Crazy Woman

About two or three weeks ago, a woman at work, whom I had recently accepted a friend request on Facebook from, messaged me a simple “hey”.  I didn’t see this message until a couple of days later.  The next day, she messaged me and asked if I was working.

I didn’t see the messages until the following Monday.

To make a long story short, she told me that she has a crush on me.  I am ten or eleven years older than her.  Compared to her, I feel as though that I have already lived life.

After asking a fellow coworker about her, I learned that she is ‘crazy’?  Perhaps, crazy isn’t the right word for it.  Clingy?  Obsessive?  Gets attached real easy?

Anyway, we haven’t done anything sexual, and when we do talk face-to-face, we are always more than an arms length away.  I was also told by this other coworker that this woman believes I will leave my for her.  Truth be told, the only thing that keeps me here is my kids.

The situation is already complicated enough and I can imagine how me telling her that I have thought of kissing her, fucking her, or sucking on her toes (she has pics of her feet up on her Facebook page of a tattoo she got, and I must say, they are pretty nice) would further complicate matters.

For a stretch of a few days, I went without responding to her messages.  Then I saw her at work; saw her sweet, easy smile.  And every time I endeavor to not message her when she doesn’t message me, I see a post by her on Facebook.  I click on her profile and I am sucked back in.

And all because of that sweet, easy smile.

-Graveyard Night

Today’s Poetry: Fallen

​If I let you in
To see my pain and torment
Would you see me in a different light

If I let you in
To see my frailty
Would you sympathize with me

If I let you in
To see my brokenness and shattered faith
Would it change your perception of the man you thought me to be

If I let you in
To see the tears filling my heart
Would you still love me

I’ve shared a book from Google Play Books


I came across this story on Literotica a couple of years ago, and instantly liked it.  Reading the comments, I soon learned that whoever posted it had plagarized.  I found it on Google Playbooks some time later, and found it, yet again, under a different author.

From wherever you read it, it truly is a tantilizing story.

Blackmailed: Interracial Cuckold Forced Seduction and Submission, Claire White.

https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=HFBVCAAAQBAJ

Fucked by the Husband’s Boss

I wrote this story for a Tumblr blog of mine (which is still active)  over a year ago.  After some thought, I posted it to my old blog and received mostly positive reviews.  Whatever I write, I always try to put an element of how I feel in the story.  I hope readers new and old enjoy it.

For the longest of time, I have felt numb; dead inside.  Here lately, I have done shit that makes my skin crawl.  I have been holding onto shit for far too long.

The last line of this story is: She wanted to cry, needed to cry.  But no tears would come.

And that’s where I am right now.

-Graveyard Night

“I’m sorry, Randall,” Ben said, laying his wife out on the bed. “I haven’t seen her this drunk in a long time.”

“Ah,” Ben’s boss said, waving away the apology. “No apologies needed, Ben. Happens to the best of us. The thing I’m concerned about is her hangover.”

“Oh, she’ll have a nasty one, I can assure you. When that happens, she rarely ever remembers anything,” Ben said, sitting beside his wife. She laid on her right side, her back to the men.

“Really?” Randall asked, gluttonous eyes staring at the pink thong that disappeared into the crack of Kristy’s heart shaped ass.

Outside, the sun had begun to fade as the sound of people cheering reached the guest room on the second floor.

“Ben, why don’t you go finish your volleyball game? Your team needs you. I’ll look after Kristy.”

Ben was grateful for having such an easy going boss; so relaxed. Behind that shrewd business man exterior, it seemed like nothing phased the man. He had found Randall at a coffee shop, of all places, after the economic collapse of 2009. He had looked for a year for a job, and after one conversation with Randall, he was given a low entry level position in his real estate firm. In nearly five years, Ben had worked his way to the top.

“Okay,” Ben said, laying a kiss on Kristy’s hip. “Thanks, Randall.”

“Not a problem,” he said, keeping his eyes on Kristy. Randall smiled when he heard the door latch behind him.

Setting his beer down, Randall went and locked the door and pulled his swim shorts down before sitting beside the wife of his most competent agent. Pulling her black hair behind her left ear, and running his finger tips down the nape of her neck, his cock began to lift off his thigh as he reached the strings that tied in the back.

