The Seduction Game

"We know that won't be happening again anyway," he reminded her. "But that doesn't mean we can't keep the heat turned up at home. I have an old Yahoo email account from a failed business I tried to start years ago. It's still active, but the wife wouldn't think to check it. I'll give you the login, that way none of it is traced to you."

She stood silently in the moonlight for a few moments, the sinister slope of her bulging thighs stretching her jeans in silhouette. Alonso marveled at his own restraint, sorely tested as it was. As residual warmth from her pillowy breasts faded slowly from his left bicep, he knew he had to salvage some piece of this remarkable woman's attention. Ironically, his wife's happiness was contingent upon it.

"You first," Tia said, quietly, averting her eyes as she allowed a small crack to remain open in their window of unrequited lust. "I'll read it, and then...we'll see."

Alonso's heart leapt, but he masked it well, rifling slowly through his glove box until he found a scrap of paper and a pen. Upon this he scribbled the account info, and placed it on her dashboard. Tia had retreated to the other side of the truck, keeping the vehicle between them as a deterrent. The knowledge of how close they had come to surrender still rattled his mind, with alternating measures of thankfulness and anticlimax.

"Good night, Tia," he said, climbing into his own car. "Go give your mate a good drubbing for me."

"You, too," she replied, good-naturedly but still a bit guarded. Clearly she was having as hard a time as he was, if not worse. He drove off briskly, saving her from further torment.

By the time he reached the house, a first draft had already daubed itself onto his brain. Ordinarily he would be preparing to channel such impulses into his wife's hind end, but she was out of town for a conference until tomorrow.

Sitting down with his laptop, he let his imagination run freely and without fear of overstatement:

...your big, beautiful ass spread above me, lowering ever so slowly but relentlessly, plunging me into your world, until I am one with your swollen undercarriage...no thought of escape, only surrender to your victorious womanhood...

He went on at some length, and as he finally hit Send, the strain of his erection became too much. Without Fiona to relieve himself into, he took a hot shower and fired one off down the drain. It was unadulterated Tia lust, without the need to graft her face onto Fiona's. The proximity of their near-miss that night added fuel to the fire, and he would probably have to polish off another one later that night.

Settling down with ESPN, pretzels, and a beer, he tried his best to think of something besides Tia's backside. Or her tits. Or her mouth wrapped around his cock. Or...dammit, it wasn't happening. Controlled by his lust, and unable to redirect it onto his unsuspecting wife, he opened the laptop again and logged into the clunky old account.

His heart stopped as he spotted a new message above the one he had sent not two hours earlier. No subject line, but with an attachment.

Shutting off the TV, he clicked with inconceivable anticipation on the video file within. Within seconds, his screen was filled with the panting, disheveled face of his fantasy girl. The one he'd nearly fucked mere hours ago. The camera swayed, and he detected the rustle of sheets below her as she humped something just offscreen. Momentarily, he heard a muffled male voice from below her, and his dick sprang up in his shorts like a tripwire. She was re-enacting his letter on her lucky, lucky husband.

"This is what you get..." she purred, as much to him as to her willing victim. "Oh god, this is what you get, you...OHHH...OHHHHH..." Her eyes lit up as she ground Ben's face into her pulsing nethers, the pitch of her voice rising blissfully, lost in rapture.

Her voice caught, and abruptly she dropped the phone onto a pillow before her. Alonso's eyes boggled as he took in the rippling expanse of her faultless haunches, feasting upon the completely buried head of her lover, who gripped her shimmying thighs for dear life. A cry rose above his furtive grunting, and the sound of her shuddering climax overloaded the microphone for a solid fifteen seconds, nearly causing Alonso to soil his underpants right there with no manual assistance whatsoever. It was easily the sexiest thing he'd ever witnessed.

And just like that, the screen went dark, leaving Alonso alone with a boner of apocalyptic proportions and a horribly empty house, possessing no conduit into which his lust could be channeled. Cursing, he rushed into the bathroom again before composing yet another missive.

