The Wreckage [Str8][oral][cheat]

There is something wrong with me, although you wouldn’t know it at first.

I was high as a kite and drunk that night. My foot pressed hard to the floor so that the white lines of the road blurred and whirled away past me into the night. I gripped so hard to the wheel that my fingers ached, throwing the car into the corners so that the tyres screeched desperately, trying to hold fast to the road. She never stood a chance, and neither did I. I had only the briefest impression of her, eyes and mouth wide open O’s of terror, skin white as snow in my headlights, her black hair flowing into the wind and rain. The sound surprised me. Like a coke can thrown into a wall, a dense thick sound of metal and water. My windscreen crazed, sending thick bolts of frosted lightning out from the spot where her forehead kissed the glass, and I slammed on the brakes. The car spun round in the road and my body hung heavily against the belt for a terrifying second. The enormous forces hurled me sideways, then dropped me and I rolled back, dazed into my seat.

As my head stopped spinning, I unhooked my seatbelt, and staggered from the car. I checked carefully for damage, but everything looked okay other than the windscreen. I wiped a small dribble of red-flecked rain water from the cracks and then turned my attention back to the road. She was lying in a heap some 10 feet away from where I had hit her. From the way she was lying I’d guess that she’d broken a few bones. I stamped my foot in annoyance. This was going to ruin _everything_. Lightning flickered kitschily overhead.

I couldn’t very well have her discovered there, so I dragged her back toward the car and laboriously bundled her into the trunk. As I pulled her across the tarmac, I began to feel a nervous tingling sensation and as soon as I closed the trunk lid it erupted into a fizzy wellspring of elation. I had always wondered how I would feel if I killed someone, and now I knew. I felt ecstatic, and terrified, like I was crackling with energy. I felt as though I had awoken into a new state of awareness. I felt I could hear every single rain drop hitting the ground, I was aware of the tiny whorls of air around me as I moved, and of the thousands of tiny eyes watching me from the night. I stood there in the rain, smiling beatifically at the sky for a moment then, reluctantly, slipped into the car. I was about to drive off when I noticed her purse in a nearby puddle spilling its contents out into the water. I quickly gathered everything up and placed it on the passenger seat, and then drove off into the darkness.

You can see it now, can’t you? You can see what’s wrong with me. It’s not a thing on the outside. My outside is perfect. I have big blue eyes, and dark brown hair. My lips are full, my nose is ever-so-slightly upturned. People tell me I look like Denise Richards. My inside is broken though, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can tell me. I know that what I did is wrong, I just don’t … mind.

I looked through the purse as I drove down the road, more carefully now. It wouldn’t do to hit *another* pedestrian. Once is bad luck, twice would just be careless.

I took my eyes off the road as I drove, taking items from her purse and inspecting them. I wiped the rain and mud from her driving license. Diane Fischer was fifteen years older than I am. I was pleased that she had been pretty. In a certain light she would look a lot like me. Slim, dark hair, wide eyes. Her purse contained, in no particular order, a receipt for gasoline purchased the previous week, a hotel pass key, a membership card for a pistol shooting club, lipstick, a set of car keys, a pack of Blist-Eez heel band-aids, a lanyard from a conference (Antibiotics 2017, Las Vegas Conference Center), promotional material for a new antidepressant, a frequent flyer card, an identity card for Genetisys Pharmaceuticals Inc. She had no photos of children, but I did find a photo of her with a man. I still have that photo. I’m looking at it right now. He is strikingly handsome. He has large grey eyes staring from an intelligent face. He looks weatherbeaten and bronzed, his hair was black, now spackled through with grey. In the picture he is holding Diane in his arms, cuddling her from behind. He has a ring on his finger. This must be Mr Fischer, I thought. The tingling feeling returned and I held the picture in my right hand as it rested on the steering wheel, I stared back at him. He was beautiful, and I slipped my left hand into my panties to touch myself. I was surprised to find that I was wet. Diane’s face was putting me off, though, so I put the photo away in my pocket. It was then that I had my awful, wonderful idea.

The address on the license was only a few minutes away and I hummed to myself as I drove. When I arrived, I sat outside for a while, doing my makeup. I could feel myself sobering up, so I snorted a small bump of little brown crystals out of a ziploc baggie. Almost immediately I began to perk up again. Colours roared brightly into life, and the thrumming sound of rain was shimmering somehow in my skin. I removed my bra so that my nipples stood clearly against the thin material of my t-shirt, and gingerly touched my pussy under my skirt. I was thankful that I had waxed only recently. It wouldn’t feel right to show a widower my pubic hairs. I carefully smoothed down my hair and my clothes, and stepped out into the rain. I checked myself one last time in the wing mirror and then walked up to the front door. I knocked timidly and waited.

