I had been a normal guy all my life.
I had good friends, I loved them all. I played sports time to time. I loved computer game. I lived to eat, was social, did well in school, undergrad and then grad. I was a good scientist, not overtly brilliant but successful. If you met me in real life, you would think I am the definition of normal.
Yet, now I was in the midst of something which I never thought I would be in: an affair.
It bothered me that Sud was in fact, a married woman. It went against my ethics and who I was and what I stood for. Marriages are sacred and should be left so.
Yet, when I thought of Sud, I remembered not the fact that she was married, but her face as she looked into the stained mirror in the public washroom. I remembered her face, red with effort, my underwear stuffed into her mouth, wet with her drool. I remember her body rocking back and forth with my thrusts controlled by my strong grip on her hair, her face rocking close and then far from the mirror itself. I remember the fact that she moaned, muffled by my underwear, so intensely that her veins popped on the sides of her neck. I could never imagine I was driving this.
My life so far, my normal life, had done nothing to prepare me for this. I was prepared to give talks about cancer detection. I was prepared to lecture people about science. I could easily switch to tutorials on Modern Warfare or FIFA. But not this. I had no idea how it would be like to be in this, do this and be able to do more.
My mind was fucked.
This was the last semester of my grad school and I was swamped at work, trying to wrap up my PhD thesis and answer questions that were holding up my scientific publications. Anyone who has gone through this will know what a pain that is. I was good at my work, but only when I was focussing on it. Now, 70% of my mind was taken by Sud. I had never known a feeling like this before. My mind would constantly drift to those moments when I felt like I owned her. It was a powerful feeling that made me feel proud and powerless of my own mind.
To be able to focus, I found myself masturbating multiple times a day. The post masturbation clarity lasted for sometime in which I could squeeze in quality work. But my overall output had dropped. I could feel it. I needed a plan. But I was clueless myself.
I had an asshole friend. He is the guy who is never with a girl more than few months and then brags about all the action he gets to his guy friends. I hated that guy and only hung out because he was part of the larger circle in which I had some real good buddies. But he was also good at his work and had a demonstrated track record. Clearly, he knew something which I didn’t and was struggling with. I saw him at the cafeteria sitting by himself and I thought I could take a chance at a conversation. After some pleasantries, I started probing him about his current flame and how it is going. Never to lose a chance to brag, he sets about doing the things I hated: brag about his sex life. But I had to get something out of him here. After beating around the bush and feigning my interest in his escapades I asked him the first of two things I wanted to learn. “When you know it is not going to last, what do you optimize for? Experience per session or the number of sessions you can have,” I asked.
“Bro, you are a motherfucker! What a question that is!” He laughed loud and banged the table. “Man! Always, always get your experience in first. You don’t know when and how it will stop.” He laughed out again, cockily and jabbered out some more experiences. I was internally agitated but I had to sit through this.
“How do you get work done, man? You have all these girls time after time, don’t you struggle to like, actually, sit down and get quality work done?”
He laughed out cockily again. His ego was flying through the roof with my questions. He was answering in a manner which most guys and women will understand, because you all know a guy like him and women have heard of a guy like him. He made fun of my dry single life and all that I am missing out by not being him. Then he uttered what I was looking for. “Why do I have to struggle? If I need something, I call for it. Do you get it? Ha ha, sorry you don’t buddy”
So that was the advice, if you need something done, call for it to get done. Could this apply to Sud?
Conversations with Sud after the washroom fuck were very weird. We used to chat a lot before I went about fucking her in her house. Our whatsapp chats were about everything: work day, food, art, life everything. Now it was filled with where-are-you, you-there, and the like. It was a wasteland. If a third person looked at that history, they would conclude that we no longer were friends. I wanted to normalize it. But I couldn’t bring myself to start a chat with her. I had no clue what to talk about now. Sud texted less as well. But she did. I just replied.
I struggled through a few more days of inaction. Then I decided to make an effort. I initiated a conversation.
Me: What’s up?
Sud: Heyyyyy. Not much, just cleaning and usual mom stuff. What’s up with you?
Me: Busy with work and PhD stuff.
I struggled through 20 mins of conversation. It was all normal text. It was hard for me to keep up with it. But I was making an effort.
If I need something, I call for it.
I called her in the midst of chatting. She was surprised. I have never called her.
Sud: Hi! You never call! What happened today?
Me: You are going for a drive with me in the evening, after dinner.
Sud: Oh no, not today, I have to finish up a piece that needs to be shipped tomorrow. I have to help with homework before that, you know mom stuff.
I didn’t respond.
Sud: It has to be today? It is really difficult.
Me: Figure it out. I will see you at 9.
Sud: Hey wait, are you crazy? I can’t leave house at 9. What will I say…
Me: Sud! Figure it out.
With that I disconnected.
