A Work Party Ch. 05

That night ended less than spectacularly. Some of the wives were glaring at me, and a few of the men were appraising me in a new and unpleasant way. I tried to ignore it, but obviously the word was out. Ron must've let something slip, and everyone knew I was his slut. Janine and Allison both gave me warning looks, before shaking their heads. Every nod or glance was small, and the unknowing would miss them, but the cues were there. Everyone knew Ron and I were an item.

When I shut the door after the last guest left, I spun on my heel and hissed at Ron, completely ignoring the hem of my skirt. "What the fuck did you tell them? Everybody knows!"

For a moment, he actually looked like he felt guilty. "I was asked about you by one of the clients. I made the mistake of confiding in him. I sealed the deal with him, but yeah, the word is out." He shook his head slowly.

Before it was I knew what I was doing, my blood boiled over, and I swung my palm upwards to slap him. "You used me to make some deal? What'd you do? Fucking pimp me out?" I shouted at him, the slap of my hand having connected with his ebony skin.

His reaction was completely unpredictable, and he simply grabbed me by the hair and used his far-greater strength to lead me to the floor, and I fell forward, right in the entryway. Using my hair like a leash, he dragged me into the living room, and then descended to his knees, pushing me flat to the floor, face-first. Holding me down with one hand, I could hear his pants being drawn open and the belt clinking as he was pulling his pants down.

He then lay upon me, from behind, and forced his knees between mine. I was struggling under him, screaming, "No! No!" I tried to pull down the hem of my dress, but the silky satin just wasn't long enough to provide much protection. There was little I could do, and almost before I knew it, his black member was sliding up along my folds, under my skirt. My wetness was obvious, and he was able to pull my panties aside and slide into me very easily, the long, full penetration making his sensitive underside of his cock massage the sensitive nerve endings of my sweet spot. I let out a long, loud moan.

I should have been furious, I should have been fighting him, but once he penetrated me, I was submissive to him, and my manicured fingernails began to claw at the carpet. I spread my knees, and whimpered as he began to pull out, before re-inserting himself into my white cavity, his black snake a stark contrast to my pink petals, not that I could see it. The view of my red-satin clad body, skirt on my back, and black Adonis atop me made a searing-hot vision in my minds' eye, and between my own visions, my pussy's signals, and the whole situation I was in, I gave in to him. Yet again, I became his, and I would deny him nothing. Not even my heart. Ron was raping me, and I loved it.

His thrusting in me made my body writhe under him, my toes curling in blissful joy, and all conscious thought blasted from my brain. Each thrust made my voice turn from anger, to moaning, to squeals of pleasure, until I started to beg him. "Fuck me!" I begged him. "Put your baby inside me!" I cried out more than once. "Make me your slut!" I was so close to the edge, and his pace was relentless, but even. My body was craving more of him, and I begged him to fuck me harder, and yet he was maddeningly slow. I was at that edge, that point where just a little tip would push me over, and yet he would not do it to me. Just long, strong, and steady thrusts, ones that made me feel all of him, and yet would not give me all of him. Yet I was dying for more.

It seemed to take an hour, but was more like ten minutes, before his hips started to buck spasmodically, and he gave me the few delicious thrusts I craved. And then he came in me, hot, heavy spurts of his bareback seed, splashing against my cervix and tunnel walls, and yet I could not orgasm from it. I had reached a plateau, and his flurried ending was not enough to kick me off the edge of the climax cliff.

He finished, and lay atop me, squashing me to the floor, and I tried to rock my hips, to drive my vagina onto his shaft, and it wasn't enough. I shed a few tears, wanting to feel that post-orgasmic bliss, and yet he wouldn't allow it. Now I was confused, and conflicted. I wanted Ron so very, very badly, both physically and emotionally. I loved my husband to death. And right that second, I wanted Ron more, a lot more. So much that I would have done anything for him, and his cock. I felt out of control when with Ron, and yet so very safe when he was screwing me. It was like nothing else mattered. As he climbed off of me, and left me laying there, I had a few tears leaking from my eyes. I looked up at him over my shoulder, as I rose to my own hands and knees, my skirt still flipped up, and his cum starting to leak from me.

"I'm going to pick up Tony from the airport and tell him." His voice trailed off. "But you have to make a decision. Him, or me." That last comment hit me like a blow to the heart. I pursed my lips, and even let loose a soft sob. After a few long, torturous moments, I sniffled up a potential runaway trail of snot from my nose, and spoke with trembling lips. "I don't know."

"Then let me show you how I feel..." Ron replied, and he reached for my hand, lifting me to my heels as my skirt fell back in place, and drawing me out the front door, without even my purse. I struggled to get my panties back in place, as I sat in his car. "Wh... where are we going?" I asked, my analytical side starting to gain control.

"To show you how you feel, and how I feel." was all he said.

It took us about 20 minutes, during which I said nothing, and Ron didn't try and pry anything from me. I thought about my wedding day, my honeymoon, Tony's family, heck, my own family. Tony and I had just started to talk about having our own family, now that his career had taken off. I was still certain I loved him, and would, perhaps, for the rest of my life. But between the two men, Ron was by far the most fantastic lover I'd ever known. Tony's body was just not Ron's. And somehow Ron's personality, his demeanor, his... aura, it all put him at a level above Tony.

Emotionally, Tony was my ideal. He was always there, always ready to listen, to support, to just be there. I was always there for him, as well, to let him vent off steam, to hear of his triumphs, and to hear of his complaints. To listen to his heart.

Ron, however, was making me his submissive, his slave, and what I needed wasn't as important as his needs. But his needs were mainly physical, and to that end, his needs to be relieved of pent-up frustrations with my body were my gain as well. I could tell when he had a bad day, or things had filled him with anger. Ron would take a different approach, and the sex was harder, rougher, and bordering on rape, but it was also hotter. In his anger, I was willing to be his release, because it just felt so damn good!

Tony asked me to wear things. Ron told me to. Tony gave suggestions, and Ron gave orders. Tony was my friend. Ron was my master. I had no way of knowing how Tony would react, but I doubted it was going to be good. Me with a white husband with a black master and lover? His black children in a white family? We pulled to a stop, and he shit the engine off, and simply said "Let's go." I stole a moment to try and fix my makeup as best I could, thank Heavens for the invention of waterproof mascara, and I slid out of the car, onto the street, realizing I had absolutely no idea where I was.