Sneaking around to fulfill my need to be controlled and used, this time things went further than I bargained for.
Hi there! Call me kinkbuffet. I chose that username because I have a broad variety of kinks and fetishes. Some I’ve experienced in some form, some I hope to, and some I’m sure will remain fantasy. Eventually I expect I’ll write about most of them, but this is just the third story I’ve ever published. (Notably, this story is NOT a continuation of the first two.) My biggest goal is to avoid most of the common tropes in amateur erotica, so I hope you find these different but in a good way. I also plan to write from different perspectives – gender, age, relationship status, possibly race even. My narrator will change based on who can best tell the story of each different kink. Who am I really? Well, that’ll be secret, for now. Feel free to leave your theories in the comments. I can be reached at this same username at gmail, also.
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Hi there. Call me Kelly. I’m a slightly chubby but otherwise attractive girl in my mid-30s, and have been married for a little over a decade to the best husband I could ever ask for. He’s a bit chubby too but very cute, witty and funny but not obnoxious, incredibly smart but not pretentious, and not into overt over-the-top romantic gestures but super-expressive in his own sweet way. We talk via instant message nearly constantly when we’re not together, and neither of us gets tired of it. When we’re not working, we’re usually hanging out together. We both make pretty good money but we’re not extravagant spenders – however, we do like going out on weekends for dinner and drinks knowing we don’t have to sweat it if the bar tab runs a bit higher than we planned. And, he’s incredibly giving in the bedroom. He loves giving oral, doesn’t demand it in return, and always makes sure I have an orgasm.
And in return, I am the world’s biggest piece of shit wife.
Look, he’s a great guy. So giving. TOO giving. Sometimes, I don’t want to be given to. I just want to be taken.
I did try. I told him that sometimes I need him to take control. But having to give someone very specific guidance on what they should order you to do, that’s just not ceding control, really, is it? Once I realized he could never be for me what I needed I stopped pushing him on it.
I think maybe it’s because I fear that if he knew how truly dark I like things, he’d lose respect for me and our relationship would change. Or he’d force himself into being that guy, but he’d secretly hate it. Or he’d get so focused on trying to get me horny by treating me like shit that the sweetness we have in every other aspect of our marriage would evaporate in its wake. More likely than all that, though, is that he’d ruin it by being all, “is this good? is this right? is this okay?”.
So like I said, eventually I gave up believing he could give me what I need. I started finding it on hookup apps instead. I rationalized it at first as a one-time thing. But the rush was so intense – not just during, but replaying it after over and over in my mind while thumbing my clit into the stratosphere – eventually after about six months I just needed to have that physical and emotional rocketship ride again. I swore the second time would be the last. I lasted another two months, maybe, before the third. That one was just barely more than a month ago. But even worse than that, the scenarios themselves are escalating. Every time out I feel like I’m trying to one-up myself from the last time – less cautious, more daring, more degrading, more humiliating. I’m in a spiral. I recognize that. At this point there’s nothing that gets me off more than being ordered around and used like a whore, and left crying and alone afterward. And maybe the shame of doing it behind Mark’s back feeds into my kink even more; who knows.
And yeah, I know that’s pretty fucked up. Why am I even like this? Fuck, I couldn’t even begin to tell you. I had a pretty normal childhood. There’s nothing obvious I can think of that sent me in this direction. Some time ago I got a Kindle Unlimited subscription and stumbled onto some really twisted shit that I figured out that I got wet from, and now I just can’t stop reading about it – but that may be an effect rather than the cause. Who knows. I’ve got no fucking excuse for being this much of a deviant, yet here we are.
Our circumstances work well for me sneaking around. I work an office job from home, so I can duck out in the middle of the day basically anytime I want or need to. Mark works as a senior manager in an office a short commute away, but we’re basically always IMing anyway so he never just shows up unannounced.
The ad I posted on the adult site this time was titled, “(F/36) Addicted to sex that makes me cry after.”
In the body, I kept it simple. “Married white female, 36, plus-sized but attractive. I need to be fucked in a way that makes me cry in shame afterward. Husband doesn’t know, and won’t. Nothing involving pain, poo, bondage, or blindfolds. Few other barriers. Message me about anything BUT sex and convince me you’re the guy.”