Fiona's return the next day was a blessed relief for both of them, as she was once again the recipient of his frustrated passion. She cried out as he slammed into her slight frame, bent over against the edge of the bed, and he worried for a moment that he was pushing her too far. Pleas of "harder...HARDER..." extinguished such thoughts, and in short order he delivered her into a fury of wordless orgasmic wails, followed shortly by his own explosive climax, plunged deep within her violently shaking pelvis.

Such was Fiona's bliss that she scarcely took her hands off of him for the rest of the day. Weeks ago, the question in her eyes had dissipated, replaced with devilish intent and an increase in desire that threatened to outpace his own.

Thus it was that he found himself later that evening, sitting on the couch naked, his wife's mouth completely full of his balls, when his phone rang. It was the Skype ring, which was unusual, as he didn't have that many contacts. He ignored the sound, and closed his eyes to enjoy Fiona's delicious ministrations upon his tender flesh. But she stopped, withdrawing his sac from her lips, though keeping her hand upon his throbbing shaft.

"You might check to see if that's work," she said, softly. "I know Phil's out of town, and you guys have that project due..."

Alonso sighed. Phil did occasionally Skype him when he was on the road, and though it pained him to activate his work brain, he knew he should make sure nothing had blown up. Reaching over for the phone, he tried his best to hide his shock at the incoming name and photo: Tia McCann.

"Not Phil," he said, quickly, switching the volume off. "And no one who deserves my time more than you right now," he added, gently stroking her hair as she resumed her oral caress of his aching testicles.

Nice save, he thought, fighting off a fit of anxiety. Even now he could see Tia's face down there, slathering his scrotum with her wicked tongue. What the hell was she doing calling him? It was a little worrying, especially now that he knew he was actually supposed to be the strong one in this arrangement. The thought horrified him a little, but as Fiona's hand increased its pressure and movement upon his rock-hard rod, he found it impossible to freak out the way he normally would have.

An epic climax and quick cuddle later, Alonso excused himself into his office. He couldn't text or call Tia, that would be too traceable. It was bad enough that her aborted call still registered on his Skype log, so he wiped the history. Cranking up his laptop, he opened their secret Yahoo account.

Not one, not two, but three videos awaited him, AND a text-only email. He logged out swiftly, swearing a little under his breath. Fiona couldn't know any of it. Tia was escalating, and today of all days, he couldn't risk an attempt to find out why. This was precisely why he'd always felt a dread of cheating: Some woman losing her mind over him, and threatening to break down the doors of his marriage. He didn't want to think that about Tia, determined as she was to keep her own vows intact. But then what the hell was going on?

Guilt savaged him, but he kept a brave face as he threw together a hearty paella for their dinner. Wine loosened his nerves, and after putting his Skype on silent, he enjoyed a lovely evening of sparkling chatter with his true love, capped off by yet another roll in the sheets. It should have been an unqualified success of a night.

But after Fiona had nodded off, Alonso found that he could not sleep. Not with his inbox full to bursting with secrets. Closing his office door, he was relieved to find no new messages, just the four that had popped in earlier. He was too wiped out to even consider opening the video files, but he clicked curiously on the written message:

I guess you can tell I'm not good at writing these things out. Certainly not as well as you. But...if you can...I need to see you. Not in person, that would be disaster. I mean, I need to see you in action. Words are nice (really nice), but...I need to know that this is doing to you what it's doing to me. God, I'm a pain in the ass, aren't I? Holy shit, I'm one of those crazy girls now. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...ignore me if you have to. Words are fine. Unless...you know, unless you can give me something else. Which I really, really hope you can.

I'm sorry I called. That was irresponsible. Delete my contact info if you need to, I won't do it again. We'll make something work.

Cheers,

#5

Alonso's heart fluttered in his ears. Video? Fiona would never go for it. She ranted often about stupid people whose documentary evidence of their sexual adventures inadvertently ended up in the cloud, where they could be copied and passed around forever. Yet he thrilled a little at the prospect. He did want to give Tia her due, responsible as she was for the dramatic upturn in his love life.

Despite himself, his finger hovered over the keyboard. Onscreen, the mouse arrow floated upon the first of the unopened video files, awaiting his command. Almost involuntarily, he clicked.