Randall removed his hand from her back a few inches as she moved and moaned lightly. He knew what needed to be done and that at some point she would wake up and realize it wasn’t her husband fucking her, but right now was too early for that.

Cheers and applause signaled Ben’s return to the game; Randall had plenty of time. Taking one of the pink strings below her shoulder blades, he pulled until the knot came loose. Seeing that she was undisturbed, he pulled a string at her neck.

Kristy breathed deeply as he ran his coarse hand down her side, where he gripped the string at her hip, pulling as his hand traveled down her leg. His black mast stood at full attention as he admired the curvaceous woman laying mostly naked before him.

Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “scoot over and lay on your back.” To his astonishment, she did. Relieving her body of the bikini top and discarding it on the floor, Randall groaned as he coveted the D-cup breasts that had nursed two children already. Untying the string on her right hip, he pulled gently; Kristy’s hips rose subconsciously.

Such a beautiful woman, he thought. To be left alone with a predator like me. Randall was a predator of marriages. Times too numerous to count throughout the years, he had been responsible for at least a dozen divorces. His affection for his most loyal and trusted employee notwithstanding, he began to grope Kristy’s succulent, firm breasts.

She moaned louder this time as he toyed with her nipples, working them until they stood out like erasers. Her hands gripped his, holding him to her; her hips started a slight coital rocking, her legs pressed together.

Freeing his hands from hers, Randall climbed further onto the bed, kneeling at her feet. There was little resistance as he pried her legs apart at her knees. Taking the index and middle fingers of his left hand, Randall pulled back the folds to reveal the moist, pink flesh of her cunt. Kristy’s back arched and she whimpered as he inserted a large finger in her orifice.

Sliding the index finger of his right hand in and out of her, Randall manipulated her clit with the thumb of his left; alternating patterns between circular, side-to-side to up down.

Darkness had fallen outside, but the sounds of laughter, loud music and the pop of a volleyball could be heard. Things always seemed to work in his favor whenever he decided to defile a marriage. Kristy moaned louder as she grasped the rails of the headboard, her pussy had begun to spasm on his fingers. Suddenly, her head prpressed back hard into the pillow and her back arched, bending like a bow as Kristy let out a cry and fluid shot out of her.

Randall buried his face between her thighs, swallowing the residual squirts that followed. “Let me know when you’re gonna do that again,” he said in a low tone, barely above a whisper. Kristy had yet to lift her head to see who her lover was.

“Okay,” she gasped as another orgasm was building.

Randall’s fingers squelched inside her sopping wet snatch. He could tell she was close to squirting again; Kristy felt swollen. Her pussy clamped down on his digits, almost forcing him out of her, when she slapped his arm. Hovering only an inch from her, Randall let the ejaculate cover his face, neck and shoulders. He gulped down the acidic fluid, his thirst to taste her quenched.

Kneeling at her sex, he positioned the bulbous head of his phallus at her entrance, and pressed forward. Even as wet as what she was, Kristy was tighter than a virgin on Sunday. Even in her inebriated state, the pressure from Randall’s immense cock brought her out of her stupor, and Kristy’s eyes flew open.

Kristy stared up at her husband’s boss in stunned horror as he continued to press deeper. Her grip on the hand rails tightened as pressure built inside her cunt. Randall’s large hands held her in place at the waist, his back straight, looking into her eyes as he slowly entered her.

How could he do this to her? To Ben? But what he was doing earlier with his fingers felt so good. She hadn’t cum like that in a long time. Those were his fingers, weren’t they?

The alcohol induced haze began to lift as she tried to form words in a sentence: “Randall….what…oh, fuck!” she whined, feeling the biggest cock she had ever taken now deep inside her, crowding her cervix.

Pulling back, leaving only the head submerged, Randall buried himself to the hilt. Picking up speed with every swing of his hips, he could see her horrified expression erode away; replaced by that of erotic submission. Leaning over her, he positioned himself on his fists; their eyes locking. She had relinquished her hold of the of headboard and was now digging her nails into his flexing biceps. Kristy brought her legs up, hoping to relieve the pressure brought on by Randall’s invasion; resting her feet just above his ass, nearly locking at the ankles.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Kristy was a conundrum of emotions. As she looked into Randall’s dark eyes, his hips rising and falling in her peripheral vision, images and thoughts of Ben would flood her minds eye. The volleyball games had stopped. What if he came up here? What if he walked in? Seeing Kristy on her back in the middle of the bed, gripping Randall’s biceps, her legs nearly locked at his waist, the blue comforter stained with her ejaculate, would hardly look like a case of non consensual sex, would it?