I got the usual array of responses from illiterate turds who can’t follow simple instructions. Weeded through dozens of the same-old, same-old. I got a lot of dick pics (and not even any attractive ones. Like, geeze, come on, men.) and the usual “I’ll fuck you all night until you walk sideways”-type shit. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Then, buried in the noise, there was one from “Bobby” that said, simply, “You’re not looking for a guy to invade your pussy. You’re looking for a guy to invade your mind.”
Well – wow. I stared at it for a moment.
“Tell me more,” I wrote back.
The reply came a bit later. “I can tell from your post. You don’t get off on being used physically. You’re looking to be abused emotionally.”
I hastily dashed off, “How exactly would you go about that, if we were to meet?”
This time the reply came within a few minutes. “Telling you now would ruin it. But let me know if you decide you want to find out. And tell me more about your limits.”
I had to think about that one. I composed the response but I didn’t hit “send” right away. I held onto it, thought about it, went back later a few times and tweaked it further and added to it. Eventually, it said this: “No poo. A little cum play is fine if you’re into that – but otherwise, don’t make me ingest anything that isn’t explicitly manufactured for human consumption. No blindfolds and no being tied up. ‘Uncomfortable’ is okay, but no outright pain.” I was satisfied that this covered the bases. I sent it along.
A few hours passed before I got his response. “Tell me what you want as your ‘safe word’, and more about the line between painful and uncomfortable,” is all it said.
I had to think about that one. I settled on, “Nothing that makes me bleed or bruise. If you stick to all that, we don’t need a safe word.”
The reply was pretty immediate. “I can work with that. Give me a first name to call you, and tell me when. I’ll send a location and a few instructions.” That gave me a nice solid jolt through my pussy.
The first time I met a guy for secret sex, I had insisted upon swapping pictures, a public meeting, and the promise only of a coffee or a few drinks while we got to know each other. During that I evaluated my safety and my level of attraction to him before arranging the actual sex date, later. With the second guy, I was less careful, but still met him for a drink at the hotel bar first before agreeing to follow him to his room. Then the third guy, a month ago – we had exchanged photos but I basically just showed up at his door ready to go. The escalating safety risk and the fear of the unknown, I think, just added to the pile of dark desires that got my head spinning. This time, I’m not even sure why, I had thrown caution completely to the wind.
It was midday, and I was walking into one of the big chain hotels in town. Nothing super fancy, but, a trusted nice place. As per the instructions, I was wearing a summer sundress and a simple pair of flat sandals, and carrying my small clutch bag. I was to be wearing nothing else. Under the dress, the light breeze wafted over my dark pubic curls and reminded me that I had complied. To the prescribed ensemble I had improvised two additions: my engagement ring and wedding band, and a light silver chain around my right ankle. Regarding the latter I expected my suitor would be aware, and appreciative, of the symbolism.
I had been directed to go to the front desk, give my name as Kelly followed by a last name that wasn’t mine, and ask for the second key to “my husband’s” room. I was prepared to lie and say my ID still had my maiden name on it, but the pert young associate behind the counter never even asked. She apparently knew I was coming. She gleefully scribbled down the room number on the room key’s cardboard sleeve, handed it over to me and said, bubbly, “Elevator’s over there. Enjoy your stay!”
Arriving at the room, I buzzed my way in and entered cautiously, ready to retreat into the hallway if I didn’t like who or what I encountered there. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, it was almost completely dark, with the blackout shades drawn all the way across the window and the light from just one desktop lamp illuminating the main sleeping area and its single king-sized bed. The bathroom vanity lights were on and the fluorescent white light spilled into the bedroom area as an additional lighting source. It was dim, but it was bright enough to see that there was no one else in the room.
My directives had been to enter, touch nothing, undress immediately, then crawl onto the bed atop the bed coverings on my hands and knees, and await further instructions while facing the headboard. I took a long look around the room for any other signs that anyone had been here. There were none. The time on the bedside alarm clock ticked past the top of the hour – I was right on time.
Then I saw it.
Propped up against the television was a black smartphone. Its screen was facing the TV. Camera side out. Pointed toward the bed.