The sight thus summoned transfixed him utterly. This time it was Ben holding the camera, which focused squarely on one of the most amazing sights Alonso could have conceived. Tia's big brown eyes, fiery with seduction, her mouth and throat totally engorged upon her husband's sizeable cock. Over and over she dove upon him, taking the entire shaft with each lunge, twisting her head in a motion as diabolical as it was graceful. She was wrenching the climax out of him, stroke by stroke, his helplessness evident by his stuttering breath and irrepressible moans.

And those eyes, their piercing blaze of pure sexual power, firing directly into the camera lens. Into Alonso's eyes, which almost had to turn away in the face of such intensity.

With a mighty swallow, she broke her husband's last wall of resistance, and his grip on the camera fumbled. As it dropped and settled on the ground, Alonso was treated to an upward shot of the glorious tableau: Tia's heaving breasts, and above them her mouth's complete domination of Ben's length, powering him further inside her even as he relinquished his load deep into her throat.

The screen went blank, and Alonso found that once again he was stiff as a board. It was past midnight, and it wouldn't do to wake Fiona, so he opted for another shower.

Another day passed with Fiona at work and Alonso in his home office, trying desperately not to open the secret email account again. He was on deadline, and Phil was stranded in Cleveland by a snowstorm, so Alonso was largely on his own. Coffee and a healthy fear of losing a fair chunk of commission set his mind on track, and before he knew it, night had fallen outside his window.

Hitting Send on the completed proposal, he heard Fiona's key in the front door lock. His brain was exhausted, but his stomach was grumbling, and he hoped desperately that her late arrival meant that she'd brought some dinner. As the familiar smell of Chaplain's Chicken wafted into the room, he turned to find his brightly glowing wife framed in the doorway holding her prize.

"You are a goddess," he said, sincerely, and with a sly smile, she slunk over and sat on his lap, depositing the bag of fried goodness upon his desk.

"Anything for my king buck," she purred, and offered up her neck for a soft kiss, which he granted enthusiastically. Taking a deep breath, she rose, putting a few inches between them. "I know you're hungry. But if you want to pay for your chicken later, you know where to find me."

Alonso gave her a significant raise of his eyebrow. Fiona was like this more and more now, all open invitations and sultry looks. She even dressed a little racier, breaking out the higher hemlines that had sat untouched at the back of her closet since their courtship years. And he owed Tia for all of it. Owed her.

Patting Fiona's tight little ass as he rose, he grabbed the bag of chicken and made for the kitchen. Dinner conversation proceeded as it always had, replete with exasperated stories of their co-workers and clients from hell. Fiona could have been a comedienne, so spot-on were her imitations of the higher-ups. Abruptly, his mind flashed back to Tia, nailing the umpire's expression in the booth at the pub all those weeks ago. Perhaps Alonso's tastes were consistent after all. His fantasy lover and his real lover were not so different, save for a whole lot of really nice junk jiggling all over exactly the right places. Alonso's attention must have drifted at the thought, because he could tell Fiona's current question was being asked for the second time.

"Did he?" she repeated, politely.

He cleared his throat. "Did he what?"

Fiona laughed. "Poor baby, you are tired," she said, patting his arm gently. "Listen, don't trouble yourself with anything. I'll clean up, and you can go to bed early if you want."

Alonso wanted no such thing. His mind was filled with the undulations of Tia's flesh, and its influence over his imagination would demand a reckoning sometime that evening. Better to let Fiona be the beneficiary than waste a perfectly good load on the shower drain again.

But it wasn't so simple this time, he thought as Fiona rose to clear the dishes, her svelte figure swaying beneath her soft black skirt. He couldn't just let Tia twist in the wind. She was in a state of severe agitation, and though she seemed to have gotten a firm grip on the extent of their boundaries once again, who knew how long she could be denied her proof before hitting freakout mode?

The delicate dance of deception tiptoed its way across his brain. Yes, recording their acts on video would be deceit. But so was keeping his strange relationship with Tia a secret from his wife, and that was a lie that had paid big dividends. He could scarcely imagine the rewards he might reap from fueling that fire, scalding hot as it already was.

Yet there was risk. If Tia did go off her rocker one day, she would have ample blackmail with which to ruin his marriage. And although he didn't peg her as a homewrecker, neither did he entirely trust her anymore when she was high on lust.