A minute later, light flooded out into the darkness, and he was there framed against the brightness like a burning angel. I shivered and rubbed my arms in the cold air, then burst into tears and sobbed “Oh thank God, oh thank God, please, please you have to let me in.”

Most people are not very good at lying. Their faces give them away, or their voices. That’s because most people feel bad when they lie. They know it’s wrong, and they _feel_ it’s wrong, and they can’t help but show their guilt. I never feel wrong, though, so I am a very good liar indeed. I do have feelings, just not all of them. I feel jealousy, and rage, and lust, and joy. I never feel pity, and I have never once felt remorse.

“I’ve been in an accident” I tell him, “I swerved to avoid a dog, and I ran myself off the road. Oh Christ, I’m so scared.”

“Jesus”, he said, “um… shit, okay, you’d better come in, I suppose. Are you .. hurt? Do you need a doctor or something?” He was looking at me so intently, like he already loved me, and I was so pleased with him. I felt like I had made the right decision.

I stepped into his hallway, our hallway, and said “No, I think I’m okay. Just … so very shaken.” I shivered and trembled, and looked up at him from rain-wet eyelashes. He put his arm around my shoulders and walked me into the living room. I leaned into him. He smelled clean and spicy and I shivered for real thinking about the hardness of his body under the shirt. I sat in an armchair, hunched forward as though trying to get warm and he said “would you like something to drink?” and I say, “God, yes, have you got any alcohol? I’ve had such a shock”. He nodded, face full of concern for me, said “of course, of course” and scurried away to make me a drink.

I curled up in the armchair like a cat, sat on my knees, and smiled to myself. He was attracted to me, I could tell, though he didn’t know it yet. He was too distracted to notice, but I can always tell.

The darling boy returned from the kitchen with a tumbler full of clear liquid, and passed it to me. “Vodka is all we have, I’m afraid.” I took it from him gratefully and sipped at it, making a face. “Do you need to report the accident to the police or something?”

I shook my head, “No, I didn’t hit anything. I was just coming around the corner down at the end of the road, and some kind of … animal ran out in front of me. I just about missed it, and ran into a ditch.” I downed the rest of the vodka. “Brrrr – I thought I was done for.” I looked up at him and said “I’m just so grateful that you were here to help me. My hero.”

And then he saw me for the first time, saw how pretty I was, how tight and perky my breasts were under that thin cotton shirt, how long and shapely my legs, and he blushed deliciously. “Quite alright” he mumbled, “I, uh, just happy to uh, help.”

I squeezed my shoulders together in a happy little gesture, like a wink, and I smiled at him. “I’m ever so, ever so grateful. Would you mind awfully if I just stayed here for a little while, until I’m feeling better?”

He glanced at his watch and furrowed his brow. “No, no, take as long as you need. You’re quite sure you don’t need a doctor or anything?”.

I assured him again that I was fine, then asked, “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

He looked momentarily surprised, then pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved me away, describing a map with his index finger. “Oh, no, of course. Um… up the stairs, it’s the door on the left. Can’t miss it.”

I sauntered upstairs and took a look around. The bedroom was large and airy, and it seemed even larger because of the mirrored wardrobes that covered one wall. Kicking off my shoes I lay down on the bed, curled into the fetal position, and inhaled deeply. I could smell his sweat and laundry detergent, and I nuzzled my face into the pillows. I knelt on all fours and looked back over my shoulder at the mirrors. My butt looked pert and rounded, and I shook my hips frm side to side so that my skirts wafted to and fro and my ass cheeks jiggled. I pouted at myself and moaned while I twerked, “Oh I’ve been such a naughty girl. I think I need to be spanked. Oh daddy, fuck my little ass. Oh please fuck me. I’m soooo horny.” I reached behind myself and teased the wet spot on my underwear. This made me giggle and I rolled around on the bed, like a cat scenting furniture. In a drawer next to the bed I found a bullet vibrator, and I took a moment to luxuriate myself on the duvet, rubbing my clit with her vibrator, and moaning my orgasm into her pillow. Refreshed, I went back downstairs, with my panties stuffed into my purse.

He looked up from his phone as he heard my footsteps. Concern was written all over his face. “Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.

“Um… yes” he answered, “my wife went out a while ago, and she really ought to have been back by now.” His voice trailed off as he walked over to the window, lifted the curtain and gazed searchingly out into the storm. “It’s not like her not to answer her phone, is all. And this _weather_.”