Great. He’s probably watching me. I guess I’d better do as he says.
I nervously lifted the dress off and neatly folded it before setting it on a table with my small clutch centered on top, then stepped out of the sandals and nudged them underneath it with my feet. Wearing nothing but my two ad-libbed jewelry items – my marital rings, and my anklet – I crawled onto the bed on hands and knees, ass in the air, fixed my eyes to the headboard ahead, and waited.
The silence was covered only with a layer of light humming from the room’s climate control system. Its light breeze flowed over my naked body, giving rise to my anticipation and arousal. It felt like it lasted forever. Per the glowing red numbers on the bedside alarm clock, it was about twelve minutes.
Then there was a buzzing and a click from the door, and I heard and sensed a lone figure enter. I turned to look toward the doorway and heard a deep voice say, gently but firmly, “Eyes forward.” I complied.
I heard the rustling of clothing unzipping, unbuttoning, and peeling off. The light clink of a belt buckle, perhaps some keys and a bit of loose change inside a pocket as pants tumbled to the floor. A deep sigh as one leg lifted out of his underwear then landed back on the floor, followed by the other.
The large, naked, shadowy figure moved up alongside the bed, still slightly out of view but lingering right there in my periphery. I caught enough of a glimpse to see that he was impressively muscular and toned. A hand reached out and placed itself on my ass, then slid down toward the space between my legs. Fingers danced around my opening – which I could feel moistening from the anticipation – and through my thick curly pussy hair. I shifted my legs slightly, widening his access. An appreciative “Mmmmm.” was the only commentary. His voice reminded me of Ving Rhames. I stole another glance. Yep, no doubt, this was a very large black man.
Well. That’s not what I had pictured in my mind. Was it a deal-breaker? No, certainly not – no reason it should be. But a new milestone to mentally check off? Yes, it surely was that.
The figure circled back around to the foot of the bed. There was a pause, something clicking softly, and the sound of – what, exactly, I wasn’t sure. Rubbing his hands together, maybe.
Then he stepped forward up onto the bed, standing on it, walking, the mattress shifting wildly with his weight pressed down on it through his feet. He stood over top of me, legs apart, straddling me so his feet were just outside of my knees. He then squatted down – the deepest of deep-knee bends – reached around my waist to cup my tits, and rested his hips flush against the back of mine. I could feel his thick shaft nestled along my ass crack.
My eyes widened, my nipples stiffened against his hands, and a gentle spasm emanated from my pussy and jolted up through me. This man was in incredible physical condition and he was mounting me like an absolute animal. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes in anticipation of being entered from behind.
He slowly shifted his hips rearward causing his shaft to trace my butt crack down toward the bed. It had not quite found my pussy when he tensed up, pushing gently forward. I felt his tip pressed against my other opening, parting it just slightly. I jumped in surprise and shifted my hips toward the ceiling a bit, and said, simply, “Lower.”
“No, Kelly. It’s going in your ass.”
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Few other barriers, she said. No safe word, she said. Welp. Make that two milestones today.
Still squatting behind me with his hands wrapped around and holding my tits, he pressed barely forward and the tip of his dick spread my asshole open just slightly. Mercifully, he was well-lubricated – the sound I had heard earlier, I surmised. He kept the pressure coming and my hole widened as he slowly pushed further in. Jesus, how thick was he? I pressed against it gently, not to force it out but to help my opening relax. The sensation of pushing with my ass but feeling something entering it rather than exiting it was a massive mindfuck. I’m sure it felt bigger than it really was, going into my tight back entrance which had never before been used in this way. But despite the strangeness of the sensation I just couldn’t stop marveling at the man’s width.
He pressed in a few inches, then withdrew until just the head of his cock remained inside, then pressed again. Slightly deeper this time. “That’s a good girl, Kelly,” he said, calmly but firmly. His words gave me a shiver which emanated from my pussy and traveled up through my nipples, still held firmly in his large but gentle hands. He took things slowly, withdrawing and then pressing in deeper with each stroke. He wasn’t being rough but he surely was not waiting for my approval. “Good girl.”