Suddenly, he had it. His buddy Brian was always talking about doing crazy shit on Snapchat. He had found a hack to break the time limits of the video recording, but it still deleted after being viewed once. In theory, anyway. And Alonso knew that Tia had an account there. It was a bit of a one-sided deal, since he could rewatch any of Tia's offerings as many times as he wanted, but things were getting unstable enough that he wasn't going to take any chances.

Stealing into his office, he set up a Snapchat account and pulled up Tia's info. He looked up the hack Brian mentioned, and managed to rig up the interface to accept it. This would work. He set the timer to sixty seconds. Following Tia's lead, Alonso wouldn't record until the money moment approached.

Placement was trickier. He had to anticipate the action ahead of time, which meant he would need to control the proceedings. That wasn't hard. Fiona would pretty much go along with anything he proposed these days. He chose a spot on the recessed headboard, where the phone was in reach, but would not be immediately visible to his wife if he positioned her correctly.

A sweat began to break on his hands. He didn't like deceiving Fiona. But he convinced himself that if she knew what had awakened her husband's libido after so many quiet years, she would agree that payback was a must. He hoped.

Creeping into the kitchen, he saw that Fiona had already slipped out of her office gear and into a soft sweatshirt, with mere panties between him and his quarry. Washing the last of the dishes, her back was to him as he slid up behind her, taking care to make just enough noise to announce his presence.

Her hips wiggled gleefully as his hands caressed their upper reaches, tracing the curve where they met her trim belly. Consuming the base of her neck with his lips, he rubbed his erection suggestively between her gyrating buttocks, the cheeks now parting a little to allow him access as she spread her legs in invitation.

Reaching down below her crotch, she deftly freed his cock from its knitted prison and proceeded to press it against her pussy, damp inside its thin cotton sheath.

"And how will you be paying tonight, Mr. Echeverria?" she growled, closing her lithe thighs around his expanding girth and eliciting an involuntary moan from his lungs.

"My account is a little behind," he said, gripping her ass cheeks for emphasis, causing her to squeal.

"God, I was hoping you would say that," she replied, twisting her nether quarters around his entrapped member. "Use all necessary force."

Abruptly, Alonso tightened his grip on her, sliding his right hand down to the back of her right thigh and pulling her knee up to her waist.

"Oh god, Alonso..." she moaned breathlessly. "Oh god, yes..."

Still gripping her right thigh, he repeated the lift on her left side, raising her tiny form up into the air, legs splayed outwards. The panties remained an obstacle, but he did not concern himself with that yet. Now in full control of her body, he busied his mouth upon her neck and hoisted her into the bedroom.

In plain view of the still-dormant camera, he leaned forward and deposited her face-first on the bed, reaching down quickly to remove her soaking panties. Sparing not a second, he raised her back into the air, to a chorus of pleas and desperate cries.

"Oh god, do it..." Fiona begged. "Fuck me, fuck me..."

With no further ado, he shifted his pelvis until the head of his raging cock hovered at the doorway of her sopping passageway, and plunged it in. Her wails were impressive. He had never taken her completely aloft like this, and he could tell she was getting off on his control over her. It occurred to him that he needn't include only the money shot in his recording, but that he could send several, if he was careful.

Holding her so that her face was away from the headboard, he risked removing one hand to hit the button on his phone. Fiona was light enough and impaled so deeply upon his shaft that she did not fall. Now that the tape was rolling, he wanted to give Tia her due. Pounding Fiona's tight box relentlessly, he swung her around so that Tia could get a side view of the action. He wanted Tia to see his wife's face, lost in rapture under his dick's command. The way he would give it to Tia in a heartbeat if things between them were different.

The thought gave him strength, and he unleashed a fresh volley of thrusts deep within his defenseless betrothed, whose voice rose in pitch until he knew she was close to orgasm. The light on the phone was still on, so Tia would get to share in the glory.

With a loud shudder, Fiona came, legs trying in vain to press together against his grip, shaking with violent intensity as her eyes bugged out of their sockets. He slowed his onslaught, giving her time to savor the wave. She shook like never before, as if possessed. For a moment he thought he might come with her, but he really wanted to give Tia a longer show.