I think about her phone ringing in the trunk of my car and have to bite my lip hard to stop giggling. “Um…. Mr Fischer… I have to tell you something.” I say.

He flinched and slowly turned on his heel, swivelling around to look at me. His expression was suddenly wary. “How the hell do you know my name?” he asked.

I looked at my feet. “I haven’t been completely truthful”, I confessed, and I choked back a sob. “I … I wasn’t in an accident.”

He stalked across the room to grab me by the shoulder. He peered into my face and he was so big and dominating and I wanted him so badly to just turn me round and fuck me on the carpet, but instead he said “Who are you? What the hell are you doing here in my house?” and I burst into tears. I hugged him close and heaved a sob into his shoulder and I said “It’s … Diane. She … she’s having an affair with … my fiancee.” I felt the shock run through him. His body turned rigid and he staggered backward, extracting himself from my grasp. He looked me up and down, then frowned and shook his head. “No,” he said, “no that… that can’t be right.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Fischer,” I say, “but it’s true. He … he told me himself.”

He looked at me in spiralling horror and said, “I need to call her. This isn’t right. You’re … a madwoman.” and he began again to dial with one hand. He brought the phone to his ear and began to pace up and down the room, never taking his eyes from me.

“It’s no good,” I said, pityingly, “she’s left you. They’ve … both left us.” and I collapsed into the armchair as though overcome. He began to whisper under his breath as the phone rang. As the seconds ticked by his expression morphed from concern to panic, and his muttering became more frantic, “come on, come on, pick up for God’s sake”. As the phone rang off to voicemail, he crumpled. He knew I was telling the truth, he had always been waiting for her to cheat, and he jerked his head up to look at me beseechingly. “Why?” he asked, “how did … how could I not see?” and he sat heavily in the couch opposite me.

So I took a deep breath, and I told him the story of James, my non-existent boyfriend and the late Mrs Fischer. I explained how they met at work, two employees of Genetisys Pharmaceuticals, drawn inexorably together by a shared sense of loneliness and an abiding interest in sports shooting. I told him how their frequent travel all over the world had sapped the life from our respective relationships, and that the two lovers had thus found a new source of joy and comfort in hotel rooms and pharmaceuticals conferences across the country. I shook with humiliated fury as I described the consummation of their adulterous lust, late one night at an antibiotics conference in Las Vegas. I, blushingly, racked with sobs, showed him my besodden panties and her vibrator which, I told him, I had found that very night in our car, thus triggering the Mother of All Arguments and the subsequent flight of the lovebirds. I told him I wasn’t sure where they had gone, but that they had mentioned Kuala Lumpur.

Poor Mr Fischer (‘call me John, please’) listened in agonised silence and, as my story moved toward its inevitable conclusion, sank deeper and deeper, literally into his seat, and figuratively into despair. When I completed my tale, he stood and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand. His lips were twisted tightly as though to keep his angst locked within. He stood perfectly still, like the subject of a painting _The cuckold’s despair_, perhaps, and I was about to ask if he was okay, when he stormed into the kitchen saying “Christ, I need a fucking drink.”

He returned to find me sat on the couch, awaiting him. He looked surprised that I’d moved from the armchair and hesitated as he down next to me. I smiled at him wanly. My face signalled sympathy and shared pain. “I just can’t believe it” he said, “I thought we were happy.” He chewed the inside of his lip pensively, then asked “How long did you know?”

I shrugged and wearily replied, “I suppose I always knew”. We sat together in silence. I looked at my reflection in the glass, tilted it this way and that, watching my face stretch and distort, watching myself become monstrous. After a minute or so I turned to him, clinked my glass on his and said “here’s to broken hearts” then, to his astonishment, threw my drink down my throat, draining it completely. He looked curiously at me, then his drink. His left thumb reflexively touched his wedding ring, turning it around on his finger then he shook his head. “To broken things” he said, and gulped his drink, grimacing at the flavour.

I leaned into him, placing my hand on his knee and said, “did you really have no idea?”.

“Well, I worried, of course. Everyone does, I suppose, once the shininess comes off. Even the best marriage can be boring, that’s what it’s for.” I nodded encouragingly and gazed at him raptly while he recited the history of their marriage. It was stultifyingly dull, of course, but I found amusement in touching him, slowly moving closer. Halfway through his story he headed to the kitchen and returned with the bottle of vodka. I held his hand as he spoke, stroking the banks of his fingers with my thumb. We drank, and he talked and I watched as his cheeks began to flush. My hand rested upon his knee throughout. He tucked a stray hair from my face.