I imagined what the scene must have looked like. My chubby pale form naked on all fours on the bed. His athletic dark body crouched down behind me, arms around me, grabbing my tits, his dick deep in my ass. This wasn’t lovemaking. This was animal lust. I was being assfucked by a giant black man I had literally not even spoken two words to. My pussy spasmed, tensed, and seized, gripping nothing as it squeezed and released uncontrollably. My ass puckered and relaxed in rhythm with each pulse.
The man made no announcement, asked no permission, sought no consent. He pressed all the way into the depth of my pulsating ass, emitted one deep satisfying groan, and let his cock swell and release over and over while buried all the way inside me. The notion that he was pumping his load so deep inside my ass that there would be remnants of his sperm up there for days brushed past my mind, sending a fresh aftershock through my cunt and tits.
He held that position for a beat, then slowly withdrew, releasing my tits as he stood fully upright, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. My asshole was suddenly open; I could feel it stretched wide and then slowly close. The intense fullness I had felt deep in my butt moments ago was suddenly vacant, replaced by the relief of emptiness along with a dull soreness. He stepped back, then stepped down onto the floor and off to one side. Still on my knees, my elbows collapsed out to the sides, and I turned my head as the side of my face plopped down onto the bedcoverings. I could feel a glob of semen escape from my hole and run down past my pussy opening and down toward the dark curls of my pubic hair.
“That looks great, Kelly. Hold the rest inside. Keep it there.”
I gently clenched to keep my asshole closed and the rest of its contents sealed safely within, trembling slightly – more from the emotional aftershock than the physical relief.
“That’s perfect. That’ll look fantastic on the video.”
Video. Fuck. The smartphone propped against the TV. He’d been recording the entire scene.
“Will you be posting that anywhere?,” I asked, face still pressed sideways against the bed surface. “My husband might see it.”
“A few places,” is all he offered, as he slowly but methodically pulled his clothes back on.
“You may move once I leave,” he said, in that now-familiar gentle firmness, as he zipped up, cinched his belt, and buttoned the last shirt button. “The room is paid through the night. Stay, or don’t; your choice.”
With that, he turned and left the room, the latch clicking behind him.
I flopped onto my side, still naked and trembling slightly – partially from the chilled air, partially from the recovery after my anal violation, and partially from the thought of Mark happening across the scene on a porn site and pausing to study the chubby ass pointed toward the lens in detail. Tears welled up from within me as I pondered this. To punctuate the moment, a tiny bit more of Bobby’s cum leaked out of my hole onto the bed. Bobby’s cum, I thought. The fact that I had labeled it that way just now, using his name, reminded me that he had used mine more than once, out loud, during the events of today.
Yeah, that’s definitely going to amplify any suspicion Mark may have if he happens to discover that video anywhere.
I sobbed softly as that thought lingered in my head. Petrified by the prospect of getting caught, humiliated by taking a black cock in my ass without having really consented to it, shamed by the idea that these waves were radiating straight into my pussy – I rolled onto my back, raised and spread my knees, stared at the ceiling, and rubbed myself between my legs with furious passion. My fingers alternated between tracing my opening, entering slightly, and rolling my clit back and forth. Before long the fire in my clit turned nuclear and I focused there, sending myself into a fervent thrashing, humping my hips toward the ceiling as my pussy convulsed around the empty space where I wished Bobby’s cock was. A bit more of him drooled out of my asshole to pool on the bedcover.
Ultimately, while Bobby had presented staying as a choice, I recognized that it wasn’t. I waited for my heart rate and breathing to return to normal, collected myself, sat up, grabbed my sundress and maneuvered it over me, slipped back into my sandals, dabbed at my eyes with a tissue, straightened the dress over my otherwise bare tits one final time, and slipped out of the room quietly as though it was twelve hours later than it really was. In the hallway, on the elevator, and through the lobby past the smiling pert and bubbly desk attendant I could feel more of Bobby dribbling out of me.
Over the course of the next few weeks I messaged Bobby a few times – some to say hi, some to ask whether he had posted the video. I searched a few common porn tube sites looking for it. I checked a few more niche ones, as well, figuring that they might not have as rigorous a screening process to ensure the subject’s consent and legality. I never found it, and I never got any response from Bobby either.
In my last message to him I said, simply, “You did it. You invaded my mind.” I never heard back.
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