Kristy whimpered and moaned as her body sprayed Randall with hot fluid again.

“Oh, god…shit!” Kristy cried as she ejaculated again. Throwing herself back, she covered her face to muffle the scream that would surely alert others to what she was doing. Her cunt felt swollen and hot. Every stroke of his great phallus sent waves of (un)wanted pleasure coursing through her body. The sickly, slushy sound of their bodies slapping together reverberated off the walls. When was he going to be done?

Almost as if reading her mind, Randall pulled out.

“Did you cum?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“Are you close?”

“I’m tryin, baby. I’m tryin,” he said, lifting her up and laying her on her belly across the width of the bed.

Kristy faced the wall where the door was, but more than that, she stared into a full-length mirror in disbelief as Randall mounted her. How could she do this to Ben? How could she cheat on him? She could’ve screamed, should’ve cried. Someone surely would have-

Moaning loudly as Randall reentered her, all thoughts of her husband were washed away in a tsunami of erotic pleasure. Gripping the edge of the bed, she watched as her head bobbed in accordance with the contact of their bodies. The light from the only lamp in the room gleamed off of Randall’s shaved head; sweat dripped from his nose and puddled on her back. Music still blared from outside. How long had he been up here? Had anyone (Ben) noticed Randall’s absence?

“Gonna squirt anymore?” he asked, his mouth only inches from her ear.

“I don’t think I have anymore left,” she said. But she was proven wrong. She could feel another orgasm building as he fucked her with a heightened sense of earnestness. He was going to cum. Let him last until I do, she pleaded in her mind.

“Ah, Ah, Ah!” she cried. “Fuuuck, yesss!” Hot fluid, though a smaller amount this time, stained the comforter in a different spot. Randall forced himself deeper inside her than he had before, shooting a torrent of spunk inside her womb.

“Damn, girl!” he panted, collapsing on top of her. “I’m gonna have to fuck you more often.”

Kristy’s head hung over the edge. She didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see another man laying on her, his phallus still sliding in and out of her, albeit a little slower. Tears came to her eyes as a feeling of melancholy came over her. Randall rolled off of her and climbed off the bed.

Pulling up his shorts, he said, “Kristy, look at me.” She lifted her head, doing her best to hide her remorse. “Don’t feel guilty about this, okay? This was good, clean sex. I think Monday, your husband is going to get a fat bonus for all his hard work.” Sweat glistened in large beads on his muscular body. “There is one thing I didn’t get from you,” he said, stooping down. Pressing his lips to hers, his tongue sought out hers; Kristy returned the kiss, even placing her right hand on the side of his face to try and convey that it was all consensual.

“You can shower in there,” he said before leaving the room, pointing to the door on the adjacent wall.

The water was hot and rejuvenating as she let it run over her body. She wanted to cry, needed to cry. A man whom she had grown to respect and admire had taken advantage of her in a delicate state. But she enjoyed it, didn’t she? Kristy tried to force the tears, but none would come. Yes, she had enjoyed it. But at what cost?

Before he left, Randall reminded her that Ben was her husband, and that he would be getting a “fat bonus” for all his hard work. Is that what it had come to? Fucking so her husband could get bonuses? Keep his job? What about when she told Randall no more? Would he blackmail her in exchange for sex?

She flexed her muscles, trying to force out the cum that he had put so deep inside her. Large white globs fell from her cunt, washing down the drain. How would she explain it to Ben when her belly started to grow? How can you tell your husband that he may not be the father?

She tried to cry, needed to cry. But no tears would come.

The bed had been remade with a softer shade of blue comforter. Gone was her bikini, replaced by a long t-shirt. She put it on. On the nightstand was a pitcher of iced water, a plastic cup, three ibuprofen and a small pill.

She got the message. Randall didn’t want her downstairs where she would see her husband. He wasn’t joking about fucking her in the future. He wanted her up here, away from everyone else. Pouring a glass of water, she took the pills. Turning out the light, she slid under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

She wanted to cry, needed to cry. But no tears would come.