Tonight I am to be offered up to another stranger for sex.

I am never told in advance who or how many will have me.

My husband will select one of the three dresses I have that were bought especially for nights like this.

We left our apartment about 9:30 pm. The air is noticeably chilly. Under a light jacket, I am wearing
an off-shade color white dress. The hemline is short, and the top is of a fishnet material.
I am allowed to wear black flat shoes, but no underwear. The driving time was about 20 minutes before
parking in front of an older brownstone house. My husband reached into the back seat for what
he calls his "toy box." From the box, he takes out a strip of my 'small white pills'.
He hands me one and pops open the center console between us.

Inside the console is the flask that I bought him for Christmas. It contains two measured ounces of orange juice and vodka.

We sat and talked for about 10 minutes. He smokes. I do not. Then he opened his side door. The dome
light came on. "It is time," he said. He came around to my side and took my arm. Supporting me as we
walked up to the front door. We entered the first doorway and knocked on the second. The door opened
and we were greeted by a short, mature woman. I am not quite sure of all that was said between her and my husband.

She led us down a hallway to a small bedroom. I do recall her saying, "Lewis will be with you shortly."
"Lewis? That would be who I am to be given to." I thought to myself.
My husband helped me remove my jacket, sat me on the edge of the bed to removed my shoes.
The bedroom door opened, and a large, blurry figure filled the doorway.

"Up," my husband muttered, his right hand gripping my wrist with sudden, surprising force. He yanked me to a standing position.
Lewis's gaze lingered on the tight peaks straining against the fishnet dress top, translucent enough to show the dusky circles beneath.
I didn't cross my arms. Let him look. My husband's hands closed over my breasts, rough, possessive. I felt my breath hitch in a way that had
nothing to do with pleasure. His thumbs pressed into the stiff peaks through the fabric, rolling them just hard enough to border on pain.

Both hands slid down my sides to find the hemline of my dress. His fingers, deliberate, tracing the seams till the fabric ended on bare thighs.
He paused for a moment, allowing Lewis to anticipate what was coming next. My dress peeled away with a whisper of fabric, sudden cold air
rushing across my skin as I fell backward. Not gracefully, not intentionally, just the unthinking reflex of losing balance when your vision goes dark.
My palms hit the mattress first, fingers sinking into the surface as I caught myself. My husband gripped my wrist. Lewis took my ankles, lifting me.
The floating sensation lasted long enough for me to register that the mattress dipped unevenly beneath me as my weight settled centered on the bed.

Lewis's fingers circled my ankles like restraints, pressing just hard enough to leave faint crescent marks in my skin. The sensation wasn't painful.
Not yet. His thumbs were tracing idle circles against the delicate tendons. My legs, lifted and parted without ceremony. Held spreadeagled,
they trembled slightly from the strain. The air between my thighs was cool.

Lewis’s fingers stilled against my skin, his grip loosening just enough for me to fold my legs at my knees. For a heartbeat, the room held its breath,
no impatient exhales from my husband hovering behind me. Just the faint creak of the bed as Lewis leaned forward.

Photos:

Lewis mounts me.      Lewis finishes in my mouth.

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