Taking Detours: How I [F] [45] did a character study of a man by fucking him in his car. [MF]

The title serves less as a title and more as a summary. I know. The title sucks balls. Just like me. But this is not about one of those rants about my degree of slutiness, nope. This is about an incident that took place a few years ago, which cemented in my head about how far I had gone in my tryst with success.

I’m a wife, a mother and a whore. These are the three phases of my life. A loving wife who can do no wrong, a sweet mother who will do everything right, and a dirty whore who can be as shameless as the harlot under the bridge. And when all of these merge, that is where you either lose your sanity or you revel in your insanity.

I’m a lawyer from India had taken off early from my work that day to meet a client. It was a coffee shop. So, at first I believed there wouldn’t be much of a ‘work’ here. The man seemed to be quite gentle and simple. A typical early 50s, corporate executive. Grey hair, clean shaven, a little chubby with a nice pair of love handles and a growing sign of affluence on his tummy. He seemed like a the kind of guy to kiss his wife before leaving to work and to go on little walks while huffing and puffing with his dog in the evenings. So, the conversation was mostly related to our work and little about our life. Because if there is something I have learnt about client relationship, it is that you always mix and match with topics.

An hour later, right before it was his time to sign the contract, and to have a deal, he propositioned to join him in a pub nearby. He said, every agreement must be made with a toast, and not a toast, hinting at the bread at our table. So, to not let the deal be a toast, I decided to let him have his way. Little did I know he would literally have me his way.

At the pub, as he drank, slowly, a new person emerged. It was like seeing a new person entirely. This man was fun, flirty and very very aggressive in pushing his ideas. I was taken aback. For the first time, I made miscalculation in sizing a man. As the alcohol got in his system, so did the wantonness dribble out from his mouth. He began complimenting me on my looks, and became very specific on them. He was particularly fixated on my ass. An ass man, I mused (what an ass!). As is always part of spiel I giggled, I laughed and egged him, fully aware that I’m stoking his lust. And while doing so, I realized his constant crude statements (about my body and my ass, in particular) was turning me on. it didn’t take him long to let his hand wander off to my ass, to which I gently put it on the pen and the document. There was a moment where we both looked at each other. It was like a tacit agreement. You sign this and I’ll consider about what you want.

He promptly signed and I gulped my drink down. That was when I got a text from my husband. He has reached the airport and was asking me not to stay up at night because he would be home only early morning. I picked up the things and stood taking the document with me much to his shock. He thought I had tricked him, but I was a woman of my word. I asked him if he would drop me home. I knew he had a car and I was in no mood to play fetch.

He jumped at the idea and we both got in the car. Once in, the man was a complete person again. The alcohol in his blood had subsided and he was calmer, more professional, more reserved. I was beginning to feel a little awkward, and was beginning to get a little confused about the guy’s changing mood. In 10 minutes, he called his wife and told him that he will be home but a little late, and then he he turned his car into a desolate area. Truth be told, that swerve to the off-road did stop my heart in its tracks. An uncanny man, a desolate area, night, a lie, and a deal that implicitly allowed him to view me as a slut.

He then switched the engine off and turned to me.

“Are you going to take it off or will you do it yourself?” He asked as he pulled at my shirt.

Without saying a word, I began to unbutton myself, looking right at him, knowing what kind of impression it will make of me to him. His cock promptly stirred in his pants, making a very decent impression of him and of my performance.

His eyes fixated on my wedding chain that lay dreamily between my tits. “I like that you’re a married woman. I like that women like you cheat on your husbands. It makes me hate you and that makes my cock hard.”

That was when I knew I was in trouble. He grabbed my tits and squeezed them hard. I squealed. He then put his hands on my arse and lifted me a little so that he could also spread my arse cheeks and squeeze them. After a few minutes of squeezing, mauling and pinching me, as if I was a sex object, crudely, he made me completely naked while he remained entirely clothed. He then spent an entire minute staring at my nakedness with a sense of crazed expression in his eye.

I was terrified, I was aroused, and I was confused. I knew I should run. There is no telling what this man would do or what he wouldn’t. But I knew that anything of that sort would probably make him a little more unhinged. So I decided to act normal. And I began to stroking his cock. At once, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

I unzipped him and sucked him while focusing entirely on him. I licked, I sucked, I spat, I slathered my spit on his shaft, I gobbled, I sighed, I gaged. And I did them all while staring right at him. Somehow, this act tamed him temporarily, wherein he began to fuck my face, but not with hatred and disgust, but with urgency. And I let him. I allowed him to use my mouth as his cum rag.

And as he spluttered all into my mouth, I swallowed it all. He sighed and sat back in his seat, happy and relieved. And that was when my husband texted me, asking me if I had reached home. Somehow that triggered the psychopath. He grabbed me by my pussy (yep, that’s not just a catchphrase), and mumbled: “you’re fucking wet, you slut”. “uh huh mm” “reply to your husband”. I stared at him. And then he reiterated again, this time forcefully and with a jump of two fingers in my pussy.

I bit my lips as I tried to withstand the wave of pain and pleasure wash over my senses. I took my phone and texted my husband. I told him I’d be late. And I immediately regretted it. It was classic response of a cheating wife, and a dastardly one in pop culture right before the cheating wife gets killed by a psychopath. So, I began to play to the tunes of the psychopath. I began to let my pleasure be heard and start moving my hips towards his fingers and smiled. In a very slutty way.

Clearly, the man loved it and he hated me for the same. But I took the reins and brought his hand out of my pussy and into my mouth and I sucked him before putting it in my arsehole. I knew I shouldn’t feed a monster, but truth be told, at that point the true question was who was really the monster.

His fingers ripped my arsehole. I screamed in pain, and momentarily, seeing me writhe in pain, the psychopath came to reality and began to apologize to which I held his face and kissed him passionately and mumbled: “fuck my arse”. These three words would then go on to be the mantra for the evening. We kissed passionately for a long time, as he crudely explored my mouth as he mauled my tits and my arse and fingered me. Then he decided he wanted to fuck me like a bitch– both literally and figurately and made me climb onto the backseat and made me stay in a very uncomfortable position. Imagine being in a little hole, where the insides are stuffy and small, and now imagine being in a position between two seats in that hole. That was how I was in that small car. It was the most uncomfortable doggy position of my life. And then while I stayed like a shameless bitch in that hole of a car, the man decided to fuck my small hole. Raw. I squealed. I cried. I moaned. I whimpered. I screamed. I hollered. A passer by would imagine I was being slaughtered, and he wouldn’t have been wrong. I was literally being railed by a man, his hatred and his lust and his wanton fantasy, ploughing my tight arsehole.

The car danced for some more time as I came again and again and I drained his balls. An hour and a half later, we were clothed, my face and body cleaned with several tissues, his body now limp and a sense of uneasiness and guilt in him. We hadn’t talked much. He knew he had hurt me. I bled a little. I could barely close my legs properly. I had to think of lies and excuses to tell my husband about my disinterest in sex for the next few days. But then, half through the journey, he apologized and told me that he had married twice, and that in his initial marriage, he was cheated on by his ex-wife, and that ever since, he was both aroused by the thought, making him feel like a cuckold, and also humiliated. This in turn triggered the aggression.

I nodded. I knew something of this sort might be the case. He dropped me at my place, and we parted ways. The deal went through very professionally and amicably, and the company and I profited from it tremendously. And I take he did too. In his own ways. We met as professional associates and parted as one. The detour of that evening remained as just that: a detour, to which we took a U-turn.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/mwb743/taking_detours_how_i_f_45_did_a_character_study