The Stranger

The house was dead silent, save for the rhythmic, even breathing of my sleeping husband. I stood by the bedroom door, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, and carefully pulled the silk robe over my naked body. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his sleeping back, trying to convince myself I wasn't doing this. Then a text from Him flashed on the screen: Come outside. Now.

I slipped out of the room like a ghost, tiptoeing down the hall, stepping over the threshold into the cool, night air. The moonlight hit the driveway as I walked to the front porch, my robe clinging damply to my skin. I heard the crunch of gravel before I saw him. He stepped out from the shadows, his face a mask of predatory hunger, not a word spoken.

He lunged before I could react, his hand twisting into my hair. He hauled me backward, and I stumbled, my knees hitting the rough concrete. I was bent over in an instant, face planted right in the gravel, my robe gaping open to expose everything beneath. He didn't give me a moment to recover. He shoved his jeans down, exposing his thick, angry cock, and rammed it into my mouth without any preamble. He grabbed both sides of my head and face-fucked me with brutal, deep thrusts, his balls slapping against my chin. I gagged, tears streaming down my face, choking on his length, tasting the precum, his eyes burning into my as he completely owned me.

He pulled out, spit dripping from my lips. He spun me around, yanking me up by my hair, and threw me over the hood of his car. I gasped as my stomach hit the metal, the engine still warm beneath me. He pushed my robe aside, exposing my naked ass to the cool air. He kicked my legs apart and slammed into me from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. He gripped my hair tight in one hand, yanking my head back so my back arched, and fucked me with ferocious, piston-like strokes. My tits jiggled violently with every impact, slapping against my chest. He leaned over me, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off my air while he continued to breed me, filling me with his rough, driving heat.

When he finished with me he left just as quickly as he had arrived. I stumbled back up the porch steps, my bare feet silent on the wood, my body trembling from the exertion. My legs were weak, coated in a mix of his sweat and my own juices that was slowly drying and cooling on my thighs. I grabbed the door handle, hesitating for just a second to make sure my breathing was normal before twisting it open.

I slipped inside and quietly closed the door, locking it with a soft click. The house was perfectly still, smelling of the faint scent of his cologne and stale air. I walked on tiptoes back toward our bedroom, the heels of my feet stinging from the gravel, but I barely felt it. My skin felt flushed and hypersensitive, still buzzing from the rough pounding he’d just given me in the driveway.

I slid into bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin. My husband stirred beside me, his breathing hitching as he sensed my presence. He shifted groggily, his hand seeking mine in the dark, and instinctively threw his heavy arm across my waist, pulling me flush against his warm chest. He mumbled something incoherent against my shoulder and settled back into a deep, peaceful sleep.

I lay there in the silence, my heart finally slowing down, my body sore and marked by the stranger. I looked over at his peaceful, sleeping face, feeling a strange mix of guilt and utter satisfaction as I listened to his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, burying my face in his neck, and drifted off, pretending nothing had happened, but my body still remember exactly what it felt like to be used.