Whatsapp shows her “is typing….” status for a long time. She is struggling to tell me something I assume. I stop watching my screen out of frustration.
Sud calls back.
Sud: Ummm, what is the plan? Where are we going? I really can’t be out for long at that hour, please I beg you don’t be mad at me, please.
Her voice was significantly toned down in volume and sounded pleading to me.
Sud: Today is very difficult to manage. You just called now and asked to meet in the evening and….
I cut her short
Me: It will take as long as it takes for you to make me cum.
Sud: What?
She was stunned as she usually is when I talk about sex.
Me: I need a blowjob. When you finish, you can go.
She didn’t say a word. All I could hear in the background was her kitchen vent.
Me: I will pick you up from the shop near your place. 9?
No response.
Me: Sud, (firmly), 9?
Sud: Ok.
Me: I want pink lipstick today.
I disconnected the call. No texts were exchanged for the rest of the day.
My dick was instantly hard. Hot flushes ran up to my ear and swept my neck. Images came rushing back, of her head in my hand being pumped on my cock. gug gug gug gu gu guggggg
I slipped a rubber band on my wrist and used it to hold focus to get work done. I would flick it when my mind drifted. Hold it together man. 5 hours of work, and then you can go get your cock sucked off.
I didn’t want to fuck her today. It was purposeful. Today’s meeting was to establish another foundation of our complicated entanglement. My pleasure comes first. Always.
I reached before 9 and parked at the shop. I waited in the car. It was 8:59. No sign of her. I was bothered by a particular work issue which I couldn’t solve and couldn’t get my mind off. I started reading about it on my phone. 9:05. No sign yet. I was reading on my phone again. 9:15. What the fuck, did she ghost me?
I opened whatsapp, no text from her. I start typing out “Where the fuck are you?” I wait for a while to send it. Imagine you are expecting a blowjob at the end of the day. You have worked the whole day looking forward to feeling a warm mouth engulf your cock and suck on it. And then it is delayed and you don’t know whether you will get it or not. That is frustration you can’t beat.
My legs are impatient and they start tapping. 9:25. Where are you Sud? Where the fuck are you?
My passenger door opens and Sud slides in with a burst of perfume.
Sud: I am sooooo sorry I am late. I had a lot to manage. Are you mad? Please don’t be mad!
She starts speaking as she wears her seatbelt. She places her small bag at her feet.
Internally, I am elated she is here. I am going to get what I called for. Externally, I have to resist giving in to my normal guy self and say that it is fine and I completely understand.
I frown at her and say nothing.
Sud: There was so much to do, I am so sorry. Hey, I am really sorry.
She touches my hand on the steering and has a real imploring look on her face now. The car is filled up with her perfume now. I observer her silently. Her hair is not made up as usual. Her dress says just-going-to-grab-a-few-things. There is no make up at all. She had to just have made a run after making up some bullshit excuse.
I start the car and pull out of parking.
Sud is still looking at me and has her hand on my right hand on the steering. “Say something please”
I reserve my words. I navigate traffic as I pull out on to the streets from the parking lot. I keep looking at the road and ignore her for 30 more seconds.
Me: I don’t see pink lipstick.
She immediately reaches into the bag and brings out her stick. She pulls down the sun visor and opens up the mirror. Diligently she starts applying it on her lips. It is a shade of bright pink. There’s no way she would have worn it and slid out of the house without suspicion. This woman was smart.
When she is done, she looks at me and asks, “how does this look?”
I took a brief glance. I was driving. She looked like a beautiful woman next door. No make up, yet so pretty, so real. She had tied up her hair into a regular everyday bun.
Me: That looks like the face I would love to fuck now.
I let the faintest of smiles slip through my words.
She gave me the usual expression she has when I am brazenly shameless in my language. It is this unique mixture of ‘I can’t believe you just told me that’ and ‘I don’t know why I am here’ and ‘I am still going to do it.’ Then she looked away into the side mirror and then outside the window.
A short while later, I pulled into the parking lot of a jogger’s track. As the car was slowing down I could see the expression on Sud’s face change. She always got tense close to the start. She surveyed the surroundings. I could sense panic in her. There are no joggers at 945 PM. The lot was empty. I stopped the car, unbuckled my seat belt and stepped out. I stretched a bit. Then I stuck back my head in the car to find her looking around to see if there was someone.
Me: Sud, bring your beautiful face to the back seat where I can fuck it.
There’s that expression again. It is heart melting and dick-raising at the same time. She quietly and gently opened the door, got out and got in through the rear door. It was graceful. She shuts the doors gently so as not to make any additional sound than is required. It was like watching a pelican move. I surveyed the surroundings one last time. Satisfied that we were alone, I just crashed into my side of the seat, loudly closing my door.
Like a ruffian.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/drmzmy/mf_transformation_not_hers_but_mine
What happened next?