the bright kitchen lights, leaving the room only dimly lit by the lights in the other room. “If you want to be a bad girl, then you need to be punished.” I spun her around and bent her over the kitchen counter. I pulled down her leggings and panties and tossed them across the room. She pulled her sweater over her head and then put her palms down on the counter, anticipating what was coming next.

The first well-placed strike on her ass sent an echo through the empty house. She gasped and remarked “Fuck… yes!…” as I struck her again, and again. I pressed my body against her and leaned in, grasped her hair and pulled her head back, I nibbled her earlobe and twisted her head so that I could lick her lips. I pressed her cheek flat against the counter and leaned in close again, I kissed her and spit on her, then brought my hand back for another firm strike. She responded with another “Fuck Yes!!!”

I saw the wooden mixing spoon on the counter. It wasn’t a paddle, but it would do. I brought it back and smacked her ass again and again, loving the sound it made. She screamed out at each strike. I set the spoon down next to her and reached down with two fingers, sliding them into her pussy and feeling how wet she already was, then sliding them up the crack of her ass and slipping the tip of my finger in her ass. Her body tensed and she let out another approving groan.

I leaned in and whispered in her ear “Do you remember where the bedroom is? Go there now and wait for me.” She stood and gave me a look before unhooking her bra and dropping it on the floor. Then she went up the stairs to the bedroom.

I took my time picking up Carrie’s clothes and neatly folding them and stacking them on the counter. I noted how wet her panties were and savored the smell of them. I kept them with me; they had another purpose. I imagined what was going through her mind as she drove over to my house, the courage it took to open herself up like this. She deserved to be rewarded.

I turned off the other lights and made sure the door was locked. I picked up a jar candle and lit it. I carried it up the stairs with me through the dark quiet house. I opened the bedroom door and there she was, obediently waiting for me, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed in the dark. I set the candle down and put the panties next to them, then undressed.

I walked around behind her and knelt down. I told her to put her hands behind her, then used her panties as makeshift handcuffs, binding her hands together. If she pulled hard enough she could free herself, but she’d likely ruin her panties in the process. Besides, she wanted to be bound.

I stood and moved around her again. I pressed my cock against her lips. “Look at me.” She looked up and met my eyes. “I’m going to fuck your mouth now.” She opened wide and I slid in. This wasn’t a romantic exchange; that isn’t what she wanted. I grabbed her head and fucked her deeply. I held it in the back of her throat for as long as she could tolerate before pulling out and letting her catch her breath. Each time I’d leave a trail of spit on her face and tits. While she gasped I would slap her cheeks and forehead with my cock before slamming it back into her mouth.

After I was sure we got to her limit I pulled back, got down on my knees and kissed her, then spit on her and slapped her cheek before kissing her again. I put my hand back on her throat and spit in her mouth while she gasped for breath.

I withdrew again and after giving her a moment I helped her onto her feet. I put her up on the bed, face down, ass up, hands still behind her back.

I opened the drawer of Stacy’s nightstand and took out the buttplug she was never brave enough to use and some lube. I put the plug on the bed next to Carrie’s face and leaned in close. “This is going into your ass, but not just yet.”

I moved behind her and pushed her knees apart. I slapped her ass and then dove in, licking and tonguing her tight puckered ass hole. It looked like her husband didn’t show her much attention there. I inquired “You like having your ass played with, don’t you?”

“Yes, please” was her muffled response.

“Does your husband play with your ass?”

“No.”

“Does your husband spank you and slap you and spit on your dirty whore face? Does he squeeze your throat while he fucks you?”

Before she responded my tongue darted back into her ass, causing her to squeal out an excited “Never!”

I raised myself up and slid my cock into her pussy, savoring the tight wet feeling. She felt amazing! Under normal circumstances I would go slow and gently and savor this. But she didn’t want normal.

I picked up the buttplug and spread lube on it. Then I slipped it into her ass while I fucked her. Instead of just leaving it there I worked it in and out in time with my thrusts. She couldn’t hold back and started voicing her approval; “Fuck… yes… both holes… harder…fuck…” I picked up the pace and increased the force. She came hard, screaming into the pillow. And then a second orgasm before the first had subsided.