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Warning: Beware of  Sexy Strangers!

Ryan wakes up in bed at home, listening. What woke him?

Sliding his hand over the sheets, he feels for the warm body of his wife, Alana.

He stretches further, but doesn’t find her. She isn’t there.

Last night he and Alana hosted a summer party at their country estate. The party rocked until a few hours ago. His clock-radio says that it’s 6AM, Sunday morning.

Alana was absolutely beautiful at the party, but then she always is. She doesn’t earn a seven figure living as a glamour model because she isn’t gorgeous.

Ryan remembers that during the party, Alana was with some guy. They were in a corner talking, one-on-one, private-like, Alana sipping a drink, listening. She laughed, looking very interested, even flirty. The stud touched her while they talked. Obviously two people who knew each other well.

Ryan wondered what the guy was to Alana; why he was at their party?

He asked her later. She responded that they used to date, “years ago”. Old “friend”. Back in town. Just “visiting”.

Now the stranger is under their roof, presumably in one of the guestrooms, along with other party guests who stayed over rather than drive drunk, but where is Alana?

Ryan brushes his teeth in the dark. He wants to know where she is, but he doesn’t want to know with whom, yet he thinks he does know. It’s killing him.

Check the guestrooms, his mind coaches.

He may have to peek into all seven guest rooms to learn if Alana is in any of them.

Then he remembers one room that should not have a guest: their “play-room”, a room furnished with pieces of “sex furniture” from a company called Liberator, for when they feel exceptionally sexy. Alana picked out loungers, couches, platforms and stuffed pillows from the Liberator on-line store. She got a real charge from the names: Black Label Esse Chaise, Zeppelin, Obeir Spanking Bench. She added padded cuffs that chain to the furniture, soft blindfolds, vibrators and other sex toys.

That room is always locked.

Ryan heads to the third floor play-room. The door is closed. The brass knob turns; the door won’t open.

Locked! As it should be, he thinks.

Then he stops, ear to the door.

Voices?

Yes, voices but not speaking words. Moaning!

Loud moans. Cries!

Alana’s voice is making the sounds.

A man’s voice joins hers. Groaning!

Now Ryan knows where she is. His stomach churns. His heart pounds painfully.

Using an extra set of house keys, he inserts the play-room key into the slot and turns it. Softly, the latch releases.

Ryan pushes the door, peering through the expanding opening at floor-to-ceiling, wall-mounted mirrors, looking for Alana, wanting to see her without her seeing him.

Ryan freezes.

There she is! Actually, there they are! Alana and the stranger.

Naked, flushed, covered with perspiration, they have been here for hours, Ryan realizes.

The platform-mounted, wedge-ramp combination that Alana declared her favorite piece of sex furniture serves as her “bed”. She is on her back, chained to the device with wrist and ankle cuffs, long legs pulled apart, breasts thrusting up at her “friend” as he slams into her again and again.

Staring into her lover’s eyes, Alana cries out with every ramming thrust. He is groaning, muscles bulging, flexing. His ass cheeks ripple as he pounds into her.

The stranger pulls completely out of her, and for a brief moment looks at her and grins as she blinks in confusion, already missing him; wanting him back inside of her.

Ryan stares at the weapon the stranger is using to drive his wife crazy. The guy’s erection is at least 10 inches long; as thick as Alana’s wrist. The swollen head appears larger than the shaft, a big crowned tip at the end of his spear, wet with her juices.

Still struggling with the size of the stranger’s cock, Ryan hears Alana’s breathless voice.

Ryan! I knew you would find us. I told Monty that you would.”

Ryan jerks and looks in the direction of her voice. She is staring at him, through dark lashes, face flushed, breasts heaving. She calls to him.

“Come join us, Baby. We have never tried a threesome. Play with us, Sweetheart. Please?”

Looking at his hot wife stretched naked on the wedge, a strange man between her glistening legs, his massive cock preparing to impale her battered pussy, Ryan processes her invitation. Her eyes plead with him, asking him to say it’s OK, that he understands how she can’t say no to this man whom she once loved.

Then Ryan sees the man staring at him, strong hands still on Alana’s trembling thighs, caught in the act of fucking his wife … his willing, hyper-sexed, cheating, but incredibly beautiful wife.

Ryan looks back at Alana and sees that her mouth is open, wet, inviting. It would be so easy to go to her and to fill her mouth with his own phallus. So easy

He shakes his head.

“Thanks, but no. I think your friend would prefer to keep you to himself. You started this without me, you can finish it the same way.”

Then to the man, Ryan says, “When you are done with her, leave. Lock the door behind you.”

The man, Monty, she called him, grins and it isn’t clear to Ryan whether the grin is triumphant or devilish. Is it a grin of pity?

“Can I take her with me?”

Ryan looks at Alana again. This time, mixed with her passionate lust, he sees guilt, fear, or maybe she is just wondering what she should pack.

“You may already have. That decision is up to her.”

Ryan turns, walks out of the room, closes the door, locks it. He looks at the door with the key still in the slot, staring as if he can see her on the other side.

Did he really hear her shout his name as the door clicked shut?

Then he turns and walks away.

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