He finally finished his monologue with a heartfelt, “I just can’t believe she’d do this to me” and he looked at me as though about to cry. I pulled his head to my chest and shushed him, stroking his hair, and he began softly to cry, his face pressed into my breasts. His arms slid around my waist, pulling me close to him as he wept. “Oh fuck,” he blubbered, “I’m sorry, I’m such a fucking mess”, but I kissed his forehead and wiped away his tears.

“It’s okay”, I assured him, “we’re both in this together. I know exactly how you feel” and he began to thank me profusely. As his sobs began to die down, I lifted his chin. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Carefully, tenderly, I leant forward and placed a kiss on his lower lip. His eyes closed when our lips met, and stayed closed for a moment after they parted. When they opened I saw myself reflected in his eyes, bloodshot and tearstained and felt a moment of unsettling deja vu before his look of hurt confusion turned to need and he pulled me close again. I grasped his face with both hands and felt my pulse flutter as our lips met. He lifted his hand to the back of my head and tangled his fingers into my hair. His touch on my scalp was electric, sending shivers down my spine and I purred and nuzzled his cheek. I breathed heavily in his ear and whispered “I think I want you.”

“Wait, wait” he said, “what am I _doing_? I’m married.” and he began to struggle to his feet, somewhat uncertainly. I placed my hand on his chest and pushed him gently back into the couch, then slid into his lap, straddling him. I took his right hand and guided it under my skirt. “I’m so wet for you”, I gasped. As soon as his fingers touched me I felt him quiver. I brushed my moist pussy lips over his fingers, looking into his eyes. I angled myself against his hand and began to rock back and forward in his lap, kissing his face.

“Please,” he said, “this is too much, I don’t – ”

I cut him off with a kiss, and his words turned to breathy little sighs under my lips. I broke away and ran my tongue around his ear. “Don’t you want me?” I whispered, “She left you, but you can have me instead.” I could feel his cock rock hard and pressing into my belly as I rubbed against his hand and I continued, “My tight little pussy is so hot and wet and inviting, isn’t it? I’m prettier than she is, and dirtier.” I took his left hand and placed it over my breast, squeezing his fingers into the pliant flesh. “My body is so young and fresh and tight, and all you have to do is say that you want me.”

Somehow he still found the self control to push me backward. He turned his head away from me like a baby refusing food, eyes screwed up tight. “I love her”, he said, and that made my blood boil. I stood up from his lap and picked up a picture of her that sat on the lamp table. I brandished it at him, and I screamed at him “Look at her! She left you!” His face crumpled up in pain. “You’re here, heartbroken, but she’s gone somewhere better. She’s on her way to paradise while you’re stuck here picking up the pieces.”

I passed him the picture. “Look at her, ” I urged him. “I bet they laughed at us. He has a huge dick, by the way. He used to leave me bruised inside.” Slow, silent tears rolled down his cheeks. “I bet, ” I said, slyly, “that she begged him to fuck her. Can you imagine her on all fours, like a dog, wriggling her ass for him, begging him to fuck her in the – ”

He exploded to his feet with a cry of rage. The veins in his neck were standing out from his red, shiny skin. His face was twisted into a snarl. He was gasping for air, his shoulders shaking with his breaths. I thought he was going to hit me. I wanted him to hit me.

“Go on”, I said gently, “you don’t _need_ her” and finally he was broken. With a shriek, he hurled the picture frame against the wall where it shattered, sending tiny pieces of glass across the room. I giggled and clapped my hands, then took one step toward him and sank to my knees.

I nuzzled the crotch of his trousers and sighed, “we don’t need them”. He was stock still, quivering with rage. I slowly unzipped his fly and coaxed his cock, all swaddled in his boxer shorts, to life. He towered over me, eyes blazing with fury as I unwrapped him and sucked gently at the head of his dick. My tongue softly bathed him and he began to swell into my mouth. I could see how conflicted he was, and that knowledge made me wetter. He wanted me to stop, he wanted me to leave, but my mouth felt so good on his cock, and he wanted so badly to fuck me.

His eyes closed and his head tilted backward as I expertly moved him in and out of my soft lips. He quickly became hard and I left him slide all the way into my mouth, swallowing the tip of his cock when it reached the back of my throat.

His eyes fluttered and he muttered “Oh fuck, that feels so good”, so I took his hands from where they rested on my shoulders, and placed them behind my head. I looked up at him and smiled sweetly and felt my pussy spasm when he drove himself into my mouth. His fingers tangled in my hair to gain purchase as he began to saw in and out. My throat engulfed him, rippling around his shaft when he thrust into me. All I could do was to relax and let him fuck me, groaning my encouragement. It was hard to breathe, and I gagged around his thick cock. He was ungentle with me and I felt so delicious used. My hands grasped his buttocks and pulled him toward me and I felt him begin to pulse and quake. Biting his lip, pulling at my hair, he peaked and his cock shot thick gobs of cum into my mouth and down my throat. I licked my lips when he’d finished. His legs buckled and he sank to the floor beside me, where we embraced, holding each other close.

“I can’t believe she did this to me” he told me.

“I know”, I told him, “It hurts so much.”

“I thought she loved me”.

“She can’t have loved you,” I replied, “nobody who loved you would treat you this way.”

He looked at me strangely then, and asked “Why did you even come here?”

I held him close and said, “because you’re the only person who can give me what I need right now, and I’m the only person who can help you” and then he cried again.

We leaned on one another and staggered heavily to our feet, clumsy with emotion and drink. I looked deep into his eyes and I said simply, “take me to bed?” and we kissed and my little heart fluttered because it was *so* romantic. He swept me up in his big strong arms and he carried me up the stairs. I placed my arms around his neck and I kissed him, sucking away his tears, nibbling and biting him. I left little love bites and lipstick kisses all over his skin. I made him mine.

When we reached the bedroom, he lay me down gently on the bed and, noticing another picture of the two of them together, picked it up and hurled it with great violence across the room. It smashed into the mirrored wardrobe, sending bolts of frosted lightning crazily into the corners, making a web of shattered edges and rainbows. He looked thoughtfully at the wreckage, and then fell on me. We rolled across the bed in a whirl of limbs and tongues and I pinned him to the mattress. I undid the top button of his jeans and slid them down beneath me. His cock was already hard for me and I teased it against the entrance to my pussy underneath my skirt. “Do you want me?” I asked him.

His breaths were ragged and his eyes were slightly unfocused, “Christ, yes. I want you.” and he pushed himself upward, trying to penetrate me but I rode him skillfully, kept him at bay and shook my head. “Nuh uh, I need to hear you say that you don’t need her.”

He groaned wordlessly in response. My fingers grasped his shaft, and stroked him under my skirt, rubbed his head over my clit. When I stroked him upwards, he pressed tantalisingly against me slit. “What – what do you mean?” he managed.

I leaned into him, my mouth sucking his ear, the very tip of his cock entered my warm vagina and he jerked underneath me. “I want to hear you say that you need me more than her. Tell me you don’t want her any more.” and he shuddered, pulling me toward him, and thrust all the way inside gasping, “no, just you. Oh I want you. Fuck her, she’s a whore.” and this made my pussy ripple and suck at him. I lifted myself up and ground back down onto his dick, mashing my clit against him. I could feel my juices gushing, I had been wet for so long, and the pleasure was enormous. He tore at my t-shirt pulling it up and grabbed my breasts, pinching and squeezing roughly.

I held his head to my breasts and watched him suckle, first one and then the other. His tongue stroked my nipples sending little spasms of sensation through my tummy and into my throbbing pussy. I let him nibble and tug at them as they hardened, content to rock my hips from side to side, grinding on him.

“Tell me I’m beautiful” I said, “tell me how much you want me.”

He pulled me down to kiss me hungrily, our tongues swirled and danced as we fucked. He felt so good inside me and I moaned and whined in his ear. He began to murmur to me “You’re so perfect. You have the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen.”

I sat back up, riding him slowly, squeezing and milking his cock. “I want to know everything she never did for you.” I told him, “I want to be everything she never was.” I closed my eyes in ecstasy and bounced up and down on him for a few seconds, then continued, “every part of my body is yours if you want it. I just need you to take me. I need to be fucked so badly, and in so many dirty ways.”

Again I bent forward to kiss him, and our tongues were liquid fire, plunging into one another’s mouths, desperate and sweet. I broke off my kiss to ask him, “do you want to cum inside me? In my mouth? In my_ass_?” and I felt him twitch and pulse as he reached the point of no return, and he began to gibber

“Oh fuck yes, I want to cum in your ass. Your body feels so good, you’re so fucking perfect. She never fucked me this way. I want you to be here with me. I want you in our bed. Oh Christ, oh fucking Christ” and his hips bucked and spasmed one last time as we came together, our union splintered crazily in the mirror.

——————–

I’m Robin Goodfellow. I write erotic fiction for Redditors who PM me their fantasies. Seriously, why the fuck not?

If this elicited a throb or a quiver or a slow drip of excitement, tell me all about it. I do this for orange envelopes and imaginary internet points.

If there’s something missing from my expanding oeuvre, some secret guilty thought that tickles your fancy, I’d love to hear from you.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/8baj0i/the_wreckage_str8oralcheat

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